Page 47 of The Blue Rose
“Want me to wrap that up for you?”
She hands me the painting with shaking hands. “Would you, dear? Thank you.”
I grab the painting, carefully protecting it with specialty film, and offer to put it in their car. Jerry shakes his head and says he will do it, as they walk away hand in hand, lost in their own world of bikes and fiery bursts of color.
I stare at them as they leave, wondering what life they led to get to here.
I’m startled from my thoughts when I hear a male voice I don’t recognize. “They’re such a beautiful couple.”
“They really are,” I say, turning around annoyed to see who interrupted such a peaceful moment.
Looking up I see a beautiful man, with golden eyes. A smile that reaches the orbs, giving them a spark of life you don’t often see, dimples popping out of each cheek. His hair a deep mahogany with slight curls framing his head. His face is covered in a darker beard, not long, but not stubble either. You can tell he takes his time with it, it is cut to perfection and looks more groomed than a show dog.
“You have beautiful paintings.”
I walk back behind the table, shivers racking through me. “Thank you, if there is anything I can help you with, let me know please.”
He nods his head and begins browsing.
He is good looking, and someone I would go for, the ruggedly handsome look has always been my weakness. He’s attractive, yes, but there is somethingoffabout his energy. The longer I look at his eyes when he looks at me, the more crazed they become.I hope he leaves fast. I wish Aster was here.
I wonder where he went this morning. Did he leave last night after I fell asleep? He didn’t even leave me a message, nothing. Did I do something wrong? After the night we shared, I thought we grew closer.Now I’m just sitting here, left on read, wondering what happened.
I jump when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I was saying miss for a while, and when you didn’t hear me, I thought the next thing to do was to tap your shoulder.”
“I’m so sorry, I was in my head. What can I help you with?”
“No problem, I get lost in my head, too.”
My eyes soften, “Really?”
He smiles sweetly at me. “Really.” He stares into my eyes longer than I’m comfortable with, forcing me to look away.
I don’t know why, but another man staring at me with eyes of desire makes me feel guilty. I know Aster and I aren’t together, but he is the only one I want. He is the only one Ineed. He makes me feel beautiful and wanted; when he isn’t leaving me on read. Last night was like something out of one of my dark romance books, and every minute of it was perfect. Normal people would have been horrified being fucked with a knife, but I’ve never been a normal girl. When I saw him bleeding to bring me pleasure, something inside me cracked, and I found myself wanting to bleed for him too.
He clears his throat and points to one of my paintings. “How much for this one?”
The painting is of a wrinkled hand holding the hand of a young man. The background is a light blue blending into a sky blue with wisps of white clouds all around. It feels surreal and grounded at the same time. It’s one of my favorites in my collection.
Walking over, I turn it over. “This one is sixty.” He’s leaning over my shoulder, trying to see where I’m looking, I point at the price, fighting the shiver from how close he is. “If you want to see any of the prices, you just turn it over, it is at the bottom.”
Putting the painting back where it was, I turn around and bump right into him. Holding my breath, I back away, and move to the side. “Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” I mumble, avoiding his stare.
“No reason to be sorry.”
He smiles down at me, and I feel all the hair on my arms raise. Remembering that feeling, I glance around, looking for the one person who elicits my goosebumps to rise. Looking around and not seeing him, I drop my head and walk over to the other side of my booth and start rearranging my paintings. Doing anything, but talking to my customer. Which is rude, I know, but I have a feeling he has other motivations for being here.
Tapping my shoulder once again, I refrain from rolling my eyes, already knowing who it is. I turn around and see Mr. Touchy holding the painting he was asking about.
“I’d like this one, please.”
“Sounds great.” I force a smile, grabbing the painting from him and begin wrapping it up. He hands me a hundred-dollar bill, and my blood freezes. Without touching him, I say, “It was only sixty, remember.”
He grabs my hand, placing the bill in it “I remember, this is your tip.”
I slowly pull my hand out of his “Thank you.”
