Tackling the Canvas

Chapter 12 [pt 2]

Owen

I chuckled softly, burying my face in her hair, letting the familiar scent of cinnamon and lavender fill my senses. God, I loved that smell. It was like home, warm and comforting.

"You're obsessed," she teased, her voice muffled as I kept my face nestled in her hair.

"Can you blame me?" I murmured, taking another deep breath. "It's like a drug. Cinnamon, lavender... and you."

She laughed lightly, leaning into me. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," I replied, pressing a kiss against the top of her head, "but I know what I like."

____

I glanced around at all the sketchbooks and paintings scattered throughout her dorm, each filled with her art—doodles, sketches, even detailed drawings of the entire hockey team. Her talent never failed to amaze me.

But then, something else caught my attention—a family photo sitting on her desk. In it, she was much younger, perched on a man's shoulders with a joyful grin. Her bright blue eyes were a mirror image of his, and her long black hair was the exact match of the woman standing beside them.

"Now I get where the genes came from," I murmured, my eyes flicking between the two figures in the photo. "You look so much like him."

She smiled softly, a kind of nostalgic warmth touching her expression. "He was the best," she said quietly, moving to stand beside me, her voice filled with fondness and a tinge of sadness. "I miss him every day."

I didn't push, just stood there with her, taking in the moment, feeling the weight of her memories without needing to say anything more. The room felt still, her presence calming. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

I felt her shift slightly beside me as she spoke, her voice soft, almost fragile. "He died in a car accident a year after the photo was taken."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and painful. I didn't know what to say at first. The loss in her voice was unmistakable, and I could see the weight she still carried from it. I squeezed her a little tighter, silently offering what comfort I could.

"I'm so sorry, Nora," I whispered, knowing that no words could really fix it. "You must've been so young."

She nodded, her eyes focused somewhere far away. "Yeah, I was. It changed everything... for me, for my mom. But it's strange, you know? Even now, I can still remember everything about him—his laugh, the way he'd hoist me up on his shoulders like I was flying, his terrible dad jokes. Sometimes it feels like he's still here... other times, it feels like a lifetime ago."

I brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "He'd be so proud of you. I know it."

She leaned into me, her body relaxing just a little. "Thanks," she said softly. "It's nice to talk about him sometimes. People usually avoid it, like they're afraid it'll hurt more. But it helps... remembering."

I kissed the top of her head, holding her close as we stood in that quiet, shared space. Sometimes, words weren't necessary. Just being there was enough.

____

Nora was sitting on the edge of her bed, laptop balanced on her knees, babbling about what to get Ethan for his birthday. She scrolled through endless pages of potential gifts, from hockey memorabilia to funny t-shirts, her mind racing with ideas. I couldn't help but smirk as I leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed over my chest, watching her with amusement.

"You know," I said, raising an eyebrow, "I'm starting to think you're going to steal my best friend at this rate." The teasing tone in my voice made her pause for a second, glancing up from her screen with a playful grin.

"Steal your best friend? Oh, come on," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Please, I'm just making sure he doesn't end up with some lame birthday gift from the dollar store." She gave me a pointed look before going back to scrolling, clearly enjoying the banter.

I chuckled, pushing off the bookshelf and taking a few steps closer to her. "You two have been spending a lot of time together. I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to end up being the third wheel in my own friend group."

Nora laughed, a bright sound that filled the room, and playfully swatted the air between us. "Oh, please. You know Ethan's your guy. I'm just here to make sure he has good taste—and maybe give him a birthday that doesn't involve you dragging him to the rink for extra practice."

I smirked, leaning over her shoulder to get a glance at her screen. "So, what are we getting him then? A gold-plated hockey stick or a shirt that says 'Owen's Number One Fan'?"

She let out a soft groan, tilting the laptop so I could see. "I'm trying to find something personal, something that'll make him laugh but also be useful. Like maybe a custom jersey or a framed picture of you two being dumb together. He's got that whole sentimental side, whether he admits it or not."

I nodded, impressed by how much thought she was putting into it. "I swear, you spoil him more than I do."

Nora shot me a sly look. "What can I say? He deserves it. Besides, you're the one always dragging him into late-night practices. This is my way of balancing things out."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Alright, fine. Just don't make him think all this attention is a regular thing. He'll start expecting it, and then we're in trouble."

Nora flashed a mischievous smile. "Too late. He's already expecting it."

Note: I separated the chapter 'cause it was gonna be too long.