Page 18 of Menotte avec toi

“We both were, so let’s remedy that now. Otherwise, you’ll have to write down my address, which you’re fully capable of, but where’s the fun in that?”

Sonnet rattled off her number, and I shot off a text to her, so she’d have mine. I heard her phone chime on the other end of the call. “Perfect. Now, I’ve been working around the clock. The images are coming to life, but before I go any further, I’d like for you to see them and make sure we’re of the same mind.”

“I’m sure we are, but if you wanted to ask me out, you didn’t have to bribe me with artwork.” Just hearing her voice breathed new life into me. Sulking. That’s what the last three days have been. No one has ever ruffled me the way this woman has and likely wouldn’t again.

More of her sweet laughter came through. “True, but this way it’s dinner and a show. Wait, that was our first date. Hmm, not creative, but I promise something different for date three.”

“Date three, I like the way that sounds. Okay, send me the address and time you want me there, and let me know what I can bring.”

“Deal. And Harper?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too, Kitten. Me too.”

Now, to make it two more days without Patrice strangling me.

Flowers ?

Wine ?

Sitting in my car too long outside of her building. Check and double-check.

Who knew finding your heart left you filled with a constant sense of insecurity.

“This is juvenile.” I grabbed the roses and wine off the passenger seat and headed inside. A quick pep talk to myself in the elevator, thank fuck it was a solo ride, only helped momentarily, but when it stopped at her floor, so did my breath. There she stood, and as soon as I saw her smiling face, the turmoil churning inside from the past week settled.

“Harper, it’s wonderful to see you.” Sonnet greeted me with a hug and a kiss. “Are those for me?”

“Yes, they are, though they pale in comparison to your beauty.” Wow, I’m not sure where that cheesy line came from, but it was going back inside the box marked ‘do not use again’.

“Corny and I love it. How did you know pink was my favorite color?” She drew in a deep breath, drawing the rosy scent from the petals. “What a gorgeous bouquet.”

“They reminded me of the beautiful blush that tinted your flesh. Your loft is amazing and, oddly enough, exactly as I’d envisioned it.” An artist’s loft for sure complete with paint splatters and drop cloths.

“Let me put these in water, and then I’ll give you the thirty-second tour.”

She pulled an ornate stained-glass vase from the cupboard, trimmed the stems, and strategically placed each rose, leafbunches and baby’s breath included, into it until she had it just right. “There,” she smelled them again. “I don’t think I’ve ever had flowers this fragrant.”

Helps when a local florist was a client. “I’m glad you like them, Kitten.” Stored away for later surprises. I can’t play the same cards all the time gift-wise, but flowers were a definite repeat.

Sonnet came around the island, wrapped her arms around my waist, and snuggled into me. This girl had no idea of the calming effect she had on me. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” Did I have to let her go so we could walk around? I wasn’t ready to. It’d been one long ass week without seeing her.

“Come on.” With my hand in hers and a smile on her face, Sonnet played tour guide. “This is obviously the main area. Living room, kitchen. Behind this divider is my bedroom.”

“Are these individual canvases?” The makeshift divider was a vast piece of art.

“It is. I painted each of them. Most of the dividers I found were thin, and the sun came right through. I work long, odd hours and more often than not crashing during daylight hours, which means I don’t want the sun in my face. So, I took a bunch of canvases, laid them out on the floor, and created one giant mural. Each four-foot section is framed as one and are hinged so I can position them however I want.”

“Absolutely brilliant and gorgeous.” Though the paintings were abstract, the flow between them was clear. The bohemian bedroom scape had Sonnet’s free soul written all over it. “This space is very you.”

“It’s my Zen, my sense of peace. The place where I go to shut my mind down.”

I could see that about Sonnet. Her mind running on an endless loop. Everyone and everything she saw was translated into art bythat gifted brain of hers. What little I knew of Sonnet gave away the free spirit she was.

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