We are both quite the art ists .
I snap out of my thoughts when I feel Scarlette take a deep breath in and out, making my hands rise up and back down. I can’t believe the scenery in front of me. It’s a stunning picture. How did she turn a white page into something as breathtaking as this?
It almost looks like nature photography—but with a filter of course. I can’t imagine how’s she’s done it. I take my time analysing it and feel a sense of calm.
“Wow! Scarlette, you painted such a beautiful scene,” I blurt out, gaping at her ca nvas.
I’m in awe of this painting. Liam and Paige move beside me to admir e it.
“That is one incredible piece of art,” Liam says, looking impre ssed.
Scarlette turns around and stands up to fac e me.
“Do you really like it?” she asks, her soft brown eyes staring into mine, waiting for my reac tion.
“Do I like it? No, Scarlette, liking it would not do this justice. This is art, real art! I’m baffled at how your hands put this toge ther.”
She smiles back, showing off her bright whites as I hug my arms around her, lifting her feet off the gr ound.
“This is something I haven’t seen you do in years, Scarlette,” I hear Paige say with excitement in her voice. She clearly knows a lot about Scarlette that I have yet to l earn.
“Thanks, guys. It felt really nice to paint this.”
Her appreciation is mixed with some shyness, but also with pride.
Scarlette is beaming; I can sense her joy bouncing around us. I can’t help but feel her happiness inside my self.
“Are you going to sign it? This piece deserves your autograph,” I suggest, pointing my finger to the corner of the pain ting.
“Sign it right here ,” I say.
Scarlette picks up a small pointed paintbrush and dips it in white. She takes a look over the picture one more time, then she sign s it:
Scarlette Fay
I look at where her signature is now sealed on what used to be a blank canvas. Our eyes meet for a few seconds, and I can see her delight right through them.
“We will call this … ‘Serenity,’” I suggest, staring at it admiringly once a gain.
Scarlette takes my hand and weaves our fingers together. As I feel the inside of our palms touch, a rush goes through every inch of me. What is this influence she possesses over me? It’s a natural high that I never want to come down from.
I turn her around to face the other direction—I want her to see the strangers’ eyes across from us, admiring her work of art. A staff member walks over to Scarlette’s pain ting.
“I’ll place this piece in the back to dry. It will be ready for you to pick up any time after tomorrow,” the older woman says as she slowly takes the painting off the stand and stares at its beauty. “Wow,” she mutters under her breath, as she takes it to the back room.
I stand still behind Scarlette and my eyes glance at the spot behind her ear, this time confirming: Scarlette has a scar.
“We have to leave if we are going to make it on time for dinner,”
I hear Paige tell her, making me jump slightly, worried I’d been caught staring. Beside me, Liam looks disappointed that the day is coming to an end. I feel the same.
Scarlette starts to get her things toge ther.
“Is it a special dinner you’re attending tonight?” I ask.
She glances my way and responds with an innocent s mirk.
“It’s Zack’s birt hday.”
Zack? I yell his name in my head. I need to shake this off before Scarlette notices my jealousy and thinks I’m a crazy boyfriend …
Boyfriend? I think about this for a second. I want to be hers. I want Scarlette to be my girlfr iend.
We make our way out of Raw Canvas and walk down the streets of Yaletown, heading towards where we parked our cars. Scarlette and I are hand in hand while Liam and Paige walk side by side in
front of us. After a moment, I start to slow my pace and Scarlette does the same, taking smaller s teps.
I turn to her. “So how did you get that scar behind your ear?”
Scarlette stops in her tracks. She seems to tense up, staring at me, and places her hand over it straightaway. She was not expecting me to ask her this.
“My scar? Umm … ” she hesitates for a few seconds and her eyes stare down at the gr ound.
It feels like I’ve lost her into deep thought a gain.
“Scarl ette?”
“Elvis … we all have scars,” she points out, looking back up at me. She holds my hand tightly and pulls it forward, forcing us to start walking again, but I keep looking at her.
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes, it was a painful cut. One to remember,” she responds with a firm tone to her v oice.
We arrive at our parking spots as Liam and Paige hug goodbye. I put my hands on Scarlette’s face and gently give her lips a kiss.
“I can’t wait to see you next,” I tell her.
She smiles, getting into her Rio, and I watch her drive away.
The drive back to West Vancouver with Liam is quick. He knows when I play loud music in my car, I don’t want to have any discussions. I drop him off at home and continue up the mountain to my place. Once I’m through the front gates, I park Snow White but stay sitting inside as I fall into deep thought about how Scarlette reacted to my questions about her scar. I wonder what she meant by we all have scars . Could it be from the horrific accident that killed her mother? And she said scars, plural. Does that mean she has more than one? If she does, I want to find out about every single one of them. I can’t bear the thought of her hurt.
Looking up at my house, I know I’d better get ready for Allison—
she’ll be waiting for me with plenty of questions about my new romance. I jump out of the car and stop at the front doors, taking a deep breath in to brace my self.
CHAPTER EIGHT
My eyes keep darting down to my phone on the desk in front of me, and I realize that the lecture is quickly coming to an end.
Scarlette is sitting next to me, and we both have an arm hanging
down between the seats, with our little fingers wrapped in a hold.
From the first day I saw Scarlette walk into this classroom, I’ve wondered what it was that made her hold back from me at first.
Now I see exactly what she wants in her eyes and in her touch. I think of how she started off by sitting as far away from me as possible, whereas now she’s always making sure some part of us is touching. Even with our attention on the professor, we still feel vibrations from the energy we share with each o ther.
I glance at the time again. It seems that my time in Scarlette’s presence goes by faster than I can blink, but for some reason when I’m apart from her time drags slower than a snail. The professor dismisses the class, but we stay seated for a little longer. Minutes feel like seconds. I watch her slowly put away her things without breaking our intertwined pinkies. She finally looks up at me and her brown eyes look a little lighter than usual against her light -g ray shirt. Her hair falls to the side of her shoulder and I inhale the scent that I have become accustomed to. I feel completely sucked into her world, and I never want to l eave.
“One more class to go, then the day is over,” she says so ftly.
“Go on a date with me later?” I ask her in a demanding but gentle v oice.