Masterpiece

Chapter 10

Two days had passed and I only have Friday to go. With John's help, it's all been possible. I find myself feeling more and more like a thirteen year old when I'm around him. And this I know, only because of my heart rate.

It always beats faster when he's there. Always. Sometimes I'm worried that if it thumps any louder, he'd hear it.
-

The sun was setting on the horizon and I sat in front of an unfinished canvas. It was blank, mocking me. I let out a deep sigh and leaned over the unpainted work as the door creaked open.

John pops his head through.
"Hey, hey."

"Hello," I say still mentally sighing.
He leans over my shoulder. There goes that heart beat. It never fails.

"You got nothing, huh?"
"Nada," I say lifting my head up.

He sits down on one of the stools in the room. "This is your last painting you have to do?"

"Yeah." I submitted Thursday's craft not too long ago. I figured I'd work on Friday's early.

"Well, then I say we celebrate."

"What are you talking about, John?"

"I'm saying, I can't stand seeing you all stressed. So, after you finish off the week, we should go have some fun." It didn't sound like a bad idea.

"Oh." That was a wrong choice of words.
I should've said something to fill the silence.

"Tell me about yourself," he says looking at some far off place.

I don't tell him everything. Just the vague stuff. I tell him of my childhood and he tells me of his. I tell him of a guy I dated a little while back, and for some reason that got his attention.

"Who was it you said you went out with, again?" He asked.

"Cory Fisher," I said turning my attention to my work, twirling paint brushes in thick paint.

"I was friends with him back then. He never told me that. He must've been a lucky guy."

I chuckle a little. "He didn't think so. He cheated on me a week after we started dating."

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"I'm not. He wasn't that great of a guy." I'm still mixing paint brushes into pools of paint, trying to wish up a brand new color.

"It's not like many people loved me back then."

"But people do now." He says this getting up on his feet.

"Yeah, ok," I say sarcastically, my attention still not on him.

"Your mom?"
"Yeah right."

"Your dad."
"You got me there."

"Me."
I had nothing to say. My fingers let go of the paint brush and I turned to him. Now, he had my undivided attention.
His hands were shoved into his pockets, eyes shifting. I could tell he didn't know what to say. We had that much in common.

I don't believe him. There was no way he could. Why would he? It makes no valid sense. No boy had ever said that to me and meant it. So why here? And why now?

"You can't possibly love me," I murmured. I was talking to myself, but I guess I had said it out loud.

The shocked expression fell off of his face. He smiled.
"I could think of a thousand reasons to love you."

"Name one."

John's POV
I said it. I said it before I even knew I did. I love her, but I could never form the words and let it roll off my tongue. But she had a request. She said simply to name one. I don't know how to explain it. But I do love her, I know that much.

I smiled and she shifted uneasily and folded her arms over her chest, like she does when she's nervous.

Ramona's POV
He got closer.
"I love the way you light up when you talk about your dreams."

"And the way your eyes twinkle when you laugh." Closer.

"And the way your hair falls over your cheeks." And closer. So close that I could count the hair strands on his head.

"And besides", he whispers, "as far as I'm concerned, the Mona Lisa is just a painting. You are the real masterpiece."

And then it happens. The firework bursts. He closes the gap between us and puts his lips on mine. When he does, it feels right somehow. Like the perfect puzzle piece.

The gap rematerializes. He moves a piece of hair from my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.

"I have to go pick up Sophie," he whispers against my lips.

"Ok." I didn't want him to leave. God knows I didn't, but I didn't tell him not to. I let him put on his jacket. I let him walk over and twist the door knob.

I let him go.