Page 11 of The Art of Professing Love

“How do I look?” I asked.

“Delicious.” He looked at me admiringly.

“I’m serious.”

“You look like you just came from a one-night stand.”

I sighed in frustration, running my hands along my jacket to no avail. “I don’t have time to go home and change, otherwise I would.”

“Relax. Your students do the same all the time. If anything, they’ll be happy to know that their professor is as much a human as they are – well, except for the monsters, of course. But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Now, I really must go, Sylvan.”

He must have sensed the urgency in my voice because he grabbed my hand and, still in the nude, jogged down the flower-lined dirt path with me till we reached the edge of the woods. I held my glasses on with my free hand as we ran, vowing not to drop and break them again. They’d survived enough already, and I didn’t want to tempt fate.

“Follow this path,” Sylvan told me, pointing into the forest, “and after a little while, you’ll reach a gravel road that turns into a paved one. Keep going south down the paved road and eventually, you’ll reach the church. The library is only a few blocks away from there.”

“Thank you.” I clasped his hands in mine, squeezed them, and set off down the dark, winding forest trail, wishing I still had Sylvan with me as a guide.

9

SYLVAN

Ihated to watch Irving go. I had so many unresolved plans for the morning, and now that he was gone, none of them would come to fruition. I believed him when he said we wouldn’t see each other again too, which made his departure all the more painful.

There was only one thing left that I could do, and that was throw myself back into my art. I had fresh inspiration and surely I would have no trouble getting the creative juices to flow.

I spent the next few days doing nothing but painting and taking short breaks to eat and sleep, pouring my heart and soul into one particular piece. This piece was special, and I had no intention of selling it. I didn’t plan on keeping it either, instead giving it away to the only other person besides myself who might appreciate it.

“Yes, this is perfect,” I said, pulling my brush away to admire my work. “Better than anything else I’ve ever painted. It’s a shame it will never hang in a gallery, but the world isn’t ready for this kind of masterpiece, now are they?” I scoffed at myself. “Oh, Sylvan, you’re being ridiculous. You’ve painted far better than this, you’re just biased.”

With that, I left the final details to dry and set about picking a frame. There were a few that I made after a gorgeous white birch fell in a windstorm last year that would fit the canvas, but they weren’t quite right. There was one frame left from a pine I’d rescued from a friend’s yard after they had to chop it down for safety, but it wasn’t right either. And then I saw it: the perfect frame made of smooth, polished walnut that gleamed in the candlelight.

“That will do quite nicely,” I murmured, lifting the frame and bringing it over to the painting, holding it as if it were a newborn baby. “That’s it – that’s the one. The only thing I have to do now is find out where I’m supposed to send this thing once it’s ready.”

I turned to the only creature who I thought could help me, calling the place they worked with fingers crossed that they would answer.

“This is Monster’s Sanctuary Library. May I help you with anything today?”

“Cousin, do you happen to have Irving Scott’s home address?”

My cousin didn’t answer for a moment as the rustling of papers and their fingers flipping through pages filled my ear. “Uh, no, I don’t believe I do. He only gave his work address to us.”

“I see. Do you think his work would mind if he received a package approximately the size of, say, a pillow?”

My cousin was smirking, I could tell by their tone when they spoke again. “No, I don’t think they would. In any case, Mr. Scott can lie and say it’s a work-related item.”

“I doubt he would lie – he’s not the type. Besides, he doesn’t know I’m sending him anything yet.”

“Does the professor like surprises?” they asked.

I shrugged. “I’m not really sure. If I were a betting man, I would say no, but he’s more unpredictable than I initially gave him credit for. It doesn’t matter, though. If he doesn’t like it, he can throw it out.”

“Mm, perhaps. Don’t bungle things with this man, Sylvan. He’s nice – and grounded – exactly the kind of person you would benefit from having in your life.”

A pang shot through my heart. I couldn’t bear to tell my cousin that there was nothing between us and that we’d already committed to never seeing each other again. The painting was more of a “thank you for playing along that night” gift than a gift for a lover.

“I’ll try my best to keep him around,” I said quietly. “Anyway, I have to go now if I want to get this thing out before the post office closes.”

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