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I give him my order, and he motions for me to take a seat across from him as he heads to the counter to order for me. I settle into the chair, trying to seem perfectly at ease despite the excitement bubbling through me.
When he returns, he sets my latte down in front of me and takes his chair again.
I’m still looking for something to say, some way to open the conversation, when Leon leans toward me and says, “How’s the art going?”
As much as I usually hate first-date small talk, he’s found the perfect way to draw me out. “It’s good,” I say. “Mostly.” I don’t want to talk about my attempts to recreate my destroyed pieces, so I stick to the most recent canvas I’ve been playing with.
I pull out my phone and open the photos. “Generally, I don’t show my work before it’s done, but I like this more than most pieces.” With a grin, I hand my phone to him.
“Wow,” Leon says. “Impressive. I think it’s amazing that you have such a passion for your artwork.” He flips through the photos, then hands the phone back. “I’m more of a grease and oil kind of guy myself. I don’t know that I have a passion, really, though I love fixing engines.”
“I’ve always admired people who can bring life to machines. It takes a special kind of skill.”
“Well, it’s not as poetic as painting, but I suppose there’s beauty in making something broken whole again.”
“We all have our own ways of creating. I think life’s about finding beauty in the things we love. Or it should be, at least.”
He pauses and tilts his head as if he’s committing my comment to memory like I’ve said something profound.
I blush and scramble to change the topic.
“So, what have you been working on?”
He shrugs. “Rebuilding a carburetor for an ‘84 Corvette. The original carburetor was running like shit. The car couldn’t even get out of its own way before. So, I’m installing larger jets to give it a boost.” His voice trails off. “I’m betting that doesn’t make any sense to you at all, does it?”
“Oh, you might be surprised,” I say vaguely. If only he knew how much of my life has been spent around men discussing motorcycles and other engines.
“Anyway,” he continues, “it’s good to take a break from the grease and grime of the garage. Coffee is my go-to remedy for a tired soul.”
Leon nods, his attention fully focused on me. The afternoon sun shines through the nearby window, turning Leon’s blond hair into a golden halo.
He could be an archangel in a Renaissance painting, I think.
“I’d like to paint you,” I say aloud without thinking.
He grins. “I’ve never posed for an artist before, but it could be an adventure.”
A warmth spreads through me at his words, and I blush, thinking of the various nude models who have posed in my art classes.
Leon’s grin turns wicked as if he can read my mind. “Definitely an adventure,” he murmurs.
The thought of him stretched out naked before me sends a thrill straight to my core, and again, I cast about for some other subject—but I draw a blank.
Luckily, Leon saves me from my own embarrassment, turning the conversation back to his work on the Corvette and then to his recent move to Atlanta.
I find myself leaning in closer, captivated by his presence. The world outside the coffee shop seems to fade away entirely, leaving only our connection and the crackling energy between us.
Eventually, I realize the sun has dipped even lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the coffee shop’s windows.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell him, even though I don’t really want to. “I promised my father I’d stop by his place later today.”
“Can I see you again sometime?” Leon asks, a hint of vulnerability underscoring his voice, and my heart leaps in my chest.
“Absolutely,” I say, my voice dropping almost to a whisper, but I’m smiling.
“Good. Let me walk you to your car.” He stands and gestures me out of the coffee shop. The bell over the door chimes again as we step outside into the balmy Atlanta air, and for an instant, the world outside feels full of possibility—a canvas waiting for the first brush stroke, a block of marble waiting to be carved into a masterpiece.
I can’t help but shake my head at my own romantic notions. But something about Leon brings out my most artistic side. The part of me Control would call “artsy-fartsy”. The part of myself I usually keep confined, letting it out only when I draw or paint.
