Page 11 of When It Rains He Pours

“When did you know you wanted to be an artist?”

Looking up at the ceiling, I let my gaze flip around all the dollar bills stapled to the sheet rock. They were everywhere, literally hundreds and hundreds of one dollar bills. All of them had black ink stains; some with names, some had images, some were a scribbled mess of nothing.

I felt a tickle on my skin, light as a feather. Glancing down, Liam was holding a dollar bill, running it up and down the side of my arm. “Go on, take it.” Flirting his eyes to the side, he nudged his head. “There's a marker right there.”

Pinching the bill between my fingers, I grabbed the marker and tugged off the cap. The image of an angel and devil, meshed together like a giant beast popped into my head.

So I went with it, sketching the wings and horns. My favorite part to draw was the eyes. I always saved that for last. Eyes were where the truth was, the eyes were where you could see what wasn't being said.

“Well? When did you know?” he asked, leaning over the table to watch the picture come to life.

I tried to think back to when I was a little girl and my father had bought me my first easel. That was the happiest moment of my life, until I opened my gallery.

But I wasn't sure when the realization set in that this was who I was. Art became more than just a colorful picture, it became my way to communicate when I didn't have the words to speak.

“I guess I've always loved drawing since I was kid. And it just kinda grew from there.”

Shaking his head, he frowned. “No, I don't mean when did you start drawing. A lot of people can draw, but they don't turn it into what you did. Why did you become an artist.”

Need. . . Desire to be heard. . . Longing for a voice in it all.

“Why?” My lids popped open, lashes tickling the skin below my brow. “I guess it wasn't so much a choice as it was a force. I had to be this, it's who I am.”

“Hm,” the sound left his mouth with wonder. Scrubbing his jaw, his gaze pinned me in the seat. It was as if he was trying to read my mind, trying to see what brought that need out.

“Does that answer your question?”

“It tells me that there's more to you than I can see.”

“Well, we just met—” The weight of someone standing over me caused me to stop talking as their shadow pressed down on my shoulder blades.

Glancing up, a waitress stood beside us, popping her gum before asking, “What can I get you two?”

“I'll just have a glass of water for now,” I said, giving her a smile.

Cocking a brow, he frowned. “Water?”

“Yeah, water. I need a clear head, drinking won't help.”

“You need something to help you relax.” Looking up at the waitress, his hand moved and spun in the air as he talked. “What would you recommend for someone who's had a completely shitty day?”

Tossing a thoughtful look between us, she smiled. “I'd go for a Rum and Coke. Or maybe a Long Island Iced Tea, those have a little bit of everything in it.”

“Perfect, we'll take one of each.” Flashing her a big toothy grin, his gaze switched back to me. “That's what we need.” Snagging the dollar out from under my hand, he held it up. His mouth turned up high, eyes wide. “This is amazing, I can't believe you just threw it down that easily.” Running his fingers around the edges, he pointed up above our heads. “Can it go right there?”

“Absolutely,” she said, stuffing her notepad into the pouch of her apron. “I'll be right back with your drinks and the stapler.”

“Peer pressure much?” Knitting my brows, I tried not to smile, but it didn't work. The corner of my lip tipped up, the muscle twitching to keep it in place.

“Is it working?”

“It's not helping.”

“Are you sure?” Curling his lip, his lids hoods. “Because I'm pretty sure I saw a spark in your eye when she said Long Island Iced Tea.”

Shaking my head, I tried not to giggle. “I don't think you saw anything like that.”

Pushing big palms into the table, Liam sat back, straightening his arms. “I absolutely did. Your brain says no, but your eyes say yes. Your eyes say a lot of things, Glory.” Winking, he pursed his lips into a tight grin, forcing the dimple to pop on his cheek.

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