by Robin Huber
“Sebastian doesn’t know me very well.” He smiles and pulls me close. “If you took your ring off at the studio, it’s there somewhere.” He kisses the top of my head. “You’ll find it.”
The breath I was holding rushes out, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“I need a shower.” He pulls his shirt off and drops it at my feet. “Want to join me?”
I give a weak smile and shake my head. “I already showered.”
He winks and walks into the bathroom. “I’m still waiting for that rain check,” he says before he closes the door.
I know.
I climb into bed, close my eyes, and hide under the covers, hoping to fall asleep before he returns.
“That one,” Sebastian says, pointing to one of three paintings I’m considering for the last spot in the exhibit. “It’s dark and depressing, just like you,” he says, staring at the canvas, smirking.
I narrow my eyes and glare at him, but he ignores me.
“Fine. That one,” I say, stalking off to my office to sulk. It’s been a week since Sam’s interview, so I know he must be back in Atlanta, but I still haven’t found the courage to call him. Much to Sebastian’s dismay, the angst is making me miserable, but every time I reach for my phone, I’m paralyzed with anxiety. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of: looking into Sam’s beautiful eyes and saying goodbye, or knowing that I might not be able to. But I can’t wait much longer. I have to get my ring back. Drew left for Philadelphia again this morning, so there’s no excuse to delay any longer.
The day is almost over now, I justify to myself. Tomorrow is better.
“Darling,” Janice calls from the front of the studio.
I walk out of my office and find her hanging off Sebastian’s arm, clutching a large white garment bag. “I have a surprise for you,” she sings, and snuggles in close to Sebastian. “I brought you the most beautiful wedding gown to try on,” she squeals.
Sebastian smiles at me with big animated eyes but does nothing to dissuade her. Before I can say anything, she’s dragging me to my office.
“Oh, Janice, I don’t know if right now is the best time.”
“Darling, there’s never going to be a best time. That’s the price you pay for being Atlanta’s most talented up-and-coming artist. You’re in high demand. It’s a sign of success. Don’t be discouraged. But you’re going to have to learn to be flexible or this wedding is never going to happen.”
I swallow down my reluctance and try to be gracious.
“Sebastian, wait out front,” she instructs. “You can be the judge.”
“Okay,” he says, spinning around with a smirk.
I stand still for the next several minutes while Janice cinches me into the ivory lace dress. When she’s finished, she pulls her hands to her mouth and gasps. “This is it. This is the one.”
Do I get a say? I look in the mirror to see what all the fuss is about, and a sharp pinch shoots across my chest when I see my reflection. The dress is beautiful. It’s simple and elegant. It’s exactly my style. But something about wearing it feels wrong.
“Let’s go see what it looks like in the light. Come on, you can show Sebastian,” she says, gathering the train in her hands.
I lift the bottom of the dress and walk out to the front of the studio with Janice trailing me.
“Oh, Lucy.” Bas pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and breathes deeply. “It’s really beautiful.”
Janice spreads the delicate train out on the floor, beaming as she admires the dress from every angle. She turns me from side to side and spins me around to look at the back of the dress in the light. “Oh, hello,” she says, looking over my shoulder, and I cringe because I know someone just walked in, probably thinking they’re in the wrong place.
I turn around to see who she’s speaking to, and the earth stops spinning. Sebastian and Janice disappear and all I see is Sam. He looks at me as if no one else is in the room and says, “Hi.”
“Hi,” I breathe, drinking him in. His hair is combed back and he’s freshly shaven. He’s wearing a snug navy-blue V-neck sweater with the sleeves pushed up, slate-gray pants, and brown leather utility boots. His casted hand is hanging by his side and his other hand is dangling from his pocket.
“I’m Janice Christiansen,” Janice says proudly, reaching out to shake his hand.
“Hi, I’m Sam,” he says warily.
She looks at me and then smiles at Sam curiously. “Are you a friend of Lucy’s?”
