Page 15 of Beyond the Lines
Shut up,I think, banishing my stupid thoughts.It’s not like we’re doing anything… (yet?)…
He holds his hand out and his smile widens, andoh, that’snotfair atall. “Declan. Everyone calls me Dec.”
“Lea.” I shake his hand, noting the careful way he holds mine. “Short for Leanndra, but only my Mom calls me that… when she’s mad...”
“I’ll try not to make you mad, Lea,” he says.
“Tell me about your art…”
His eyes light up, and as he launches into a story about his latest project—a series of rural landscapes done in charcoal—I find myself drawn in by his enthusiasm, by theway his hands move when he talks, and by the way the party lights dance in his eyes.
I’m in so much trouble,I think.But trouble can be fun, right?
“So what’s your medium?” I ask, unable to hide my excitement at finding another artist, and trying to ignore my attraction. “You mentioned charcoal…”
“Yeah, there’s something about the way it moves, how you can create these really deep shadows…” His eyes light up. “But I also paint. Oils, mostly. You?”
“Graphite for sketching,” I say. “But for painting, watercolors. Though I’m trying to branch out into acrylics.”
“That’s cool. What draws you to it?”
“What draws me to drawing?” I smirk at my own joke, then consider for a moment. “I think… it’s the stories that good art can tell…”
“And you prefer painting faces?”
I hesitate, suddenly cautious. “How’d you know that?”
He shrugs, a slight smile playing at his lips. “Just a guess. The way you were talking about stories… faces tell stories too, right?”
“Exactly!” I lean forward, excited. “Every line, every wrinkle—they’re like a map of someone’s life. Though I have to say, after spending the summer in Europe, I’m obsessed with painting architecture again. There was this one building in Bulgaria…”
“Bulgaria?” His eyes widen with interest. “That must have been amazing.”
“It was. Though I did get locked in an art museum there…”
He laughs. “How did you manage that?”
“Lost track of time staring at this one painting. I was so absorbed…”
“Like now?” he asks with a smirk.
I feel my cheeks blush, and I’m suddenly glad we’re in the dark. To meet this guy out of nowhere, and to have conversationsthiscomfortable… it’s like a higher power has seen me brooding about Chris and dropped the most compatible man in theworlddown in front of me.
“So, what happened?” he asks, to break the awkward silence.
“Sorry?” I look at him, confused and lost in my thoughts.
“With the museum?”
“Oh!” I exclaim, too loudly. “Uh, they turned off the lights, I set off an alarm, and I was kicked out by a security guard who waspissed.”
“Those are the best kind of travel stories though, right? The ones where everything starts wrong but somehow turns out perfect?”
Kind of like this night is heading…I think, but don’t dare verbalize.
“Exactly! Like this other time in Paris—” I catch myself. “Sorry, I’m totally dominating the conversation…”
“No, keep going. I love hearing about it.” His smile is genuine. “What brought you to Pine Barren? Besides the stellar party scene, obviously.”
