Chapter 16 Lily
The elevator dings and the doors open, and we’re on the roof of a building downtown.
What has he got planned for me?
He squeezes my hand and takes a step forward, encouraging me to come out of the elevator with him. My brain is running a marathon, trying to figure out what’s going on.
He walks me to the table. The canvases aren’t side by side. They’re facing each other.
Various shades of brown and yellow and red, like a sunset, fill the palettes. I look at him, grinning but confused.
“I thought we could paint,” he says, and my heart flips.
“What are we going to paint?” I ask.
He runs his hand down my arm, and it makes me tremble.
“Each other.”
I start giggling, thinking of all the videos I’ve seen of partners and friends doing terrible paintings of each other. This is going to be so much fun.
He walks me to one end of the table and pulls out my chair. “Do you need an apron, ma’am?” he asks, holding one up.
It has my name on it.
“It’s beautiful,” I say. “Sure.”
I stand in front of him as he slips it over my head, then turns me around and ties it in the back. We haven’t been this close in a while, and there’s a comfort in him being behind me, like he’s protecting me from the world.
“All right. You’re set.”
He goes to his side, puts on his apron, and sits down.
“Don’t mess me up,” I say. “You better get my curls right.”
“Did you know, ma’am, I’m an artist as well? I will capture all of your beauty and your entire essence.”
I break into laughter. I’ve never seen this man draw, paint, color, anything. They say all he does is bounce a ball. All he knows is basketball. I’m excited and also terrified to see what he creates.
I sit down and start a light sketch of his face, pausing to look up at him. He’s completely focused, holding his paintbrush, but also staring at me. Not like he wants me, but like he’s trying to understand something. Like he’s trying to figure me out.
It’s been ten minutes, and he hasn’t said a word. He’s moving his brush slowly, carefully.
And I haven’t painted a thing.
So I take a deep breath and get started. But every time I look up, he’s staring at me, and it makes me feel something.
“You doing all right over there?” he asks.
I clear my throat and nod, because I can’t even speak, then get back to my painting.
More and more, I get anxious to see what he’s working on. I clean my brush to change colors.
“You’re working hard over there,” I say.
He looks up, catching my eyes, and it makes me bite my lip.
I want to see what tiny details he’s working on righ now so bad, but I force myself to focus on my painting, because now I’m scared he’s going to outdo me.
We paint for another ten minutes, and I feel locked in. I’ve got him. I’ve captured who he is. I don’t do portraits often, but this one feels good.
I set my brush in the water and sit quietly, because Javonte is still painting. His brow is furrowed. He’s leaning in close, adding tiny details.
My heart is pounding.
He leans back, taking in the whole painting, brush still in hand like he might add something else, but then he sets it down and lets out a breath.
“You done?” he asks, surprised.
“I’ve been done for a little bit,” I say.
“All right then. You ready?” There’s a giddiness in his voice.
“I guess.”
“You first.”
I frown at him. “Okay, fine. Are you ready?”
He nods.
I pick my painting up, walk a step closer, and turn it around.
A huge smile breaks across his face. “Oh my God,” he says. “That’s amazing. It looks just like me.”
“It looks like a really fun me.”
“This is how I see you,” I say. “You’re a really fun person.”
“I appreciate that. It’s awesome. I’m going to hang it up in my house.”
“Are you ready to see mine?” he asks.
“Hold on,” I say, setting his canvas back. “Do I need to sit down?”
“Yeah. Sit down so I can come to you.”
I sit, and he stands, slowly walking toward me. When he’s close enough, he turns his painting around, and I lose my breath.
That’s me.
It’s not perfect, but he captured me. There’s a glow to it. A light around it. It’s like he sees the best of me and put it on canvas.
I study it quietly. My hair, all the curls, all the colors. It almost looks like my natural shade. My necklace. My favorite one.
I’m not even wearing it, but he remembered.
I let out a shaky breath and keep looking.
Then I look at him, and tears start to well in my eyes.
It’s hard to breathe, but I force it out.
He sees me.
He always has.
And that’s something I let myself forget, because in that one moment, he pushed me to the side.
He sets the painting down, steps closer, takes my hand, then cups my chin, wiping away the tears slipping down my face.
“Lily,” he says softly. Lily... this is you. This is the you I’ve always known... the one I messed up with. That night, I didn’t listen to you. I brushed you off like it didn’t matter, and I know it did. I was wrong for that. I’m sorry.”
I look at him, feeling lighter.
We stay there for a moment, just looking at each other.
He squeezes my hand and pulls me a little closer. I tilt my head back so I can keep my eyes on him.
He places his hand at the back of my neck, leans down, and presses the softest kiss to my lips.
Then he rests his forehead against mine.
And we just stay there.
Breathing.
Existing.