Erin
The last time I went on an actual date, I was raped.
It’s a blunt and sad truth, but a truth, nonetheless.
The last time I got dressed up for a boy, with the intention of having a good time and possibly growing in a relationship with him, he betrayed me in the absolute worst way — and changed my life forever.
When I put on my lipstick tonight, I could still feel how it had smeared across my jaw that night, when Landon’s hand covered my mouth, forcing me to hold in screams that wouldn’t come, anyway.
When I slipped into my heels, I remembered how much the balls of my feet had hurt as they bent me over the table, thighs digging into the corners, their hands pinning me in place.
Those were memories I would never shake, nightmares I would never escape.
But tonight, almost a year later, I’m finally trying again. I’m finally putting on the lipstick, and the heels, and the smile — believing for the first time since that night that my heart may be able to bloom again, that those walls might be able to open.
I’m on a date — a real date — with a boy I know I can trust.
It’s such a foreign feeling, walking with my arm looped in Kip’s as we make our way toward the small paint store.
It’s our third time hanging out this week, though this is technically our first date.
On Sunday night, after the day at the beach, we just hung out at his apartment, catching up, eating my grandmother’s famous sandwiches while Kip sipped on whiskey.
I listened to him recount the years we’d lost between us, and he seemed to hang on my every word as I caught him up on my life.
It was nothing special — no fancy restaurants or expensive entertainment — just a boy and a girl laughing and existing together.
I walked home on cloud nine that night, head floaty and stomach flipping as I replayed every look, every word, every single moment.
And when he texted me, asking to see me again, I clutched my phone to my chest like a love-sick teenager.
Since then, we’ve texted all day and all night, every day since Sunday.
In some ways, reconnecting with Kip over the last few days has felt like no time has passed at all, like we’re still those same kids spending the summer together and falling in love.
But, in other ways, it feels like we’re strangers now — like we’ve only scratched the surface of everything we need to know about one another.
I love that part the most.
The thought of re-discovering Kip excites me — and I can’t remember the last time something truly made me giddy with hope and joy the way being with him does.
It’s a little na?ve, I realize, as I tighten my grip on his arm.
But isn’t that where love is born — somewhere between hope, happiness, and blind trust?
I decide not to overthink it — for once in my life — and focus, instead, on how his hard bicep feels under my arms as we reach the door of the art boutique.
There are canvases displayed along the windows, showing local talent as well as group party projects — the paintings of everything from hot air balloons and palm tree beach scenes to abstract shapes and realistic self-portraits.
I smile a little, eyes roaming the mini masterpieces as Kip covers my small hand with his when we reach the door.
“Are you sure you’re okay with getting a little messy?” he asks, eyeing my outfit again.
I knew pairing high, sexy heels with my bright pink, business casual shorts was a risk. I had no idea what we were doing, but the girls all assured me I looked hot, and I figured it was dressy, yet casual enough, to pass for whatever we did.
“I’m sure,” I say, leaning into him a bit with the word. “I’ve never done this before. Have you?”
“Nope. It’ll be a first for both of us.” He grins, holding the door open to usher me inside first. “After you.”
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the boy holding the door for me.
Maybe it’s him that’s the real masterpiece, here.
Dressed simply in a dark pair of jeans, a black, v-neck t-shirt, and a backward white-on-white ball cap, he looks confident, sexy, and cool.
Add in his classic, black-framed glasses and the little grin he’s giving me as he waits for me to step over the threshold, and it’s all I can do to not float away.
He’s the same boy I fell for, and yet so much more — like a sketch that painted itself in my absence, showing me the colors I never would have thought to paint it with.
I wonder if he can paint me to life, too.
There are a few other couples already seated in the studio when we walk in, and a bright, cheery woman greets us before the door even shuts behind Kip.
“Hi! Welcome to The Fuzzy Canvas! I’m Regina,” she says, waving at us with one paint-covered hand.
Her hair is a bright auburn, her cheeks speckled with freckles and her eyes wide, endless pools of green.
She reminds me a little of Ms. Frizzle off The Magic School Bus, her hair wild and smile a little too big.
“Take a seat wherever you’d like, and go ahead and put on an apron.
We have a few others joining us and then we’ll get started. ”
Kip and I thank her before taking the back corner seats, and as I tie a paint-splattered apron around my waist, watching Kip do the same, I smile.
“I’m really excited,” I say. “Thank you for asking me out tonight.”
“Of course,” he answers easily. “It’s been nice reconnecting this week.”
“It really has been,” I agree, taking my seat first. Regina brings us each a full glass of red wine, but I slide mine behind my canvas and out of sight. “You know, I wasn’t sure how you would feel about me… after the way everything went down.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I just, I know I didn’t handle our break-up in the most graceful way. I was young, Kip — jealous, insecure. And you were the first boy I loved. It was just… I was a mess.”
“Hey,” he says quickly, taking the seat next to me and pulling my hands into his.
He levels his aqua eyes with mine, crooked smirk falling on his lips.
“We were both young, and I’m sure there are things we both wish we had said, or done, or maybe not have said or done,” he adds and we both laugh a little.
“But, the past is the past. Tonight, we’re older, we’re a little wiser, and,” he says, holding his glass up.
“We can drink. Legally. So, let’s cheers to that. ”
I smile, reaching for my glass behind the canvas. I tap it to his, but instead of taking a drink when he does, I place it back in its original place.”
