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She nodded slowly. Her forehead was tight, and she fought to lower her eyebrows and soften her features.
“You’re really curious,” he said with a smile.
“What do you—how did you—is that a positive?”
“You’re curious about people. I could tell from how you take in the things happening around us. Also, your face changed when I brought up therapy and my mum. I don’t think you realise what your face reveals. And, of course, curiosity is a positive trait. Imagine if you weren’t curious. You wouldn’t be as good an artist, and I’m sure you’re great. You wouldn’t be interested in people, and you wouldn’t want to learn about the world.” That silenced her. He’d shone a light on one of the things she was awkward about and made it into something positive. “Now I want two more positives, but you have to say these two.”
In her excitement, she blurted out, “I’m imaginative.”
He grinned back at her. “Amazing. And the third?”
“And…” She drew the word out for a while. She ran through all sorts of ideas, but each one sounded negative.
I obey my dad, I’m quiet, and I like being on my own because I’m used to it.
Those weren’t positives, and with every second that passed, she was sure he must be regretting talking to her. What kind of person couldn’t think of any positives about themself? Emma would be able to do this easily. That was it! “And I love my sister. But then everyone could say that, and she is easy to love. Everyone loves Emma. Well, I’m sure some people don’t, but they’re dickheads.” She’d rambled on a bit, but she’d said everything so quickly he probably couldn’t distinguish her words anyway.
“You’re imaginative, and you love your sister. I love those two positives. But maybe next time, be proud of the last one. It is a positive about you. You could have said you have great taste in music too. I love S Club 7. My mum used to play them all the time.”
Lucie opened her mouth to argue, but Chris carried on. “We can work on the positives thing. Now, this pad of yours.”
Perhaps it was his confession about therapy and his mum or the way he’d talked about Lucie, but excitement bloomed in her chest like a tiny rosebud offered encouragement. Slowly she lifted the pad and handed it to him. Her fingers brushed his that time. Were butterflies flapping in her belly? She’d read about it before in Doctor Who fan fiction, but wasn’t that something you got with random people you had a crush on? Were you allowed to have butterflies with guys who chatted to you like they cared about what you said?
He leafed through the drawings.
Please let him like them.
There were various faces, some animals, and the odd celebrity or TV star. He nodded and smiled, commenting, “This is amazing,” and “I love the way you’ve made them look” on a couple, especially when he recognised the celebrity. But it was when he reached the last page of drawings that Lucie held her breath.
“Hold on. How have you drawn these?” Was he annoyed?
She took a quick breath and got ready to be shouted at. “It’s from when I saw you earlier. I draw faces that stay in my head. I don’t need the person in front of me,” she replied shakily.
“Sorry, they’re like my mum’s eyes. I thought you’d drawn her eyes, not mine, which makes no sense. It reminded me of the way they’d crinkle at the edges when she’d kiss me goodnight or when I did something that made her proud.” His gaze was wistful, and for a moment, she allowed herself to study him. It was as if he was lost in a world of memories. Suddenly he carried on. “Anyway, you’re an awesome artist. I wish I could draw like that.” Didn’t he realise he had his mum’s eyes? When had he last seen her? Her drawing was of his eyes when he’d waved at Lucie as she stared out the back window of the car.
“I could show you how to draw something simple,” she replied with a shrug.
He opened his mouth wide and breathed in deep and quick like he might pass out. She blushed at the idea of giving him mouth-to-mouth. “Seriously? Oh my God, please, oh great and wondrous one.”
Lucie giggled at his enthusiasm.
“And then you have to draw me and sign it,” he followed up quickly.
“No chance.” But she imagined how she’d shade his wisps of brown hair and how difficult it would be to recreate his dimples.
“I have to have a Lucie Smith original before she becomes a world-famous artist. Please, Lucie.” He took her hands between his and flooded her body with warmth. A chill chased it around her limbs and made her shiver. How was that possible? “Draw me like one of your French girls.”
Laughter bubbled up in her throat. She had an embarrassing laugh—Fern at school had silenced her with that revelation a couple of times—but at that moment, she couldn’t prevent it from escaping from between her lips. Chris’s chuckles drew her attention to his dimples. How was she sitting there making these embarrassing sounds with such a fit guy?
“You did not quoteTitanicat me?” she asked between giggles.
“Be glad I didn’t add—”
“Don’t you dare,” she squealed before they laughed so hard, they gasped for breath. He squeezed her hands, and she nearly gulped.
Over the next hour, she taught Chris to draw eyes until he could do them in all shapes and sizes. Occasionally her belly butterflies would flutter to remind her that she was sitting close enough to breathe his scent. His fingers would brush hers as she showed him how to tease out details like eyelashes or add shading. She willed her pupils to not dilate when he stared deep into her eyes to feather the patterns of her iris. Sharing her skill with him gave her a focus and made it easier to be in hiscompany. Her nerves settled slightly, and she barely touched her ponytail.
Although she enjoyed giving him a masterclass, she loved it more when he posed for her. It allowed her to study him without feeling self-conscious or intrusive. He had an odd blemish near his hairline and a tiny brown mole on his neck. The lightest of freckles covered both his cheekbones, and she resisted the temptation to get close and inspect them.
