Page 51 of Faking With You

“Good morning to you, too.”

I kiss her nose, and she tucks herself under my chin and burrows herself in as close to me as she can get. I hold her close. This feels right, waking up on a Sunday morning relaxed and with her in my arms. To hold the woman...no. I can’t be thinking that. I can’t be putting false hope and stupid ideas in my mind.

We stay like that for a few moments before she eventually slides out of my grip and disappears into the washroom. When she comes back out, she’s grinning at me, a secret in her eyes.

“We have those plans today,” she says excitedly, and I remember her text on Friday.

“And what exactly are these plans?”

“Something fun. Now get up so we can go.”

She walks past the bed ,and I grab her wrist and pull her onto the bed, her giggle filling the room.

“Or we could stay right here in this bed together.”

She shakes her head. “As much as I’d love that, I really want to do this with you.”

I fake a pout for a few seconds before relenting. “Okay, but when we get back, I plan to bring you right back to this bed.”

“That sounds like a great plan.”

We get dressed and grab coffee and a bite on our way to this mysterious thing Eliza has planned for us. I’m not paying attention as she leads us through the streets of London, paying more attention to her and her excitement. I suggested we take the underground, but she wanted to walk and see as much as she possibly could. When we finally arrive at our destination, she’s grinning at me and I’m completely stopped in my tracks, all the air leaving my lungs.

I haven’t been here in over two decades. This place holds so many memories, and somehow Eliza has brought me back. I don’t say anything as she pulls me into the building and talks to the employee inside. I take in the space, seeing that not much has changed since I was a kid. Pieces of art are still hung on almost every wall surface, there's a station along one wall full of brushes, empty cups, and paint pallets beside a wall full of different colours. How Eliza managed to pick the exact same art studio Mom used to bring me to as a child, I don’t know, but it also feels a little like fate.

Before Eliza and her asking about my childhood, I hadn’t thought about this place since I was a teenager, and now here I am, with her. Even as we find a station, her excitement is still palpable.

“When you mentioned painting with your mum, I thought it might be something nice for us to do together. You could usesome relaxation, and I thought why not return to something you enjoyed as a kid.”

She looks at me with hope on her face, and the only response I can think of right now is lean down and kiss her, my arm wrapping around her waist as I pull her in close.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and she cups my cheek, her thumb stroking my cheek.

“I’m glad you like it.”

I’m surprised at how much I remember from all those times being here as a kid and painting. Eliza is right, it is relaxing and nice doing something that I enjoyed so much as a kid. This session is a paint whatever you want one. Eliza pulls up a photo on her phone to use as her reference, and I already know what I want to paint. It might be rough because it’s been years, but I fall into the rhythm easily.

We spend hours in the studio, our conversation minimal as we focus on our canvases. We work until lunchtime, both of us hungry. I’m not finished with my painting, but Eliza comes to look at it over my shoulder and her sharp intake of breath has me looking over at her. Her eyes are wide, shock filling her expression.

“You like it?” I ask.

“It’s...” She swallows. “It’s gorgeous.”

“That’s because it’s you,” I say.

She shakes her head. “That’s all your talent.”

I twist on my stool and face her, pulling her between my legs. “I just wanted to capture my muse.”

She blushes, and her eyes bounce between me and the painting. “I never knew you were so talented. It’s amazing.”

I look at it with her, wanting to try to see it from her point of view. Its painting and technique are nothing spectacular, but the subject is. I decided to paint Eliza looking over her shoulder, a flirty smile on her face, much like she gave me last night whenshe led into the bedroom. I wanted to capture not just her but a feeling she’s given me that I’ve never experienced before. I stand and move to her station and look at her painting. She tries to grab it and flip it around so I can’t see it, but I beat her to it.

“It’s nothing. Nothing as great as what you’ve done.”

She’s painted a view from the London Eye. It’s not finished, she’s still working on buildings at the bottom of the painting, but what she’s done so far is amazing.

“Have you painted before?” I ask.