Sebastian coughs.
“Um, yes,” he says, glancing at me, “a very old friend.”
“We grew up together,” I add. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. Or the right one.
“Really?” she breathes. “I’ve never met anyone from Lucy’s past before.” She puts her hand on my back and coos, “I just thought she dropped straight down from heaven, like a little angel.”
Sam lowers his eyes to the dress and follows the delicate ivory lace all the way up to my face. “I can see why you would think that.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “I’m sorry, let me go change. I was just trying this on.” I fumble over my words and gather the material up in my hands.
“Wait a minute, you’re the boxer.” Realization flashes across Janice’s face, and I freeze. She grabs Sam’s hand and drags him across the studio.
“Janice, what are you doing?” I ask anxiously, following on their heels.
Sebastian gives me big eyes and shrugs.
She pulls Sam to the back of the studio and stops in front of the canvas I’ve been working on for the past month. Before I can stop her, she pulls the drop cloth off the painting. “It’s you”—she smiles at him—“right?”
I feel Sebastian’s hand wrap around mine and squeeze tight. Sam takes a step back and stares at the six-foot canvas. He reaches for the back of his neck, and I watch his shoulders rise up and down slowly.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Janice asks me with a smile still plastered on her face.
“I, um…” I swallow hard and let go of Sebastian’s hand. I pick up the drop cloth and drape it back over the canvas. “I’m not finished with it. It isn’t finished,” I explain, feeling wildly self-conscious under Sam’s eyes, which I can’t even look at.
“Oh…” Janice puts her hand over her mouth. “Did I ruin the surprise?”
I shake my head with disbelief. “How did you even know about it?” I ask, feeling utterly exposed.
“Oh, you know me,” she says, flippantly. “I’m just so nosy, I couldn’t help myself. Were you saving it for the exhibit?”
“Yes,” Sebastian interjects. “She was.”
Sebastian! I shoot daggers at him with my eyes.
“Oh, good.” She claps her hands together. “It’s perfect. Has Drew seen it?”
An audible gasp escapes me.
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She grabs Sam’s arm and declares, “I have the best idea.”
Oh, no.
“We should get together and have dinner on Saturday…all of us.”
What? Absolutely not!
“My place is a mess, my kitchen is under a total remodel, but I’m sure Drew wouldn’t mind cooking for us when he gets back in town.” She looks at me with excited eyes. “Right, Lucy?”
Is this really happening?
“Sebastian, you should bring Peter.”
Who’s Peter?
“I think you mean Paul,” he corrects.
“Oh, yes, of course, bring Paul. It will be a great time.”
No, it will not be a great time!
Sebastian looks as shocked as I feel, but when I look at Sam, he has a mischievous grin on his face. “That sounds great. I’d love to,” he says, to Janice’s delight, and I look at him like he’s grown a second head.
“Wonderful. It’s set, then. Lucy will give you all the details.” She spins around. “I have to get going, but it was lovely to meet you, Sam. Lucy, I’m leaving everything in your capable hands.” She
leaves the room, taking all the air with her.
Sebastian gives me sympathetic eyes, but I’m still irritated at him for offering up my painting for the exhibit.
“Sebastian, right?” Sam asks, reaching out to shake his hand.
Sebastian nods and shakes Sam’s hand. “Yes, that’s right.” He looks at me and then casually tucks his hands into the pockets of his slim-fit chinos. “I need to get going.”
I look at him with panicked eyes, but he backs away heedlessly.
“It was good to see you again,” he says to Sam. He gives me an eager look. “I’ll lock up on my way out.”
I bob my head reluctantly, feeling the edges of anxiety prick down my arms and legs, especially when I realize that Janice trapped me in this dress. But when I look at Sam, all the worry and sorrow I’ve felt over the last week begins to evaporate.
“Hi,” he says, looking into my eyes, sending my heart sprinting.
