Coincidentally By Chance

Chapter 9

"Okay, so if we're painting what do I wear? I don't want to look really nice, but I don't want to look hideous..." I mumbled to myself.

I hung my clothes and things in the closet yesterday night, thanks to the fact my suitcase already looked like a trash mound after less than a week in London.

I finally decided on a tank top with a button-up plaid shirt over-top.

Oh, how gorgeous.

I slid those on and pulled out a pair of tight jean capri's that came to just above my ankles, shimmying them up my legs.

Left. Right. Pull. Stretch. Stretch. Pull. Shimmy. Shimmy. Squat. Done.

Well thank goodness that's over.

My straightened hair was laying down my back and I had my usual makeup on, minus the eyeliner. I clasped a white shell anklet on my left ankle and a hair tie on my right wrist. I put on some flip flops, then looked at them.

"Nah."

I kicked them off - literally, which sent them across the room and hit the wall - and walked down the stairs barefoot, opening and closing the front door to get out into the hallway.  I knocked on the door and waited patiently.

"Hey," He opened the door with a slight smile.

"Hiya."

He ushered me inside and I walked into the living room, noticing the new set up. The couch was pushed somewhere else, the curtains were opened, revealing tons of sunlight, the coffee table was laying on its side against the wall, and there were two painting easels in the middle of the room. In the middle of those was a small table with a palette, several brushes and tubes and jars of paint, and pencils.

"Go ahead and choose one," He nudged my from my position.

I walked forward and sat on a stool at the left canvas. He sat next to me and began squirting paint into the palette. Red, green, orange, purple, blue, yellow, white and then black.

"Why are there empty spaces still?" I questioned.

"For mixing colors," He laughed.

"Oh. See, I told you I was helpless!"

"You aren't, well, you haven't proven it yet."

I shrugged, "What are we going to paint?"

"Whatever you please."

I thought about it long and hard. A few moments passed and I couldn't think of anything.

"What are you going to do?" I asked Niall.

"Well, I'm a bit low on inspiration," He paused to glance at me, "What if I paint you?"

I snorted, "Whatever floats your boat, kid."

"Did you just call me 'kid'?"

"Maybe..." I faced my canvas again.

"You know I'm older than you, right?"

I shot him a confused glare, "No you aren't, you're my age, twenty, right?"

He shook his head, laughing.

"You aren't?!" He shook his head again. "How old are you?!"

 My eyes widened and my mind freaked out.

What if he's a creepy thirty-year-old man that's just waiting to kidnap me and take me to Guatemala and sell me to a potato farmer?

Oh wait, I like potatoes, that's okay.