Page 89 of Sparking Sara

Then I search my studio, but somehow, during my search, my desire to find a diary is overtaken by my need to paint. I stand in the center of the room, inhaling the intoxicating scent I’ve loved since I was a little girl. And just like the old, spattered clothes I’m wearing, this is where I’m comfortable.

I run my hand along the old door from my parents’ house, closing my eyes as I remember them. Thank God I didn’t lose all my memories. I look at one of the pictures on my studio wall, one I remember painting shortly after they died. It’s the one of them holding me as a baby, right after they adopted me. They looked so happy.

Inspiration strikes and I put a blank canvas up on the easel. I get my paints and brushes ready and get lost in my creation.

“That’s lovely,” I hear Oliver say as he startles me from behind. “What is it?”

I shake my head, not really knowing the answer to his question. “Just something I wanted to paint,” I say. My stomach grumbles and I look at the clock, realizing I lost track of time and have been in here for the better part of the day.

I watch his face as he stares at the painting.

“I know you don’t think my paintings are good, Ollie.”

He pulls me to his side. “You’re recovering, Sara. It’s understandable that it will take time to gain all your abilities back.” He kisses my head. “And I do think it’s good.”

“Just not great,” I say.

“Does it still make you happy to paint?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Then that’s all that matters, isn’t it? You don’t need the money. You never did. Whether or not you ever sell another painting, you’ll be okay.We’llbe okay.”

“Do you really think so?” I ask, turning to look up at him. “I mean, truly, in your heart, do you think everything will be okay?”

“I know it will be,” he says confidently.

He grabs my hand and leads me back into the living room. I sit on the couch, realizing just how exhausted I am from painting all afternoon.

“How do you know, Ollie?” I study him as he loosens his tie and takes a seat next to me. Then I add, “Why do you love me?”

He looks surprised by my question. “What kind of question is that?”

“I really want to know,” I say. “Apparently, I’m a raging bitch, so what is it about me that made you love me? Do you just love raging bitches?”

He laughs, stretching his legs out and putting his feet up on the coffee table. “No, I don’t love raging bitches,” he says. “You weren’t that way with me. In public, you might have been a pretentious artist, but when we were together, you were lovely. I’m not saying you were perfect. Lord knows I’m not either. But we were perfect together.”

“We were?”

“We will be again,” he says. “You just need to give it time.”

I pull a pillow onto my lap. “But how can you be sure? I don’t really know you, Ollie. It’s hard to explain, but you’re this person who’s in love with someone I don’t even think I am anymore. How do you know you can love the person I am now?”

“Because we’re soulmates, luv. And when two people are meant to be together, nothing can stand in their way.”

He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and it makes me think of Denver, who did that very same thing just a few days ago. I close my eyes, my heart wanting the man next to me to be the man who rescued me, but my head knowing he can’t be.

Give it time, I tell myself.

“So, do you feel up to cooking, or shall we ring for some takeout?”

My eyes fly open and I ask hesitantly, “I … cook?”

“You adore cooking.” He waves his hand around the apartment as if showcasing it. “The kitchen is one of the reasons you love this place. And the doctors said you should try to get back to your normal daily routine.”

“You’re going to have to tell me just what that is,” I say.

“Yes, I suppose I will. Do you want a run-through?”

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