Page 17 of The Year of Us: June

He wasted no time sampling the wine. She’d barely left the table, leaving the bottle behind for us, when Reese took a sip.

“How is it?” I asked, somewhat curious. I’d been a whiskey drinker for as long as I could remember.

“It’s nice.”

I took a sip and while I’d never give up my whiskey, I had to admit that the bubbly wine was a pleasant change.

“So, paint and sip?” Reese looked at the blank canvas in front of him, and then back at me.

“I’m not really a high-octane kind of boyfriend. So, if you were hoping for sky diving or bungee jumping, I’m sorry to disappoint.

He looked like he wanted to reply but turned his attention to the artist slash instructor at the front of the room explaining the first step of the painting.

Everything had been set up for us beforehand. All we had to do was pick up the brushes and follow along.

It turned out to be easier said than done. The background was supposed to resemble a sunrise or a sunset, with a nice blend of colors. I started out fine, but the paint didn’t seem to want to do what I wanted it to do.

Reese glanced over at my work. “You’re not really good at this, you know.”

Looking at Reese, I smirked. “I know. Regardless of what my boyfriend might think, I’m not good at everything.”

He laughed. “Oh, your boyfriend thinks you’re good at everything, does he? And what proof do you have of this?”

“No proof, just a hunch.” I poured us another glass of wine. Maybe more bubbles in my bloodstream would improve the quality of my painting.

They did not.

More wine made it even harder to master the medium. My tree looked like something out of a horror fil… or a preschool art contest. When it came time to add the cherry blossoms to the tree, I’d thoroughly resigned myself to the fact that I was a terrible artist.

But the slight humiliation at my nonexistent skill set was worth it to sit next to Reese and talk the way friends did. The way boyfriends did. I still hadn’t quite wrapped my head around the fact that Reese was my boyfriend. I was absolutely serious about him. I’d wanted him from the first moment I saw him, and that feeling had only grown in intensity every day since.

Reese looked over at my painting again and I saw the humor he tried to rein in.

“You can say it,” I told him, setting my brush down in defeat. “It’s awful.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad, Cory.” When I looked over at him and raised an eyebrow, his smile grew three times its size. “Okay, soit’s really bad. But I’m keeping both of these, and I’m hanging them up in my apartment.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’d be fine pitching mine into the nearest dumpster.”

“Don’t you dare.” Reese leaned over and stole a kiss.

I felt a few pairs of eyes on us when he did that and while this wasn’t the time nor the place, it did give me ideas about the future. About taking him someplace where people could watch us do more than kiss.

“I’m keeping it,” Reese insisted.

“It’s going to give you nightmares.”

“It’s going to remind me of my boyfriend while he’s gone.” He grabbed his wine and took a sip. “This is the nicest date I’ve been on, maybe ever. I’m having a lot of fun, and it’s not because my cherry blossom tree came out better. It’s because you’re with me. I don’t care if your painting is honestly sort of horrible.”

“Wow.” I couldn’t help the way my amusement made me smile. “Thanks.”

“It’s the nicest date I’ve been on because it’s with you.”

Right. Through. The. Heart. Reese’s words weren’t a line at all. He’d never been anything but unfailingly honest with me, even when it had been hard for him.

“You’re smooth. Did you know that?”

“I’m aware,” Reese told me. “I’ve also heard that flattery will get me everywhere and I’m sort of counting on that.”