“Natalia, you know you can always talk to me if you feel you can’t talk to Dr. Kingston. About anything.”
She looks up through her eyelashes and nods. Her lips barely spread into a smile, but I know she understands.
“So should we grab some food, go home and watch a movie?” I nudge her, lightening up her mood.
She looks up at me and she smiles. “Sure. But I’m not watching Gladiator again.”
I laugh at her scowl and agree. “You’ve got it, Shorty.”
After devouring Chinese takeout and watching Thirteen Going on Thirty, Nat passes out on the couch next to me. I look over at her and reminisce about how she has her whole life ahead of her yet. She’s been dealt some rough cards, but I think we’ll eventually pull each other out of this anger phase—or at least I hope so. Any more school suspensions and she just might get sent to an alternative school.
I carry her to bed and cover her up with the sheets. I know she keeps a ratty old stuffed bear under her pillow. She claims she’s too big to sleep with stuffed animals, but she’s had it since she was a baby.
I grab the bear and stick it underneath her arm before pulling the heavier comforter over her body. I brush my hand gently over her hair and kiss her on the forehead.
My life has sure changed a lot in the past year. Before I moved out here, I was living the bachelor life. No responsibilities besides going to work and paying bills, no one telling me what I could and couldn’t do, no one holding me back.
But if truth be told, it was a lonely lifestyle. Looking back, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Having no one to come home to, no one excited to see you after a long day, or no one checking up on you to make sure everything’s all right. Before I left, I lived for that. I loved being in a relationship and coming home to someone I loved.
But that’s all changed now. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like that again.
CHAPTER SIX
ASPEN
I work at the gallery Thursday morning. I’m at the information desk since Kendall is out sick and Ms. Jones and Christine have a conference meeting. It’s completely mundane since I’m only allowed to answer the phone, but on the bright side, the gallery is gorgeous. I love walking around and looking at all the paintings. They’re all titled, but most of their meanings are up for interpretation.
There’s a story in every piece and most of the time, the artist is the only one who really knows what it is. It’s almost as if each artist speaks their own language. You can appreciate the beauty of the words but never quite catch their meaning. That’s what I love most about art. What one painting means to me could mean something completely different to someone else.
I walk in front of a large abstract painting titled Rain at Dawn. It’s an interesting piece, but it doesn’t really give away much. You have to look at it, study the details to see what the artist is really showing.
The artist focused on the raindrops the most. On one side, a puddle is forming, and on the other, a large raindrop is about to land on the black cement. You can see a house shaded in the background, but it’s blurred out. There’s a light on through the window, but you can’t see inside. The trees are all bare, which means it’s fall or winter. The sky is dark and gloomy except one small part on the right side where the sun is starting to peek out.
It’s actually really beautiful. For me, it feels like peace and happiness. I love the sound of rain. Ariel and I would play in the rain every chance we could or until Mom would yell at us to get back inside. When we were kids, we’d go fishing with our dad in the summer rain or shine. One morning, he woke up before the sunrise. It had been raining, so we sat out on the boat together and watched the sun come up as the rain poured down over the water.
Those days were absolutely perfect.
The longer I stare at it, the more emotional I start to feel. My eyes start to water, and before I know it, small tears are falling down my cheeks.
God, I’m a mess. I never let myself cry.
I head to the back and grab a tissue to dry my face. Just as I’m walking back out, Professor Hampton is standing by the information desk.
“Holy shit,” I gasp. He turns toward me and smiles. He looks absolutely delicious in his form-fitting gray suit and pale white shirt underneath. His hair is styled in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it and…oh my God. My fingers twitch at the thought. I blink, forcing my mind to stop racing long enough to speak. “You have a habit of scaring the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you’d hear me come in.” He points above the door where a bell is hanging. Every time someone comes in or leaves, it rings.
“I was in the back getting something,” I lie, hoping he doesn’t question my bloodshot eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m looking for my aunt. Is she here today?”
“Actually, no. She and the curator had a meeting. Kendall’s out with a cold, so I’m just here manning the door.”
“I see.”
“I can tell her you stopped by.” I dig around for a pen and piece of paper. “You can leave her a note.”
He smiles and steps closer. “Sure.”
He stands across from me at the counter as I hand it to him. “Here.”
“Do you mind writing it? She won’t be able to read it otherwise if I do.”
“Oh, um, sure. What should it say?”
He clears his throat as if he has something really important to say. I smile but keep my head down so he doesn’t notice. “Dear Aunt Mel, I stopped by to discuss a very important matter with you.” I look up at him and see him grinning.
“Continue on…” I purse my lips and shake my head at him.
“Your employee, Aspen Evans, has impeccable talent, and is refusing to show it off at the Spring Art Gala…” I’ve already stopped writing as I look up and glare at him. He notices my hand has stopped and nods his head at the pen. “Keep writing.”
“I’m not writing that.”
“All right. I’ll just call her then.”
I sigh. “You are relentless.”
“Determined,” he counters.
“Why?” His smile fades. “Why’s it so important to you?”
He steps even closer, which hardly seems feasible, but with a counter between us, he can’t possibly get any closer.
His eyes burn into mine as he replies. “I’ve been teaching art classes for five years and have had many students on all different levels. Some have no business being in a college-level art class and some have so much talent, it makes me wonder why I’m the one teaching them. But you…you are the latter.” He pauses, and I suck in my lower lip at the way he’s looking at me. “You’ve completely blown me away.”
I stare up at him, stunned and at a loss for words. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know what to think. My entire body is on fire, and I can’t keep my eyes off him.
I swallow and try to focus on finding my voice. “You’re really passionate about art,” is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, and I want to slap myself for sounding so stupid.
“I was.” He shrugs. “I’ve taken some time off. I haven’t even thought about painting in months—that is until I saw what you’re capable of doing.”
I furrow my brows. “Why’s that? How does an art professor take time off from painting?”
“Actually, it’s really easy,” he says with a laugh. “I hand out the assignments, show a video here and there, and basically, critique everyone else.”
“What made you stop?”
His chest rises and falls slowly before he answers. “I haven’t been in the right state of mind to paint. Everything would look awful and then I’d get even angrier.”
I nod. “I know a thing or two about being angry. That’s actually how I started drawing,” I admit, but immediately wish I could take it back. I don’t want him asking questions that’ll lead to Ariel’s death.