Page 70 of Under My Skin
There’s a soft ding overhead as I open the door wide enough for her to come in. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she says, a little sheepish. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.”
Closing the door behind her, I turn the lock. “Everything okay?”
She nods, her shoulders rising and falling as she takes a breath. “Yeah. All good.”
I’m not sure I believe her, but she quickly goes from looking at me to looking around the shop. “You’re the only one here?”
With a shrug, I head back toward the desk so we can see each other better. “It was a light day.”
She looks around again, like she’s trying to piece together what I’m still doing here. “Anything I can help with?”
Returning to where I was standing behind the desk, I shake my head. “No. I wasn’t really working on anything.” Grabbing the sketchbook and pencil, I set both aside before bringing my attention back to her.
Lucy’s eyes still linger on the book for a moment before darting back to me. “Were you drawing?”
My heart rate rises at the thought of her knowing she was the inspiration for my latest sketch. What would she think? She saidwe should keep things between us casual, and I’m fine with that, but nothing about drawing her from memory in my spare time makes it seem that way. “Oh.” I scratch the side of my head as I glance at the book in question. “I was just messing around. Nothing important.”
Her eyes shine brighter, all hope I had of her dismissing the topic fades when she asks, “Can I see?”
No.“Sure.”
Shit.
Why can’t I say no to her? I mean, I guess I know why. It’s the look on her face at this very moment. It’s the way her smile brightens the entire room. I like seeing her happy. Scratch that, I like being the one whomakesher happy. I want to be the reason for it, even if it’s something small.
I slide the closed sketchbook in her direction and hope she’ll start at the beginning and get bored before she makes it to the end.
Standing at the side edge of the desk, she gingerly picks up the worn pages like she’s handling archives at a museum. She opens the first page and pauses, her eyes flicking upward to meet mine.
“Everett,” she says softly, and something foreign in my chest clenches. My muscles tense as she carefully turns one page and then another. I can’t even see which sketches she’s looking at until she eventually lays the book flat and slides it closer to me as she joins me behind the desk. “You drew all of these?”
I glance down at the sketch of the shop I did a few weeks ago and nod, not sure what to say.
She turns the page again to reveal a half finished drawing of a man sitting on the bench out front as he reads the newspaper. A lot of these sketches are rough. They’re mostly just a way to kill time between clients, and a lot of them were drawn before Hal started working on the apartment upstairs. Now, whenever I have downtime, I’m up there with him, trying to figure out what exactly I’m paying for.
She thumbs through a few more pages, and with each one, theshop feels hotter. It isn’t until she pauses and looks up at me again that I can breathe a little easier. Maybe she’s seen enough. Maybe she never has to know I was just fixated on the pattern of lightly scattered freckles that compliment her cheeks.
“Everett, you’re so talented.” She beams at me, and it feels good. It would probably feel a lot better if she wasn’t getting closer to the page I left off at, but it still feels good.
“Thanks.” I rest my elbows on the desk, and my thumb taps an anxious rhythm.
“I mean, I knew you were an artist. Even years ago, but I had no idea . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but I know she’s found it. Even without looking down at the pages lying flat on the desk, her silence is all the confirmation I need.
I should look at her, but I can’t. My stare stays fixed on my reflection in the dimly lit glass storefront. “You drew this?” she asks, and I brace myself for her reaction.
“Yeah.”
She looks up at me. “When?”
“A few minutes ago.”
Her eyes briefly widen before a slight frown tugs at the corners of her lips. “You drew me?”
I knew she’d think it was weird. “It’s nothing. I don’t even know why I did it. I should probably scrap it.” I go to reach for the pad, but she snatches it out of my reach.
“Don’t you dare,” she says, her eyes burning with that familiar fierceness. She slips in front of me, her back resting against the edge of the desk. “Why did you draw me?”
