Page 10 of Nico
They spoke of art, something they both had in common. He explained the methods to her as they stopped at the crest of the hill that had the town spread out in magnificent glory before their eyes.
Taking her hand, he linked their fingers as he began. "You're sure you want to hear? I don't want to bore you."
Angling her head, she glanced at him. "Have you ever known me not to speak my mind?" she chided.
"Never since I met you." He grinned at her. "I have been known to get carried away with my explanations. Like a lecturer droning on and putting his students to sleep."
Leaves rustled, and the sun slipped behind a patch of gray clouds, but they did not notice.
"If and when that happens, I'll let you know. You know how interested I am in your work."
He gave her an appreciative smile.
"I first thought I wanted to paint."
"You do paint."
He tugged on her hand to remind her to be quiet while he discoursed. "I thought I wanted to paint. I was fascinated with the colors, the techniques, the simple or complexities of capturing something on canvas or even on wax." His expression turned inward, and she had the feeling he was far away. "But then I started studying sculpting."
A smile tugged at his sensuous lips and sent her heart skittering. "I went to an art exhibit in a tiny Italian village and was fascinated. It was rough and amateurish at best, but the enthusiasm, the simple glow of the gentleman showed that he was lost in his work."
He squinted as several squirrels made a play for a lone chestnut before racing up the bark of the oak tree.
He turned to face her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
His touch was gentle, grounding her in the present. She watched him, noticing the way his eyes collected the shifting light, as if he were cataloging each fleeting shade for some future masterpiece.
"I realized then," he continued, "that sculpture is painting in three dimensions. It's about releasing the form that already waits inside the stone or clay. There's something raw and honest about it, almost primal. With every chisel mark, you're discovering what's hidden."
She listened, captivated, her gaze softening. "Isn't that what art is? Revealing what's hidden, giving shape to things most people only sense but never see?"
He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Exactly. When I'm working the clay, my hands get caked and dry, and time falls away. I lose myself, and for those hours, I'm not thinking about bills or deadlines or anything else. It's just creation, and me in the middle of it."
She leaned into his side, letting her head rest on his shoulder as they looked out over the valley. The world was hushed in that moment, the wind whispering secrets through the trees, the golden hush of autumn pressing close.
"Promise you'll show me your studio someday?" she asked quietly.
He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Promise. Maybe you'll even let me teach you, if you're brave enough to get your hands dirty."
A laugh bubbled from her, genuine and free. "With you, I think I'd try anything."
They lingered at the crest, watching as sunlight returned in shimmering patches, and for a while, words were unnecessary, the silence between them filled with the gentle promise of shared dreams.
He treated her to ice cream. The park was on their way back to her place and was mostly empty because of the weather.
Double mint chocolate which happened to be her favorite and held her hand as they wound their way through the maze of playground equipment and swings empty and clanking almost eerily as if some magic hands were moving them. Leaning forward, he captured a smudge at the seam of her lips and turned it into a kiss that stole her breath.
"Just wanted to get a taste of yours." He had bought strawberry for himself. "And of you." He guided them to a bench at the far end of the park which afforded them some privacy and shade from the rising wind.
"This is nice." She murmured. "And feels like a date."
Wrapping his hand around her shoulders, he hugged her to him. "I would like to take you out on a proper date." He rubbed a hand up and down her arm absently. "We get dressed up and have a night out on the town. The function I'm hoping you'll accompany me to on Saturday does not count. Dinner and dancing and necking on the dance floor."
Turning her head, she stared at him. "You dance?" She laughed at the injured look on his face.
"I happen to be a terrific dancer. Both my sister and I were required to take ballroom dancing when we were growing up."
"Of course." Her dry tone had him tugging on her lobe.
