Page 8 of Her Naughty Soldier

I feel a surge of pride mixed with nervousness. I hadn't expected such a direct spotlight. Glancing at Ethan, I see a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You didn't tell me your work was being featured tonight," he remarks, a hint of awe in his voice.

I shrug, trying to play it cool but feeling the heat of the moment. "I guess I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Don’t let her downplay it,” the gallery owner scolds. “She tends to do that, but her work is amazing.”

Ethan looks at me, his gaze deep and understanding. "Well, let’s see it. Lead the way.”

Navigating through the gallery, we weave between clusters of art enthusiasts, their hushed tones creating a backdrop to the visual feast before us. Each piece we pass invites contemplation, and Ethan’s interest seems genuine. He asks questions, his observations thoughtful, revealing a depth I hadn’t expected.

As we move from one artwork to another, I offer bits of insight into each artist's style and the possible meanings behind their works. Ethan listens intently, nodding, his deep-set eyes reflecting an appreciation for the stories these canvases hold.

Finally, we arrive at my piece. It's a large, expressive painting, vibrant and abstract, yet with a clear sense of emotion and movement. The colors are bold, the lines dynamic, capturing a sense of freedom and transformation.

Ethan stands before it, silent for a moment, his gaze moving over the canvas. "This is yours?" he asks, his tone a mixture of surprise and admiration.

I nod, feeling a flutter of pride in my chest. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites from the series I'm working on. It’s about letting go and embracing change."

He turns to look at me, his expression softening. "It's incredible, Lily. You've really captured something special here."

I can feel my cheeks warm at his praise. "Thank you, Ethan. That means a lot coming from you."

We stand side by side, looking at the painting. The conversation drifts to a comfortable silence, the kind that speaks volumes. There’s an unspoken connection, a mutual respect that goes beyond words. In this moment, surrounded by art and the soft hum of the gallery, I feel closer to Ethan than ever before.

As we eventually tear ourselves away from my piece, moving through the gallery once more, the evening feels less like a simple outing and more like a journey into understanding each other. The art around us acts as a bridge, bringing us closer in a way I hadn't anticipated.

The evening winds down, and Ethan and I make our way back to Jake's place, the night air cool against our skin. The drive home is filled with an easy conversation, a comfortable silence here and there, as if we're both processing the events of the evening.

As we walk to the front door, the familiar buzz of my phone in my purse startles me. Pulling it out, I see a text from the gallery owner. My heart leaps as I read the message: my piece has sold, and for a price far beyond what I had dared to hope.

"I can't believe it," I breathe out, my voice a mix of shock and elation. "My painting sold, Ethan. And not just sold, but for a lot!"

Ethan's reaction is instant, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "That's amazing, Lily! I knew your work was special, but this... this is incredible!"

In the heat of the moment, our eyes lock, and without a word, Ethan steps closer. The next thing I know, his lips are on mine. The kiss is soft and tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, fueled by the excitement of the night and the unspoken tension that's been building between us. It feels natural, as if this moment was meant to happen.

Wrapping my arms around Ethan's neck, I pull him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands find their way to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. The heat between us is palpable, and my heart races faster and faster.

Eventually, we pull away, our foreheads resting against each other's. Ethan's eyes search mine as if trying to gauge my reaction. "Lily, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—”

But I cut him off with another kiss, letting my actions speak for themselves. This time, the kiss is less tentative, more passionate. I can feel Ethan respond, his hands gripping my waist, his body pressing into mine.

Finally, we pull away, panting. "Wow," I breathe, feeling my cheeks flush with heat. "That was unexpected."

"Yeah, it was," Ethan says, but his voice betrays a hint of reluctance. "But..."

"But it shouldn't happen again," I finish for him, suddenly very aware of the impending rejection. "I was just so happy and maybe a little buzzed."

"Right, of course," Ethan says, his voice a little unsteady. "Just the excitement of the night."

We part ways at our respective doors, the weight of the kiss lingering in the air. As I step into my room and close the door behind me, I lean against it, my mind racing. What just happened? Was it really just a spur-of-the-moment thing, or was there something more? I can still feel his lips on mine, a reminder of our shared connection.

I glance at my phone again, the message about the sale lighting up the screen. A smile tugs at my lips. I'm a real artist now, with my own show and a sold piece. But as I get ready for bed, it's not just the sale on my mind. It's Ethan and the undeniable spark between us.

Chapter 5

Ethan

Thenextevening,Jakeand I plan to watch a movie to unwind after a day’s work. The TV flickers, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit living room, and the scent of freshly popped popcorn fills the air.

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