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“Brandon?” I murmur in confusion.
He drags his hand through his ash-blonde hair and grates, “Sorry.”
I watch him as he stares at nothing, his mind wandering to a terrible place. I know because anguish is visible in his features.
“Why did your family move?” It’s the first question that pops into my head.
Focusing on me again, he lowers onto the bench by the window.
“For a fresh start,” he answers. “To put what happened behind us.”
I scowl, asking, “What happened?”
He looks down at the carpet, going quiet for a moment. “Something terrible.”
The pain in his voice breaks my heart. More than anything, I want to comfort him.
“Can I hold your hand?” I risk asking.
Brandon lifts his gaze to me, considering it. After a few dreadful beats, he nods.
Delight springs in my chest. I mosey over and sit on the bench.
He observes me as I unhurriedly move my hand toward his, and a nervous gasp spills from his lips when I thread our fingers.
It feels so good to touch him. His palm is soothing. I never want to let go.
“It’s not so bad,” I whisper. “Right?”
Our eyes lock for a second before his gaze falls to my mouth. At that moment, my heart thrashes with the hope that he’s finally going to kiss me.
“I want to watch you paint,” he says, nodding to the easel.
When his hand slips from mine, it’s as if he’s taking my joy with him.
Sighing, I push up from the bench. “Fine.”
Brandon remains quiet while I paint the small garden. I usually get lost in what I’m doing and lose hours, not thinking about anything. But his presence is strongly felt, and I never once forget he’s watching me.
As it becomes dark, he turns the light on, so I don’t stop what I’m doing.
By the time I finish the oil painting of the flower garden and step back, I’m awash with a great sense of accomplishment.
“What do you think?” I ask and chew at the corner of my bottom lip. “Think Ms. Jung will like it?”
Brandon comes over and studies my artwork carefully. “To me, this is perfection.” He looks at me. “Do you like what you’ve done?”
I nod and say with confidence, “I love it.”
He pulls his mouth into a partial smile. “That’s all that matters.”
The unabashed way he stares at me conjures a warm sensation. It’s hard to deny that I enjoy how his attention is only on me. Always.
“Painting another?” Brandon asks with a tilt of his brows.
It seems he wants me to stay longer. Maybe this is a chance to learn more about him.
“Um.” I shake my head. “No, I’m tired. How about we sit and talk?”
