Page 49 of All I Ask
“No idea.”
“Really?”
I can either lie to him or fess up and lose my secret.
Lie it is.
“I must’ve touched something at the store.”
Derek’s brow rises, just the one, letting me know he clearly didn’t buy it. “And after sitting out here for how long…it’s still wet on your hand?”
“It could happen.”
“It could, but it’s not very likely.”
Now his curiosity is probably piqued. Sure enough, he looks down at the ground and tries to see around me. I shift, trying to keep it hidden, but that gave it away, and now I’m so screwed.
Derek acts as though he’s going to move to the right and I move that way to block him, but he adjusts quickly and reaches to the left, grabbing the canvas.
“Please…”
I’m not sure what I’m asking him. It could be please don’t, please tell me you love it, please don’t judge me, or please give it back and we’ll never speak of it.
But what I really mean is, please give me back my heart.
Chapter Seventeen
Teagan
Present
“This is amazing, you painted these?” Derek asks as he stands in what I pretend is a gallery, which is really a closet in the back of my parents’ store that they don’t use and never go in. This is my safe place. It’s where I hang my paintings to dry. My favorite ones are still hanging because I can’t bring myself to take them down.
“I did.”
“I can’t believe how beautiful these are, Tea.”
There was no getting out of telling him once he grabbed the painting, although it had sand on it and wasn’t exactly a beach scene anymore. However, as imperfect as it is, I’m sort of in love with it.
It’s messy, much like my life. It has texture—I’ve never thought to add sand to the paint before—but it’s also still vibrant.
“You don’t have to lie,” I say with a bit of nervous energy. “I know they’re amateur and not that great, but painting is my outlet.”
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
“Because you’re not cruel and don’t want to tell me they’re shit.”
His eyes go back to the painting. “I’m not lying, Teagan, they’re really beautiful. I haven’t seen paintings with this perspective before. Have you ever tried to sell any?”
Or maybe he is cruel. “No. No one even knows I do this. This is my hobby that I don’t talk about, and now that you know what I was hiding, we can never speak of it again.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you always do that?” he grumbles.
“Do what?”
