Page 126 of Before I Loved You

My brush strokes feverishly across the smooth surface, the image in my mind jumping onto the white canvas. My knuckles tense, my neck stiffens, and my bottom lip aches from biting down hard while lost in concentration.

Painting is not what one would call a physically demanding activity, but with me, somehow, it ends up that way.

My wrist attempts to give out on me as I reach for the top of the board, touching up a blue corner. But I can’t stop. Not until I’ve perfected this piece.

A piece that means so much to me.

A piece that is essentially a part of my heart laid before me in a flurry of colors and shapes.

Just one more…

Done.

I sit back on my stool, rolling my neck and shoulders.

I didn’t realize when I decided to submit some pieces for the art show how much of myself I would be displaying for others to see. Vulnerability used to be something I viewed as a weakness until recently. Until I realized how much is required of a person to be vulnerable before others.

It takes strength. It takes courage. It takes perseverance.

With each image I’ve created for this show, I’m feeling ready to be inevitably vulnerable in front of strangers, but it’s even scarier to think of presenting my pieces to those closest to me.

Like Paul.

My work could be shown worldwide, and the only person whose opinion I would care about is his.

Shaking my head, I murmur, “I hope he likes these—”

“Who are you talking to?”

Paint spills on the floor as I jump from my seat, spinning toward the door where I see Natalie standing with widened eyes and her hands apologetically in the air. My chest heaves as I slap my hand over my heart.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” she rushes out.

Waving a hand around dismissively, I reply, “It’s fine. I was just lost in the zone.” I bend down to pick up the brushes and grab some paper towels to clean up the paint on the floor. “What are you doing here?”

She steps inside, examining the room. “I was on my way back from therapy and saw your car in the lot. Figured I would find you here.” She leans against one of the tables, her hands clutching the edge. “Want some company back to our apartments?” Natalie’s eyes take in my artist apparel of paint-splattered clothing and… Shit!

I suddenly realize I’m not wearing one of the oversized T-shirts or sweatshirts I use to hide my small baby bump because I knew no one would be here tonight. But as I casually glance down at myself, relief is felt when I see my apron completely concealing my stomach.

Thank fucking God.

“Definitely.” I turn my easel toward the window, not ready for her to see the image, and head for the closet to get my winter coat, which I manage to put on while removing my apron.

“Are you ever going to let me see your work?” she teases, smiling.

“You will. But not until the show,” I respond, zipping my coat. “I’m…I’m just not ready yet.”

She nods in understanding. “I’ve got the date marked on my calendar. I’ll be there.” Her smile widens.

My fingers dig into the tender spot between my shoulder and neck. “Fuck, this is the one part about painting I can’t stand.”

“How long have you been here?” Natalie walks beside me as I shut off the lights, stretching my neck from side to side.

Reaching for my phone in my pocket, I wince when I see the time. “Shit. Five hours.”

Natalie’s eyes widen. “Have you eaten?”

I shake my head, hating myself for not taking a break to eat.

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