“Hi,” I say, gazing up at him. I try to shake off the remnants of Janice’s overbearing presence. “Sorry about Janice. She’s a little over the top.”
He holds my stare for a long second. “You didn’t call.”
I look into his eyes but don’t know how to tell him that I didn’t call because I’m not ready to say goodbye to him yet.
“I guess I’m not as good at waiting as I thought.” He glances down and my dress. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
I shake my head and huff. “This was Janice.” I look down at the dress awkwardly and notice his casted hand. I reach for it and carefully lift it up. “Your hand.”
“It’s fine.”
“Does it hurt?”
He shakes his head and pushes his lips into a small pout. “Pain is fleeting.”
My eyes flash to his.
“It’s missing from the painting.”
I lower his hand and try to hide my embarrassment. “I know…tattoos aren’t exactly the easiest thing to paint.”
He looks at me curiously.
“It’s like trying to copy someone else’s artwork. Besides, I can only get so much detail from a picture.” I point to the tattoos covering his forearm. “You were a blank slate when I knew you.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You still know me.”
“You know what I mean.” I glance at his arm again. “Did that hurt?”
“My tattoos?”
I nod.
“You don’t have any?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I give him a reproachful look. “That’s a bit of a double standard, isn’t it?”
He smiles softly. “It would be a travesty to mar something so beautiful.”
My breath leaves me in a rush, and his words burn across my skin like wildfire.
“And yes, they hurt.”
I swallow hard. “You said pain is fleeting.”
“It is. But sometimes it reminds us that we’re still alive.”
I nod, trying to slow the thoughts that are racing through my mind.
“Do you want to see them?”
Excitement and apprehension fight for their place in line.
“Maybe then you can finish the painting.”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I wasn’t exactly planning on anyone seeing it.”
He looks at me with sincerity in his eyes that calms my racing heart. “Can I see it again?”
I chew the corner of my mouth. “Okay.” I turn around, take a deep breath, and pull the drop cloth off the canvas, letting it fall to the floor.
Sam stands beside me and stares at the painting for several silent seconds. “It’s really incredible.”
I glance up at him hesitantly. “You think so?”
He looks at me with awe in his eyes. “I’ll never get over how talented you are.”
I smile and touch the canvas, lightly tracing my fingers over his gloves. “I had a pretty remarkable subject.”
“Are you really going to use it in your exhibit? Or was Sebastian just trying to rile you up?”
I blink a few times, surprised by his intuition.
“That’s never been very hard to do.” He masks a smile. “He must know you pretty well.”
I close my eyes briefly, thinking about Sebastian’s brazen declaration. “He does. And…I don’t know. Maybe. If I can finish it in time.”
The corners of his mouth turn up. “I can help you with that.”
I laugh softly. “You want me to finish it now?”
He shrugs. “Unless there’s somewhere else you need to be.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Nowhere else.” And if there was, I’d cancel. I’d fake an illness or a flat tire. I’d say I was robbed at gunpoint if I had to, just to spend another minute with him. The thought is more than troubling. How am I going to say goodbye to Sam when I can barely stand the thought of him leaving? “Just…let me change out of this.”
I hurry to my office and close the door behind me, grateful for a minute alone to calm my racing heart and clear my clouded head. But I soon realize that I can’t reach the buttons on the back of the dress. Janice! I reluctantly open the door and call for help. “Sam?”
He walks into my office with an inquisitive look.
“I can’t reach the buttons,” I say, turning around and squeezing my eyes shut.
“Oh, okay,” he says, walking up behind me, standing so close I can feel the heat coming off him. He reaches for the top button and unhooks the silk loop from around it. “Good thing they didn’t wrap up my whole hand,” he says, and I laugh awkwardly. He’s quiet as his fingers move down my back, but I feel his warm breath against the exposed skin between my shoulder blades each time he unloops another button.
“Sorry.” I force my eyes open and try not to sound breathy. “This dress is ridiculous.”
