Page 14 of Switched At Birth

I take a moment in my head to do a touchdown celebration, but another ping sounds from my phone.

Kate:Btw, how did the date go? Did it get your creative juices flowing again? Shit, it’s still early. Please tell me you hit it off.

I laugh at her text. She’s rather intrusive.

Me:Yes, we really connected, but not in the way you’re thinking. We said goodbye after the date, and are seeing each other tomorrow night.

Kate:Not what I had in mind when I set both of you up. Don’t be getting your heart hurt. I need more pieces. So,The Brideis coming soon?

The Brideis the name of my next painting, and right now it’s more of a pain in my ass than anything. Something is off with it, and I can’t seem to transfer it onto the paper the way I imagined. But I’m unable to figure out what’s wrong.

Me:It’s coming.

I should skip it and go to the next piece and try it at a later date, but my mind doesn’t work that way.

Kate:Okay, keep me posted and be sure to stop by the studio tomorrow to pick up your check unless you want me to mail it to you.

Opening up my banking app, I realize I’ll have to go pick it up.

Me:Will be by mid-afternoon.

Perfect. I can have Noah meet me at the studio. I fall back on my bed, a huge smile on my face. And if I were to wager a guess, I’d say it’s how I’ll sleep all night.

* * *

I rollout of bed the next morning and stare atThe Bride, which is lying on my art desk. Frustration hits me immediately.

Water colors tend to streak if painted at an easel, though I’d rather paint at one. Sometimes I do, using it as a technique, if I need my colors to run into each other. And, I hate sitting down. Adjusting my desk to waist height, I gaze upon the subject of my painting. She’s beautiful, with high cheekbones and her black hair wispy to give it the effect that it’s wind-blown, just like her wedding dress.

But she’s not smiling, or at least smiling like a bride should on her wedding day. Why did I paint a sullen bride? I work out a sketch on a separate piece of paper, trying to decide what’s missing in the backdrop. I don’t have anything painted yet. Should I add something? I wanted simple and elegant with this piece but it’s not coming to me.

I turn to my watch and jolt when I see it’s nearly one in the afternoon. I’ve not eaten all day. I started this project, straight from waking up, without my cup of coffee, and time has slipped away.

The shower is quick, and I think of Noah. What is this chemistry I feel, and why is it so strong?

I grab for my phone and my wallet. I have eight minutes until the bus arrives, and it’s a block away. I tug on my heavy coat and slap a hat on my head before hurrying into the late winter weather, still cold by Seattle standards.

The bus isn’t at the stop, but all that’s on my mind is the upcoming date with Noah, and I don’t even notice the cold.

9

Noah

People are oftenthe subjects of my paintings, though in an abstract way. It’s still obvious it’s a human being. Last night, however, my vision was on one thing and one thing alone. And it was the profile of Ashton. My strokes are still not as precise as Ash’s are, but it’s a different feel from my other pieces.

I’ll show this to Kate and no one else. I most likely won’t sell it, though I’d love to showcase it with the rest of my work, eventually.

I pull back the door of the art studio, immediately graced with the familiar profile of a man who is invading my every fucking thought. Kate’s behind the receptionist’s area, a large, high countertop that hides all the various stuff that is needed at the front desk.

“Noah. Hey. I hope you’re here to deliver new paintings for me?” Kate says as her greeting.

My painting is secure in my portfolio bag, and I have no intention of showing Ashton how much he’s affected me already.

Ashton twirls around with the mention of my name, and his lips split into an incredible smile that has my knees weak for him.

“If you’re going to be in your office later, I’ll bring it back to show you, Kate.”

She lets out a chuckle. “Well, I know when I’m not wanted.” She hands Ash an envelope and disappears to the back.

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