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Slowly, she appears on the canvas. It’s a magical process I never grow tired of. I guess it’s the same as writing a novel, poem, or song. Saxon bought me a poster once that I hung above my drawing table, which states that creative people are touched by the divine because they can create something from nothing. When I’m painting, it’s the only time I feel there’s a slim chance that maybe God does exist. It’s the only time I can believe that Christian is here, with me, even though I can’t see him.
Feeling his presence, his bright spirit, standing with me, watching me work, I sketch for a couple of hours, until the sun has completely set, and stars are popping out on the night sky.
Finally satisfied, I walk backward and study the result. It’s good. I had several tries at the natural curves of her figure, trying to capture the way she’s twisting to look at me, and I think I’ve managed it. I’ve sketched the flowing folds of her gown, and the way her hair tumbles around her shoulders. I’ve caught the angles of her face, and the beauty of her wide blue eyes.
I stand there for a few minutes, looking at Belle. When we shared that night together, I honestly thought it would be a one-off, just an evening of fun, and we’d part the next day with a hug and a promise to exchange Christmas cards. I didn’t expect to enjoy my time with her so much. And I didn’t expect to miss her.
If you like her, go and get her, Damon. Life’s far too short for anything else.
I huff a sigh. “All right,” I scold Christian, hearing his voice in my ear agreeing with his sister. “I’ll do it.”
I go over to the sink and wash the charcoal off my hands, turn off the projector, then take my phone into the kitchen. After pouring myself a large whisky on ice, I go into the living room and collapse on the sofa.
I have a big mouthful of whisky. Then I send Belle a text.
Me:Hey, you! How are you doing?
Belle:Oh, hi! I’m good, thanks. What are you up to?
Me:Just been in my studio. Hey, you up for a call?
Belle:Oh, sure!
I press her number, and she answers after one ring.
“Hello!” She sounds as if she’s smiling.
“Hey, you.”
“Lovely to hear from you,” she says. “So, you’ve been painting?”
“Sketching out a new project.”
“Another goddess?” she asks.
I smile. “Yeah. Let’s just say I had some inspiration…”
She laughs. “Me?”
“Yeah, you’re my muse.”
“Aw, that’s a lovely thing to say!”
I have a sip of whisky and sigh. “I mean it. I miss you.”
“Oh!” She sounds surprised. “I miss you too,” she says softly.
“Belle, on Monday morning, I should have asked to see you again. I’m so sorry I didn’t.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to. You did say you weren’t offering a relationship. I knew what I was getting into.”
I swirl the whisky over the ice. “I know what I said.”
There’s a moment of silence.
Then she says, in a teasing voice, “You wanna hook up again?”
That makes me laugh. “Of course I want to hook up again. You’resexy as. It’s just…” I hesitate. I don’t know what to say. She’s still going away. And I still don’t want to get hurt. But I miss her.