“Not a red wine fan?” Kip asks, one brow quirked as he sets his own glass down.
“I don’t really drink.”
“At all?” He presses his lips together, digesting that. “Huh. Don’t take this the wrong way, but that’s kind of impressive — especially considering you’re in a sorority.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, well, I used to drink, but I learned the hard way how alcohol can impair judgment and get you caught up in situations you don’t want to be in.”
Kip watches me curiously when those words slip out, and suddenly his eyes are too much for me to handle. I drop my gaze to the floor, shaking my head and turning toward my canvas.
“Anyway, speaking of Greek life, how do you like being an official brother of Alpha Sigma?”
Kip lets me change the subject, and the conversation flows like that all night — back and forth, the two of us swapping stories in-between taking painting instructions from Regina.
We’re working on painting a beautiful sunset scene, contrasted by the silhouette of a tree in the foreground.
When we’re finished and push the canvases together, our two tree shapes will make a heart, and the birds we painted on the limbs will join each other, too.
“This is fun,” I say when we’re almost finished, painting a little bow on my bird’s head. “I needed it.”
Kip sighs, his chest deflating long and slow as he drags his fat brush over his sunset, deepening the reds in his sky. “Tell me about it.”
“Rough week for you, too, huh?”
He shrugs, eyes still on the canvas. “Rough semester, honestly.”
Swallowing, I dip my paint brush into our jar of water, rinsing it off as my heart ticks up speed. “That have anything to do with Skyler?”
Kip’s hand stills over the canvas, his jaw clenching, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he makes a broader swoop with his brush, pressing a little too hard and creasing the canvas as he works.
“It’s okay,” I assure him, wiping my hands on my apron. “We can talk about it, about her, if you want. I know that must have been hard.”
My stomach rolls at the reminder of what I put him through — of what I put Skyler through.
Now that it’s all over, I should feel better about it all.
I should feel like I’ve won. I mean, here I am, on a date with Kip, reliving old memories and making new ones, too.
Still, I can’t help but feel like there’s a curtain between us, like he’s putting on some kind of performance, not letting me in completely.
I know how hard that can be to do after you’ve been hurt.
“Nothing to talk about,” Kip says, his words curt. “We weren’t official or anything. She’s into Adam, I guess. It’s whatever.”
His words sound blasé, but the way his brush strokes grow more aggressive give him away.
“Besides, her being out of the way leaves more time for me and you, doesn’t it?”
He glances sideways at me then, his smirk sexy, eyes low, and my cheeks flame at his insinuation. For a split second, my heart feels whole again — my soul reconnected to my body — and before I even realize I’m thinking it, two words slip out in an almost-silent whisper.
“Fix me.”
I balk when the words hang between us — both mortified that I spoke them out loud and confused as to why I thought them at all.
Kip frowns. “What?”
Clearing my throat, I pick a small brush back up, fixing the little leaves on my tree. “Nothing, just realized I didn’t do these very well.”
Kip looks at my tree. “I think it’s perfect. And, look,” he says, sliding his canvas over to mine. Our little trees align, making the heart complete, and our birds join each other at the bottom point. “We make a pretty good team.”
“We do, don’t we?” I ask.
Our noses are so close, his lips near enough to mine that I feel every hot breath he takes.
I lean in, just a little, hoping he’ll kiss me — hoping he’ll seal in this happiness with his lips and never let that hole in my heart be empty again.
His eyes flick to my lips, the irises dancing back and forth before they find my gaze again.
“Oh, this is beautiful!” Regina says, popping up between us.
Kip straightens, clearing his throat as he drops his paint brush in the water jar and smiles up at her. “Thank you. We had a great teacher.”
“Oh, aren’t you sweet!” she giggles the word, swatting at his shoulder with a wide, blushing smile before moving on to the next couple.
I glare at her as she passes, the moment gone, Kip’s mouth too far away from mine now.
Kip holds my hand on the cab ride home, and just like a gentleman, he walks me to the door at the sorority house as a gaggle of my sisters stare at us out the various windows. But, he doesn’t move to kiss me before he leaves, pulling me in for a long hug, instead.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest. “For tonight. It was perfect.”
“I’m glad you had fun,” he says, pulling back with a grin. “I’ll text you when I get home?”
I nod, biting my lip. “Please do.”
He goes to pull away, but I hold his hand, tugging him back. When his eyes meet mine, I push past my nerves and lean in, pressing my lips to his before I have the chance to psyche myself out.
Kip stiffens, the kiss not really returned at first. But then, his lips soften, and his hands move up my arms, one sliding behind my neck as the other cradles my cheek. The kiss is soft, sweet, nothing too passionate or earth-shattering. But it’s nice.
And it’s a kiss I asked for, one I wanted.
When he pulls away, Kip smirks, nudging my chin with his knuckle gently. “Goodnight, Ex.”
“‘Night,” I whisper back, my voice light and airy as I watch him trot down the steps of our front porch.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, or what I say to all the girls waiting inside when I finally make my way in.
I’m not sure of anything, really, except how good it feels to kick my heels off and flop down into the plush comforter of my bed.
When my back hits it, my eyes on the ceiling, a smile splits my face in two, my stomach light and giddy.
And it’s then that I realize why I asked him to fix me.
It’s because I know he can.