Epilogue - One Year Later - Miranda
“I’ve told you! You need to stand still!”
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” Oliver grunts.
“Because you don’t want my first painting of a naked man to be anyone else other than you.”
He scrunches his forehead, jaw tightening. He knows I’m right. What he doesn’t know is that I don’t have any interest in painting another man.
I’m still painting women and selling those paintings. I moved to Oliver’s cabin — well, our cabin — right away. I took a three-day trip to the city to pack everything up, to get my things before moving in. Spending just three days away from him was hard on both of us.
Living here has done wonders for my art, I’ve yet to feel blocked here.
Spending time outside, around nature inspires me more than I ever thought it would.
I did go from time to time but I’ve never realized how much living in the city hindered my creativity.
Because of that, I was quick to finish the collection I was working on last year.
The gallery, excited by my quick turnaround, scheduled an exhibition soon after.
Oliver surprised me when he said he was going with me, he was nervous but he did so well, it felt like another milestone to us.
Oliver’s nightmares have almost subsided.
He talks more and more about his best friend, it helps him cope and I like to know more about this man who meant so much to my husband.
Aiden is coming by more often, especially after I’ve harassed him over and over again to have dinner with us outside of the monthly Almond Mountains’ dinner.
I got curious when Oliver told me he saw a woman at his place but I won’t pry until he’s ready to tell us.
My husband seems to mull over what I just said, like I’ve just broken an unspoken rule.
“Not the first. The only naked man you’ll ever paint is me.”
“We’ll see about that,” I say with a grin. This might be stooping low but I really want to capture this expression. He looks so adorable when he’s this jealous.
I try to replicate the movement of his eyebrows using my brush. I’m so focused for a moment that I don’t realize he’s no longer standing by the window. Suddenly, his arms grab my waist and pull me against him.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t stay still, not when you’re looking like this.”
I don’t understand what he means.
“Whenever you’re this focused, all I want is to make you look at me. I’m jealous that your canvas is getting all this attention.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You make me ridiculous. It’s your fault.”
I use my brush to paint his cheek.
“If you don’t let me get back to my canvas, you’ll be my canvas.”
“That sounds good to me.”
I pull back, putting my hands on my waist, nose up.
“Oh really? You lied to me! You told me you’d let me paint you as my wedding gift.”
“I’m posing every week as agreed.”
“It’s been six months! Yes, you’re here every week but you always manage to distract me.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I think it’s working fine.”
“The painting is nowhere near ready!”
“Good. We’ve all the time in the world, don’t we? If you spend the rest of our lives painting me, there's no time for you to paint another man.”
I laugh incredulous but I don’t fight it. I love this man and I’m so thankful I get to spend the rest of my life with him.
“We do. Now get in here, I need some sort of compensation,” I demand as I pull his lips against mine, catching his mischievous smirk forming before I do.
It’s not just his fault I get distracted, I can’t get enough of him either.