18. Conor #2
“What I was trying to get at, is that collecting nice paintings and such for staging has been tough. Art is such a personal thing, and a space needs to showcase the art that hangs in it—whereas all the art we have kind of just fills spaces on walls. Doesn’t add anything.”
“You want me to help you find new art?” Jess asks, and I almost laugh at her sweet expression.
“No, silly. I want you to make something new. Fill the Decatur house with your paintings, your vision. That way, you can pick out staging pieces that will make your art pop. That house needs something special, Jess. And your art is special.”
She shivers again, and I resist the urge to wrap her in my arms. One step at a time.
“I’ll pay you extra,” I add.
“I don’t know, Conor.” She frowns. Bites down on her bottom lip again. “What if prospective buyers hate it?”
“They won’t.” I smile at her. “Your painting amazed me, I had no idea how talented you are.”
Her eyes search my face intently, like she’s looking for signs of sarcasm.
I frown as something clicks into place. My eyes scan her face. “Has nobody ever told you how talented you are?”
She flinches. Removes her hand from mine and sinks onto a particularly gaudy orange velour loveseat. Her jaw clenches and I get the impression she has something to say.
I take a seat next to her. Wait patiently, giving her time to talk if she wants to.
“Aiden always tells me how much he likes my art. To be fair, he has to, he’s my brother,” she starts slowly, and then smiles at the thought.
I love how close they are—just like Mia and I.
Then, her face darkens. “But, Johnny… Well, Johnny used to act like he was indulging me, like it was a stupid hobby that wouldn’t go anywhere. ”
She stares at her hands, her shoulders slumped, and my heart actually aches to see her this way.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and then goes on.
“I guess, over time, his words began to sink in, and I started to believe them, too. Started to believe I was wasting my time. That there were better things for me to be doing…”
She trails off and I can’t help it anymore.
I shift closer and look directly into her eyes.
I push that same stray lock of hair back from her face, letting my fingertips linger by her temple.
Her pulse jumps beneath my touch, and I swallow hard before I can get my next words out.
“Jess, believe me, you’re not wasting time with painting.
You have real talent. Johnny’s an idiot for not seeing that. ”
“Thanks,” she says, but she doesn’t look up from her hands.
I gently tilt her chin so her eyes meet mine. “I mean it. I want your artwork to lead on the staging. Paint what you want and pick out the furniture and decor that will work with your vision.”
Her gaze becomes anxious and worried. “I know how much your work means to you, though. Are you sure you trust me to do this?”
I smile, not even having to consider my words. They’re simply the truth. “I’d trust you with anything.”
She smiles wanly in return. “Why are you so nice?”
“I was born this way.”
She shoves me. But, her smile widens into a real grin.
“Okay,” she says slowly. Then, she jumps to her feet. Nods. “Let’s do this thing.”
Jess spends the next hour poring over furniture, collections of vases and various plant pots.
She rifles through boxes of drapes, bedding and throws.
And, as she touches leather, wood and cotton, it’s like she can somehow summon ideas from their textures.
She lights up, her face glowing, whenever she finds something she likes.
It’s incredible to watch her move through the space.
I’m captivated as she chatters, thinking out loud.
She describes how she can pair certain items to make a statement, how she envisions a cozy, mid-century modern living room, a kitchen where everything is based around showcasing the natural sunlight that fills the room.
I’ve never seen her talk this much, never seen her buzz with so much life and vigor.
I hang on to her every word, stepping into her vision alongside her. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend that we aren’t working on a flip, but shopping for the actual house I own.
And, for the first time, I begin to imagine my house actually feeling like a home . That’s part of what makes Jess so beautiful, though—she has the incredible ability to bring warmth and life and excitement to something as mundane as furniture shopping. She makes it possible to envision a home.
I realize with a jolt that I’m going to miss her presence more than anything when I move out of Aiden’s place.
I’ll no longer get to see her in the mornings, with her dishevelled hair piled up on her head and her glasses on.
I’ll no longer get to sit next to her on the couch at midnight, our hands brushing as we eat popcorn.
If I know one thing to be true, it’s that I want to keep living these moments with her.
“Conor?” Jess looks at me, head quirked and amusement dancing over her features.
I blink, coming back to earth. “Sorry, I missed what you said.”
“You were far, far away there for a minute.” Jess laughs.
I don’t ever want to be far away from Jess. I want to be with Jess, as close as possible, at all times. But, if I want to do this with her, I need to do it right.
Starting now.
“Are you hungry?” I blurt.
She frowns. “Sure… you want to go home, then?”
Not at all.
“I was thinking we could grab some dinner.”
Jess’s brow wrinkles. “Like, at a restaurant?”
“That’s usually where people go to eat, yes.”
“Me and you?” Jess fumbles, looking adorably uncertain. But those wide eyes aren’t just nervous, I also see a hint of... desire.
And, in that look, I know. She wants me, too.
I smile slowly. “Jessica Shaw, would you like to go to dinner with me?”
She exhales shakily. “Yes.”
“It’s a date.”