Page 44 of The Breaking Pointe
and I’m still trying to find it.
The more I browse this room, the more artwork I’m faced with.Sculptures of different sized angels, or people that I can only assume he’s seen somewhere in his lifetime. Some paintings are the same, with the same muse, only doing a different action.It’s like being at the museum all over again, only this exhibit is Colton’s mindset. It’s a beautiful mindset. An extremely creative one, indeed.
Walking along the wall, I come up to a canvas on another easel, this one partially covered with a sheet.
Taking a look over my shoulder to check for any sign of company, I find nobody, then snap my head back to the picture. Lifting the sheet, I hold the candle slightly closer, making out the scribbles that were formed into a giant black auraofahuman.Hehasnoface,buthehaslimbsand a mouth.There are dark specks all around his head, too. Almost like firework sparks.He’s screaming and holding something up to his head that resembles a hammer in a way. This one isn’t beautiful like the others.I step closer, looking at the aura-like creature’s hand.
The specks aren’t specks anymore—they’re blood.The hammer isn’t so hammer-like, either.It’s more like a gun.
“Noelle?” A deep, formidable voice rings behind me. “You in here?”
I drop the sheet, spinning around.“Yeah, just browsing,” I respond.
He stands in the doorway, luring me closer with his presence until I’m standing directly in front of him.
“Find anything you like?” he asks, leaning on the wall. “Onlythethoughtthatyoucould’vebroughtmehere,
instead.You have half an art museum right here in your home.”
He makes a whimsical facial expression, telling me he doesn’t agree with his eyes.
“That wouldn’t exactly be a proper date, if I did that, now would it?” He bites his bottom lip briefly.
“I’m not sure if it means anything, but if I knew that this was what you were about, I would’ve accepted the date a lot sooner.” I shrug. “You didn’t have to think about making anything romantic tonight. You just…did it.”
His quirky smile goes soft while he lets his empty hand rake through his thick hair. The floor has caught his atten- tion again, helping him hide the fact that I’m successful in making his cheeks turn cherry red.His smile is one of the most compelling ones I’ve been graced with, and so is his jawline. And he’s so unaware of it.
“Why don’t we go in the living room.I got a hell of a lot more light in there, now,” he says, grasping one of my shoulders as I follow him.
I want him to believe me.I wouldn’t think I would be someone to boast about a man’s greatness ever again, but I have to.So far it feels like he takes every compliment as if it were one of those rain droplets outside.He lets them
all roll off his body like he’s made of steel.It’s sweet that he’s humble, and that’s beyond the bounds of attractiveness to me.But he doesn’t believe a damn thing I say, and it’s self-evident.
We walk over to the casement part of the window, and I sit down, pretzel style, leaning against the window. All that’s visible is smog and smoke.You can still see the city lights and all the buildings shining from how high we were.It’s mesmerizing when you’re looking at it in real life, but he looks at this every single day. I don’t ever want to leave. It’s quiet, and calm. He has an amazing view, and for once, I’m not distracted by how homesick I always am.I don’t have Lauren or Tony being cringe in the corner of my eye, either. It’s pushing around eight o’clock now; we must have spent most of our day at the museum it seems. I lost track of time there,andnowhere.Mynextconcern,outofthethousand
that I have already, is overstaying my welcome.
“This view is so crazy. I can’t believe you live here alone,” I say, looking at him.
He’s opening another bottle of wine, eager to pour me a fresh glass, while also replenishing his beer.I’m already guilty of drinking most of the previous one. He’s being too nice now, and this wine is different.Something with a maple leaf.
“Oh, I’m not that alone. I got Bonnie.” He chuckles softly, holding the bottle and beer in one arm and picking up my glass with his free hand.
“Haha,” I say sarcastically, smiling.“You know what I mean, though…”
He bounces his shoulders, approaching me as he sits next to me.
He sets my glass between us on the windowsill.“I do. Trust me, I’m not your happiest camper,” he says, cracking open the fresh beer.
“What’s that?”I pry, scooting a bit closer to him as I point to the bottle.
“It’s called ‘Chateau La Mission Haut Brion’,” he answers. So, it’s French.Time to embarrass myself even more.
“I got it in Canada a few months ago,” he adds, averting his eyes from me.
“Canada.”I grin, nodding.“So, it’s French?”I ask, needing to confirm that I’m not a dummy.
Henods.“Yougetit.”IthinkIgetit?