He leans in so that his mouth is right next to my ear and whispers, “It’s beautiful.”
I breathe in and out slowly, trying to find my heart. “I think I’ve got it from here.”
He takes a step back, and I welcome the space between us.
“I’ll be right out,” I say, closing the door behind him when he leaves. I lean against it and wait for the feeling to return to my legs, then I step out of the dress and carefully place it back in the white garment bag, trading it for my painting clothes on the back of the door. I pull on my old tattered cutoffs and look at the ratty T-shirt in my hands. I can’t wear this. I glance around my office and see a plastic dry-cleaning bag draped over one of the chairs. Thank you, Sebastian. I tear into it and find a plain white poplin shirt, the most expendable item of the bunch, and quickly slip into it. I button up the front, roll up the sleeves, and head back into the studio.
Sam raises an eyebrow when I pass him.
“I just need to get my paints,” I say, walking across the cool cement floor on my bare feet. I return a few seconds later, dragging my paint cart behind me.
Sam smiles and crosses his arms over his broad chest, watching me intently as I prepare everything. I grab a small paint-covered remote from my cart and point it at the ceiling. “Lighting,” I explain, adjusting the lights until they’re just right.
He uncrosses his arms and reaches for the hem of his sweater with his good hand, pulling it up over his chiseled abs and chest, and I watch with anticipation like the unveiling of a masterpiece.
“I think I might need some help,” he says, struggling to get it over his head with one hand.
“Oh.” I step toward him and assess the situation. “Other arm first.” I laugh, tugging his sweater back down. I raise his arms above his head, and he holds them there while I work the sweater up over his stomach and chest. I stand on my tiptoes to get it over his head and shoulders, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and laundry detergent that lingers on his warm skin. He tries to take over, but his sleeve gets caught on his cast. “Here,” I say, carefully pulling it down his forearm and gently tugging it over his cast.
His eyes meet mine, and I could dive righ
t into them and swim around for days. “Thanks,” he says, low and husky. He lowers his hand to his side and stands before me like a perfectly sculpted statue, wearing slacks and boots.
I drop his sweater on the floor. “Sorry,” I say, realizing what I did. I lean down to pick it up, but Sam catches my wrist.
“Leave it.” He pulls me back up and inadvertently closer to him, making me stumble backward. But he puts his hand behind my back to catch me. “Careful.” I feel the warmth of his skin under my hands and his breath on my forehead, but I don’t look up, because I know that if I see even a glimpse of the yearning I feel right now in his eyes, I might not be able to pull away from him.
His hand falls away, and I’m both relieved and disappointed at once.
I raise my eyes slightly, but only as far as his chest, which I study carefully. I drop my head to the side and examine every detail and explore every line of the tattoos that cover him. I bring my hands up between us and touch the words scrolled beneath his collarbone. Pain Is Fleeting. I trace the letters, following the loops and memorizing the curves of the font with my finger. Sam lets out a heavy breath, and goose bumps flash across his skin.
“Sorry. It gets cold in here sometimes.”
“I’m not cold,” he says hoarsely.
My eyes flash to his, but I quickly avert them when I see the way that he’s looking at me. I pause and quietly explain, “It helps me feel how I should paint it.” I concentrate on my task, tracing the beautiful lion that covers his heart, memorizing its ferocious eyes and teeth with my fingers. I follow its mane over his shoulder, turning him slightly to see how it connects to the tattoos that cover his arm. “Okay,” I say, when I’m ready to start.
“You forgot one.” He holds his hand above his shoulder, showing me the small tattoo that’s scrolled across his rib cage.
I inhale a deep breath of the thick air surrounding us and press my fingers to it lightly. I trace the cursive letters carefully. L-a-m-b.
“That one hurt the most,” he whispers, piercing my heart and stealing the breath from my lungs. He finishes me with a devastating look that stokes a fire burning deep inside me.