Page 24 of Before I Loved You

They’re probably friends.

Or maybe they’re not?

I don’t think Paul seems like the type that would fall for Greyson’s act.

But then again, most people don’t know the real Greyson.

I bend my legs and place my arms on my knees, resting my head as I watch the sun vanish.

Maybe I shouldn’t go.

But as a soft rumble reverberates throughout my stomach, I realize there’s one crucial reason I need to go no matter what.

My phone vibrates, reminding me I have an unopened text.

Gazing at the screen, my heart turns to mush.

Unknown Number

I missed those beautiful green eyes.

Guess I’m going to a basketball game, I think with a sigh.

* * *

“You’re very talented.”

“Huh?” I twist in my seat, finding my art professor, Mrs. Blossom, behind me, eyeing my easel. “Oh, I was just playing with the textures.”

“Don’t diminish your work.” She shakes her head, her red curls bouncing around her face. Pushing her glasses higher on her nose, she approaches for a closer inspection. “I asked the class to create an image of what the word family means to them. Peter has sketched a family portrait, and Shelby has painted a picture of her family’s home, but you painted a field of flowers. Why?”

I swallow nervously. I’ve never liked discussing my art with others or even showing it, for that matter.

Putting my art out there for others to judge and critique is what has stopped me from putting my art in shows in the past, even after all of the compliments I’ve received from professors over the years. Their words meant little to me when the only person I wanted to show my art to was no longer here to see it.

But after seeing Paul’s reaction—his genuine adoration for a simple sunset sketch I created, I’ve started to question my motives behind not showing my art to the world in the first place.

“I don’t know.” I put down my brush, wiping my hands across my apron.

“Yes, you do.” She smiles, her eyebrows raising, waiting for me to continue.

“Well, I guess it’s because of my mom.” I absentmindedly rub at the lily tattoo on my wrist. “Her favorite flower was the lily. My dad brought her a new bouquet almost every week.” I smile, remembering all the moments my dad walked through the front door with a fresh bouquet in his hands and a smile on his face. “She painted flowers every chance she got. She’s why I love art so much; I guess I can attribute everything to her. So when I see this flower, I see her and my dad. And in essence, I see my family.”

“And that is what we call art.” She removes her glasses, letting them dangle on a chain over her chest. “But can I ask why you created the image in black and white? Why not use color?”

It’s the second time I’ve been asked this question in a matter of days, but my answer has yet to change.

“It’s easier for me to see the world in black and white.”

Her lips purse to the side as she nods in understanding. “Well, I hope someday soon, color comes back into your life.”

I look back at my easel.

Is it so wrong to live a colorless life?

“Ah!” She reaches for something inside her apron pocket. “During winter break, there is an art show in the city featuring up-and-coming artists. I think you should consider it.” She takes out a small folded-up piece of paper and hands it to me, detailing all the information for the show.

“Oh.” I quickly scan the paper. “I’m not a real artist. I only create for fun. I’ve never sold anything or had any professional lessons.”

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