Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 17558 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 17558 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 88(@200wpm)___ 70(@250wpm)___ 59(@300wpm)
“I’ll take a look,” I say. “As long as we make it quick.”
2
Lucy
I was so excited about taking Titus to my bedroom to show him my artwork, but now as he follows me up the stairs, I feel more nervous than I’ve ever felt about anything in my life—including when I sang at Homecoming.
I know I’ve changed since Titus last saw me, but so has he.
The last time I saw him, he was definitely a rugged, in-shape Marine, but now it’s like he’s filled out into a big bear of a man, like one of those soldiers from the movie 300. All he needs is a shield and spear and he would fit the part completely.
Men like him are only supposed to exist in the movies or on high-fashion posters. The moment I saw him on there on the porch with my dad I couldn’t believe it was him.
I guess that’s why I want him to care so much about my art, and as we step through the door of my bedroom, my heartrate instantly soars.
“So what’s this art of yours…?” Titus asks, but his voice trails off when he sees the paintings I’ve got laid out around my room. There’s a pause, which probably isn’t long but feels like the longest pause of my life, as he looks around.
I almost want to punch him in the chest and ask him what he thinks, but I wait, doing my best to be a good girl, as he takes it all in.
His eyes stop on my latest, a sunset done from the back porch that actually isn’t finished just yet. To dismay, he points to it.
“I like this one. It reminds me of our barbeque.”
“That one’s actually not finished yet,” I say.
“Coulda fooled me.” He chuckles, and my tummy goes all fuzzy. “I like these. You’ve got some real talent, Lucy.”
His words go right through me. It’s strange, because four years ago when we last saw each other, we were close, but we weren’t that close. But for some reason, right now, I’m almost desperate for his approval.
I look over at him, and that tingle in my tummy spreads to my entire body as I see him looking at me. Titus towers over me. I mean, he must be at least a foot taller than me and could probably pick me up and throw me over his shoulder like a sack of dirt.
I don’t know why I just pictured that particular image…
“When did you learn to paint?” he asks, breaking the silence.
“Huh? I…um. I started taking art classes my freshman year,” I stutter like an idiot. “Mrs. Keller told me I had talent, so I just kept pursuing it.”
“Well, she was right.”
I smile and take a step closer, but for some reason, Titus takes a step back. I notice he’s also turned away from me, standing kind of sideways. Maybe his knee or his hip is hurting him? An injury from overseas maybe?
I know better than to ask.
“Well, I’ve got a favor to ask you, Titus,” I say, lowering the volume of my voice. “Could you speak to my father about me going to college?”
Titus raises his eyebrows. “Speak to him how?”
“Well…he wants me to go, but I don’t want to. I want to stay home and work on my art. I’ve already had three shows at local art galleries, and I have a great following online, but my dad wants me to…how does he put it? Play it—”
“Play it safe,” Titus says, finishing my sentence for me.
I smile. “Exactly.”
Titus nods. “I’ll talk to him for you.”
Happiness flows through me like golden waves. I feel like the universe has blessed me with Titus’s return from overseas. But at the same time, I feel like I simply don’t know what to do.
I have little to no experience with the opposite gender, especially with someone as incredible as the man now standing in my bedroom. I feel like I should say something—something more than “Thank you!” But that’s all that comes out of my mouth, and I just stand there like a doofus after looking at him wishing I knew what to say.
But all I can do is think about what it must have been like for him overseas, fighting for our country, putting his life on the line while other men tried to kill him. And for some reason, that makes me take a very, very deep breath right in front of him.
“You all right?” he asks.
“Yeah, I—” I’m trying to come up with an answer when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Thank God, I think, but when I pull it out and see who it is texting me, my heart sinks.
It’s a text from Eric, this guy I went to school with who was on the hockey team and graduated a couple years ago. He and I started talking a few weeks ago, and two nights ago, he asked if I wanted to go to the movies with him this Friday.