Chapter 2
IVY
I had three shots, half a beer, and one Espresso Martini.
I wasn’t fully drunk, but I wanted to leave.
I wasn’t tired or anything. Actually, I was having the time of my life with Ruby and the others, dancing in the bar, singing karaoke, and letting everyone know that it was my birthday.
Not that they needed to be told. It was written on the cowboy hat Ruby made me wear.
It lit up all around, and the words “BIRTHDAY GIRL” flashed in bright pink every now and then.
I wasn’t much of an attention seeker, but on my birthday, I was allowed to be.
At some point between one song and the next, I felt myself start to drift. The fun was still there, but I wasn’t. My body kept swaying to the beat, but my mind had wandered off to somewhere quieter. Somewhere I didn’t have to smile so hard or prove I knew every single word to every song.
I told Ruby I was stepping outside for air.
She nodded, distracted by the bartender pouring shots.
I didn’t mention I wouldn’t be coming back, but I sent her a quick text before I walked down the road and back to campus.
It was a short walk, and it sobered me up fast. It was late, probably close to two, and the paths were empty.
A few dorm windows were still lit, but most of the school had shut down for the night.
I kept walking, toward the one building that might still have someone awake inside.
The art wing.
Will usually stayed late when he was working on something. Sometimes all night long, just painting, music playing softly in the background, the rest of the world shut out. Earlier, he told me he’d be there all night, and I hoped he still was.
When I pushed the door open, the hallway lights flickered on automatically. The building was dead silent except for the low hum of the two vending machines at the end of the hall. I made my way toward the back studio, and as I reached the doorway, I paused.
Will was there, and I watched him through the glass window in the door.
He stood in front of the canvas, brush in one hand, and a palette in the other. He was studying his artwork, which now had a beautiful, light blue and grayish sky.
I thought about turning back around and leaving, not wanting to interrupt him while he worked. But I was selfish in that moment, and I wanted to be around him. Talk to him. Just…be there with him.
He turned just as I pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
He didn’t look surprised. Just…pleased. Like he had expected me to come but never got his hopes too high.
I smiled and moved closer, my gaze shifting to the painting one more time. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said, setting his brush down.
I felt a little breathless, and my heart was beating faster. But I wasn’t nervous. Just happy to be there with him. “You’re still here,” I stated.
“Yeah.” He huffed out a laugh and turned his head toward the painting. “I won’t leave before it’s finished.” His eyes met mine again, and a smile tugged at his lips as he took in my glowing cowboy hat. “How was your birthday celebration?”
“Fun.” I pressed my lips together, wanting to dump all my thoughts on him. But I didn’t. I wanted to hear him talk. Hear his thoughts. Mine didn’t seem so important. Nothing did when he was around.
“Did you drink?” He looked amused, but he wasn’t making fun of me. He genuinely wanted to know how my evening went, and I figured a little dumping wouldn’t hurt.
“I turned twenty-one, so…drinking is mandatory. Not that I will drink every weekend now,” I corrected with a soft laugh.
“Didn’t think you would. I’m glad you had fun.”
I nodded, looking around for a second before meeting his eyes again, and leaning against the table next to me. “How did you celebrate your twenty-first birthday?”
He studied me for a moment, then said, “I went on a trip to Vegas with a few close friends. Cliché, I know. But I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“How so?” I smiled at him, wanting to hear the whole story. God…I could listen to this man forever.
“They blindfolded me and took me to the airport. Before we boarded the plane, they put headphones on me so I wouldn’t hear the announcements before takeoff and landing.
I practically sat in that airplane with only my senses of touch, taste, and smell.
The latter was the worst because the friend who sat next to me kept eating horrible garlic chips.
” He chuckled at the memory, his lips curling upward.
“So they kidnapped you?”
“Pretty much. But we had a good time.”
“I’m glad.” I smiled back, tilting my head to the side. “How long ago was that?”
I had always been curious about his age, but I knew he was somewhere in his thirties.
