Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
“Good to know. I’m really glad I stormed in here and demanded a date from you.”
I smiled, enjoying his joke. “Me too.”
His playful expression faded away when he saw me smile. His eyes softened noticeably, his affection brightening at the same time. It was the first time I’d acknowledged something romantic about us, had opened up to him in some way, and he definitely noticed. “Can I demand a date from you tomorrow night? Our first date?”
It’d been three months, and there was no going back at this point. Bones and I were done, and I would probably never see him again. The twinge in my heart would fade in time, and maybe I needed to start dating for that discomfort to finally go away. Antonio had been patient with me, and my entire family already liked him. But most importantly, I liked him. “Yeah…I’d love to.”
Antonio stood in front of my painting, his hands resting in his pockets. He took his time in front of each one, examining the colors under the art lights. We left our dinner in the middle of the room, the wine bottle nearly empty because we both had a love of wine. “I really like this one.”
I stood beside him, my shoulder almost touching his body. “You said that about the other one.”
“Because I mean it.” He moved to the left and examined another painting, an image of a vase with yellow flowers. It was sitting on the counter of Carmen’s shop, and the background was full of tools, windows, and other flowers that were ready to be sold. The focal point was the vase, but the real subject was the flower shop in Florence. “Now…I really like this one. The vase is so simple and calm, but everything around it hints at the chaos of running a shop. From the disarrayed tools to the loose petals that have fallen on the tabletop, to Carmen working in the background. So much detail.” He continued to stare at it, his arms resting by his sides. Other people loved my paintings too, but he stared at them with professional scrutiny. His eyes were like sponges, soaking up every line and every color. He got lost in my paintings the way I did when I created them. There was no one else in the world who understood my artwork the way he did.
Examining each other’s artwork was my favorite pastime. I loved to look at his creations and describe what I felt, and I loved listening to him do the same for my work. We praised one another, dissected one another. I never felt self-conscious about my talent when he examined my pieces. If anything, I felt more confident.
Without looking at me, he moved his hand to mine. His fingers interlocked between my digits, and he gave me a tight squeeze with his large hand.
My breathing stopped when I felt his touch. Despite how innocent it was, I felt like we were connected in every way possible. I felt the heat between us, the undeniable chemistry that flowed through our veins. He made me feel alive, banished the shadow that hung over my head. He made me feel invigorated, charged. My breathing started to escalate because the searing connection between us was burning my skin. All we did was hold hands, but it seemed like more than that.
He turned his head my way slightly so he could look at me. “You feel that?”
I nodded.
“When I touch you, I feel what I feel when I look at your paintings. I feel so much…with so little. I’ve waited a month just to hold your hand, but I’d wait a lifetime for this kind of embrace.” He didn’t lean in to kiss me or give me a sign that he would try, but holding my hand was intimate enough. He turned to the painting again, getting lost in the colors.
I looked forward again and then rested my head on his shoulder, feeling my heart race even faster as more of our skin touched. It felt wrong, but it also felt right. It would never feel the way it did with Bones, but I certainly felt something.
Antonio turned his head my way and placed a kiss at my hairline, his soft lips touching my warm skin.
I closed my eyes, remembering the last time Bones did the same thing. I missed his kisses, missed the way he used to look at me like I was all that mattered. I still missed him, still loved him. Moving on from him was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do, but I was finally making progress. I couldn’t feel guilty for finding someone else, not when I waited three months and gave my heart plenty of time to heal. But even if I did fall in love with Antonio, I knew I would never stop loving Bones.