Page 42 of The Heart of a Painter (As I Am 1)

“From the look on your face when you received his messages, I’dsay you’dbe right on time.” She got up and walked to the kitchen. “Ihope you left some room; Ibaked you your favorite red velvet cupcakes.”

Corey, who sat unsarcastically silent throughout our conversation, jumped. “Am Iinvisible?”

“There’re plenty of cupcakes for you too, Corey.” Mom’slaugh and talk about desserts lightened the whole house and my mood with it.

Thomas continued sending me cute messages that rode the line between friendly and not so friendly, until they reached their crescendo on the first day of the new year.

His clients were resting from the massive celebrations, and when he texted me, Iwas snuggled underneath the covers.

Thomas:How did you celebrate New Year’s?

Me:You know me, Ilove to party.

Thomas:Huh. Reruns of Wizard of Oz then went to bed early?

Me:And I’mthe one who’spaying too much attention. What time is it there anyway?

Thomas:7 AM. Just got back from the gym. You?

Me:10 PM. Aren’tyou tired from last night?

Thomas:Iattended an early dinner, then skipped the parties. I’mtoo old for theNovyGods parties.

Me:Are you Russian-ingat me again?

Thomas:New Year’scelebrations, ignorant American.

Me:Hey! I’mnot that ignorant and you’re an American too.

Thomas:Okay, tell me something about Russia that you didn’thear from me.

Me:The women there are beautiful. Insanely beautiful.

The comment was meant to test him, and instead of an answer to my concerns, the conversation came to ahalt. The dotted line signaling him typing lit up, then disappeared. On again, then off again, testing my patience as Iheld on to my phone tight.

It took him forever to answer and amillion miniscule knots of doubt tightened inside my belly until his reply came in, unfurling them into long silky ropes instead.

Thomas:There’snothing more beautiful than what Ihave back home.

Icollapsed on the bed, lying down and holding the phone to my chest.

When Icame down from the high, Iscrambled my brain for areply. Since we were in the profession of visual arts, Iopted for aphoto combined with words. Snapping aselfie of myself making aduck face, Iwrote:This is what you consider beautiful?

His reply came within seconds.

Thomas:Ugh, those lips. Ihaven’tstopped thinking about them, how they felt against mine.

Reading these words made my insides turn, the need to reach out through the phone ever so strong. Then Iimagined his voice saying these things to me and Ilegit melted, the heat spreading out from my cheeks and way down to my center.

Ididn’twant him to stop.

Angling the phone lower, Iaimed to capture more of my body. From my head to my cleavage, parting my lips slightly, Thomas got aclear view of the top part of my body.

Me:These?

Thomas:Fuck.

Thomas:Yes.