“Thirteen years ago.”
So he’s thirty-four. Good. That’s fine. That could work.
I bit my lower lip and looked back at his painting. It wasn’t finished, but I wasn’t sure how much longer he’d take. As artists, a painting could be finished anytime. We didn’t know it ourselves, and any brushstroke could be the last.
“I don’t want to bother you, but would you mind if I stayed?” I asked, my eyes meeting his again.
He thought about it, and at first, I was sure he would ask me to leave. Then, with the tiniest smile, he said, “I don’t mind. But you have to continue your painting.”
I pursed my lips. “I’m not sure I can paint right now.”
“Try. Sometimes, getting back to a painting in the most unexpected moments will help you finish it. It might lead you down a different path, but you just gotta try.”
His words hit me harder than they should’ve.
He always said things that made me think long about them, even if they seemed like normal phrases at first. Like he was planting seeds in my mind that wouldn’t bloom until days later.
This one, though…it rooted itself instantly.
Maybe because I knew he wasn’t just talking about painting.
“Fine. I’ll try.” I turned around to head to my painting which had been there uncovered since I left earlier. Had he actually looked at it throughout the evening? He said he liked looking at it.
“Bring it over here,” he suggested, nodding to the empty easel next to his.
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed the painting with one hand, and a few brushes with the other to head over to him. I could use the paint he had already opened.
“Do you read?” I asked.
He looked at me with a raised brow. My random question surprised him. “Yes, I read.”
“Poetry?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Why?”
“Because you always talk so poetically. It’s not a bad thing,” I assured him with a smile as I picked out a brush. “You just…have a way with words.”
He chuckled, his gaze fixed on his painting again. “I reflect on everything I want to say before I open my mouth. I think that’s something not many people do.”
“Well, they should.” I laughed softly and dipped my brush into the wet paint on his palette. “Some people, especially certain men, should definitely count to ten before they open their mouths.”
“Did you have bad experiences with guys?” he asked. Normally, I wouldn’t talk to guys about other guys, but Will wasn’t just a guy. Will was a man. My art teacher at college. A man I shouldn’t hang out with late at night at the studio. But he was a man who made me feel comfortable and heard.
I shrugged. “Indirectly. I never really dated anyone, to be honest. I just had a few guys be very disrespectful after they were told no.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh. “Men can be assholes.”
It didn’t surprise me that he truly felt sorry.
Will was a feminist. I knew because he often told our class about the protests and marches supporting women he attended.
He also once told us about his childhood, and how his parents often took him to several demonstrations all across the States.
Safe to say Will was raised by good people, which made him a good man, too.
And all of that didn’t make it one bit easier to stay away from him. I didn’t want to. He was like a safe space. A safe person . One I always feel comfortable around.
I nodded at his statement about men being assholes, agreeing with him. “It’s fine, though.” I thought about a subject to switch to, wanting to keep the conversation light. “It’s trivia night at Barkley’s Saturday night. Have you ever been?”
We both continued to paint, focusing on our canvases as we kept the conversation going.
“I’ve been a couple of times, yes.”
“You should come tomorrow night. It’ll be fun. The past few Saturdays, they asked a lot about art history. I’m sure they’ll keep the theme going.”
He chuckled softly. “You think?”
“Maybe. Even if not…you should still come. Ruby, Lenny, and I need another teammate. Carly had to pass because she’ll be leaving in the morning to go visit her parents back home.”
“Hm.” He didn’t say anything else as he studied his painting.
I stopped moving my brush across the canvas and watched him, waiting for a response.
“Are professors even allowed to play?”
“Well, technically… Barkley’s doesn’t belong to this school. So, you wouldn’t be our professor. And we wouldn’t be your students.”
“Fair enough.” He squinted his eyes, then looked at me with a smile. “Fine, I’ll come.”
I couldn’t hide my smile, and I was glad he couldn’t hear my heart hammering in my chest. “Perfect. It starts at eight.”