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Swiftly, Ireached back and grabbed his hand from my back and guided us to the easel. “When Ithought of the color palette for this one, Ienvisioned her to be somewhat more colorful than Gloria. Not anything too explosive, just enough?”
Integrating him into the process of painting and decision-making was vital, and it worked. Thomas’seyes focused on me and not the wall.
“As you can see, Ihave the regular Zorn palette here and Iadded viridian green and cadmium yellow, because the snowed-in season had me craving to paint summer.”
Thomas lifted each tube one by one and inspected them. Then he grabbed two with both hands, his eyes dancing from one to the other, his brain visualizing the color that would turn out when he applied this and that portion from each. He had aknack for that after years of mastering his craft. Iridiculed him for it in the past, when in truth, it really was another form of art. Avital part of it.
“Feel free to mix, drop, or add some. I’ll welcome any suggestion,” Iencouraged him and moved to the side to allow him space.
His brow furrowed in concentration. “These will do.”
Aaaand fish transferred into the tank. Swim little, giant fish! Swim!
Itransfixed my gaze on him as he blended paint on the wood palette, working his magic. Lost in his own world, Thomas’slong fingers squeezed the tubes, added and subtracted smears of paint, every action calculated to precision. His movements enchanted me, his use of the spatula and cloth to find just the color he’dbeen hoping for must have looked like Mozart when he played the piano.
“Yeah, these will do.” He angled his head in my direction when he was finished. “How do you like it?”
My hand glided above the palette of colors he created, my mouth slightly agape, amazed at the magnificent range. “Ilove it.” Ibeamed at him. “I’msure Angelica and her little one would be delighted too.”
“Ishould hope so.”
With the brush in my hand, Inearly dipped it into one of the delightful lime greens Thomas made for our painting when his arms entrapped me from behind.
He leaned his chin on my shoulder and swiveled his head at me. “Ineed you for awhile longer.”
And Icould’ve never said no to that.
We painted like this for over three hours. Thomas talked sporadically and Ipainted and peered at him whenever the silence stretched for longer than Iliked and clawed at me. On our way to the car, he didn’tsay much and ate very little of the dinner Ifixed for us. Emotionally drained, we were in his bed by seven.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Iwoke up. Alow light emanated from somewhere at the end of the bed and Ishivered from the cold. And from the absence of Thomas. Ifaintly remembered that we fell asleep while he spooned me, but as Ipatted the sheets to my side, Istruck air.
Irubbed my eyes and looked at the source of light, at my Thomas painting. “Hi, handsome,” Isaid, my voice raspy with remnants of sleep in it.
“Hey yourself.” He lowered his brush to its place on the easel and walked over to me, his white T-shirt tight around his biceps, his hips strong under his gray sweatpants. Ilooked at him with anticipation as he lifted the covers and got under them with me and lay on his side.
Iturned my back to him, returning to the position we slept in, flush against his chest, soaking up Thomas’swarmth. He brushed his lips from my neck down to my shoulder, sending chills down my spine and tickling me all the same with his beard.
His low laugh ebbed through his chest at my ticklish convulsions, the vibration bringing asmile to my face. “You sound better, Thomas. Ilike it when you laugh.”
He gave my shoulder an open-mouth kiss and said nothing.
“What were you doing there?” Itilted my head back to see if Ihad said something wrong.
He rubbed my belly and played with my shirt, up and down, lifting and letting it drop back. “Painting the woman with the most ethereal features Iknow.”
Ispun with enthusiasm, almost knocking our chins together. Inever asked him to, nor did it bother me when he chose to paint images that weren’tme all these months. Now that he had done it, my excitement shot to the roof.
“Can Ilook?”
“It’savery, very raw draft, my love.”
My eyes pleaded with him, my hands clasped in prayer between us.
Thomas gave me aquick peck. “Ican never say no to you.”
As the wordyouleft his mouth, Isprinted out of bed and hopped to the canvas to see how Thomas saw me through his eyes.
He portrayed me as Islept, lying on the side with my hands tucked under my head, one of my bare legs resting on top of the duvet. He painted my face as delicate as aflower, in line with the soft contours he created with only whites, black, and blues, mystical and exquisite.
“This is so beautiful. Not beautiful, that’snot the word. Idon’tknow.” My eyes were glued, in love with his love for me. “Wow.”
“You’re beautiful; Ijust painted what was in front of me.”
“No, not at all. You painted me as something more and with you Iam more. Does that make sense?” Ishook my head. “Ugh, I’mnot saying it right. Ican’tform acoherent sentence with how emotional you made me.”
This painting felt like aspark of electricity to my heart, and from there it bolted to my chest, down my belly to my core. Staying away from Thomas wasn’tan option anymore and Ideviated my attention from the painting to his lying form on the bed.
“So yes, you rendered me speechless, Thomas. What Ican do, however, is show you how Ifeel.”
