“Take a seat,” he says, grinning up at me in the fading sunlight and patting the blanket where he’s crouched down.
“What is this?” I ask as I sit, thankful I wore pants.
I watch as he pulls something close to us, setting it in the middle of the blanket and flipping a switch. Immediately, a low-light lantern comes on, bathing us in a glow, and I smile.
“It’s an evening picnic,” he says, pulling food from the bag he has with him. “I didn’t have a blanket, but I figured you would.”
He figured right. As a girl, it’s a rule you should have at least three separate blankets available at all times.
He unloads a meat and cheese tray, some fruit, and a container of chicken salad, setting it all next to the lantern. Then, he pulls forks and napkins from his bag.
“Damn, you look like Mary Poppins right now,” I say with a laugh.
He grins. “Well, I did have a lamp with me,” he says with a shrug.
“Oh my God, you’ve watched Mary Poppins?”
“Yeah,” he says, grinning. “But don’t tell anyone.”
I mime zipping my lips closed, and he starts to open the food up. He reaches back into his bag and then looks at me with a smirk.
“Now, the real winner of the picnic,” he says, pulling a bottle of white wine out and two plastic cups.
“I feel so fancy.” I pull my legs under me and grab a glass, waiting for him to pop the cork out and pour. “Where did you get all of this?” I look around me.
“I can’t reveal my sources,” he says.
Once we cheers and take our first sips, he levels me with a look. I take in the flicker of light against his skin, mesmerized at how it shows his sharp jawline. He’s so tough to resist, and I know this won’t be any different.
“Did you get my gifts?”
“Yes, but they were unnecessary,” I say, taking another sip of my wine.
“They were very necessary,” he says, his tone serious. “I want to show you that you are important to me. And I know I’ve done a shitty job of that. I’m sorry. But now, I know exactly what I want, and that’s you.”
“You don’t know that, Corbin. You are focused on graduating and taking custody of your brother. That should be your main goal. And I don’t know what’s going to happen with me once they out my mom. I’m not guaranteed to be around. You and I aren’t a sure thing.”
Corbin busies himself, fixing two plates for us, and then he shoves one into my hands. I twirl the fork around in the chicken salad as I stare down at it.
“I said it before, Landry. I’m a selfish bastard, and I want it all. But I’m also an idiot bastard, and I’m attempting to show you how sorry I am for not trusting you.” He sets his drink down and grabs mine, placing it beside his, and then he takes my hands. “Please forgive me and give me a chance. I think—no, I know we can be good together. You are the first girl who has ever made me want to dive deeper, to learn more about you. I don’t know you that well right now, but I do know that you have to be feeling what I’m feeling.”
I stare at his earnest face, the most open it has been since the day we met, and I let out a long breath. “I don’t—”
“Please. I don’t beg. I haven’t had to beg. But I’m doing it now. I want you, all of you. And I want you for myself.”
I reach up and place my hand against his cheek, rubbing my thumb against the slight scruff he has coming in. I nod once. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. You’ve convinced me. But from here on out, I want honesty, and I want no secrets.”
“No secrets,” he whispers.
Damn, this boy can break down my walls. Maybe it’s stupid, maybe I’m being dumb, but I can’t let this go that easily. This past week has shown me that I can’t seem to get him off of my mind.
“So, where do we go from here?” I ask, drawing my hand back and grabbing my drink again.
He reaches forward, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “I don’t know. But I do know I want you by my side. You’ve made me a sappy motherfucker, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.”
“Just what every girl wants to hear.” I smile and lick my lips. I watch his eyes zero in, tracking the movement of my tongue. Heat blooms in my stomach, and my nipples tighten. I quickly take a sip of my drink, hoping to keep the feelings at bay.
I can’t help but think of the marina and what happened after we got physical. This time, I want to make sure he’s serious about me.
“So, I want to know everything,” he says, clearing his throat.
“What do you mean?”
“About you. All I know is, you are an artist.”
I blush at the word. I don’t consider myself an actual artist. It seems like an unattainable thing right now, but it’s what I want most in the world. I want to be able to paint myself out on canvas and paper and bring out the emotions in others.
I take a few bites of food, trying to organize my thoughts. This has been a whirlwind of a week. Really, the entire school year has been one. We’ve come so far in a few short months, and now, it’s about to be snatched away from me.
“I’m not an artist. I mean, I paint and draw, but I wouldn’t consider myself great. I want to go to school for it and learn. I want to throw myself into it, pour my feelings out, but I don’t want to be admired.”
“You don’t?” He furrows his brows.
I shake my head. “No. I want to be understood. I want someone to look at a picture I’ve drawn or something I’ve painted and find themselves in it. I don’t want them to think that I’m great. I want them to figure out how they see, feel, and experience it. Isn’t that what art is? An expression that everyone gets to enjoy for their own reasons?”
“Damn. You should see how your face just lit up, talking about it,” he says, smiling, one finger coming up to run down my cheek.
“I feel passionate about it,” I say, ducking my head a little. I don’t usually open up to others about my art, and it’s making me self-conscious. “But I’m having a hard time finishing my portfolio to submit.” I run my finger through the condensation gathered on my glass as I wait for him to pick up the conversation.
“What drew you to create in the first place?”
“I don’t know. I have always felt this pull toward it. To make something, to put images or colors on paper that mean something.”
“Then, don’t think about it. Create what you’ve always wanted to create.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is. What is your favorite art form?”
“Painting,” I answer immediately.
“Then, let your heart flow out in paint and submit it.”
“I want to, but every time I stand in front of the easel right now, I lose it. I can’t find my creative side, so I open my sketchbook and draw, or I go swimming. I have a mental block at the moment.”
“You need to get out and have some fun. You’re wound up,” he says.
I know he’s right. Lately, my days have consisted of classes, tests, and hardly any time to enjoy myself.
“Yeah, maybe so.” I glance off to the side.