I was running my fingers over some old painting, I don't know what it was, to be honest. Just looked like some random colours spashed on a piece of paper, to be fully honest, a little kid could've done it. But as I stared at it, not realizing my fingers were actually touching it, I realized it was beautiful. Whatever it was, it captured my attention. I let my eyes follow the spots. Then I realized they were where they were for a reason. Not being a great art spotter, I wondered what it really meant. I also wondered what the artist was thinking of when they made it. I could almost see pain in it. The artist going through a rough time, maybe a break-up or something, and taking it out on a piece of paper. I smiled, and glanced down at the artist's name.
"Um, I don't want to be rude," a voice came from beside me. I jumped almost a mile back, just like earlier that morning, and stared at John. He smiled and finished, "it's just, you aren't allowed to touch the paintings."
"Touch the..." my voice trailed, and I realized my hand had still been on the page. I closed my eyes, feeling my cheeks burn, I said, "I'm so sorry, really. I didn't mean to. I was just...nevermind."
"No," John said, softly, "tell me."
I opened my eyes, seeing he wasn't even paying attention to me, he just nodded slightly. I said, wishing I wasn't blushing right now, and said, "Well, I was honestly trying to figure the picture out."
"What did you figure out?" John asked, his eyes finding mine. I had to look away, so I looked at the painting.
"The point of it. I didn't really notice it when I first looked at it. I kind of thought it'd been done by a little kid, to be honest. But then, I started to look at it closely. Which is how my hand got on it..." I blushed deeply--I could feel it, and continued, "Anyways, and well, I realized it wasn't really about having fun. You know, like a kid would when they hand-paint. I realized that it seems to be filled with pain. And beauty. Broken heart."
John nodded, smiling, and I wasn't sure if I'd gotten it right or wrong. He said, his voice soft, "Yeah, you totally understand this picture, I was so not feeling like a happy kid when I did this."
"You did this?" I asked, my eyes felt like they were sparkling or something. However, this feeling could've been because John's eyes were sparkling. My eyes flickered to the artist's name. Sure enough, it read, "John Fader."
Okay, I'll admit it. I surpressed the urge to giggle. He murmurered something beside me, something I didn't catch, but then I wasn't paying attention. I raised my hand, without thinking, and traced a cirlce. I heard John clear his throat beside me, but I didn't care. I continued to trace it. Finally, I stopped, pulled my hand back, and asked, my voice soft, "How much for it?"
"What?" John sputtered, looking honestly surprised. I don't know what made me ask, but suddenly I realized I wanted this in my apartment back home. I smiled, because it just seemed like I needed to. John asked, his voice slow and steady, "You want to buy this?"
"Yeah," I said, looking away from him to it. The colours might not go with my living room, or kitchen, or bathroom, but it'd be perfect for my bedroom. Not at my apartment though. At Sam's. Oh, I thought annoyed, Sam. I should've called him. I shrugged the thought of Sam off, and looked back at John, saying, "Seriously, how much do you want for it?"
"Um," he said, pausing, "I don't really have a price. I didn't think it'd...sell."
I rolled my eyes at this as if I didn't believe him. Which I didn't. I sighed, tapping my toe, to show him he needed to make up his mind. He laughed, and said, "You know what? You're Frank and Alice's daughter. For you, it's free."
"Free?" I asked, eyeing him. "Come on, give me a price."
"It's free, honestly," John said, raising his hands in a surrender-I'm-innocent kind of way. The look he had on his face was so cute. I rolled my eyes, but he said, "It's free or you don't get it."
I scoffed, about to argue that was unfair, but I bit my tongue. He looked like he'd stick to his threat. So, I said, smiling, "Let me take you out to lunch, then I won't feel so guilty."
He looked like he was seriously considering this, and then he shook his head. He said, his eyes amused, "Free or no sale."
"Maybe," I thought, eyeing him, "I'll just come in here late tonight and steal it...leaving a couple hundred."
His eyes sparkled again--I didn't know if they ever stopped. But he said, smiling, "I'd just find out where you live."
I grinned, laughing. I shook my head and said, "Alright. But it's your lost. You know that right?"
"How about I take you up on the offer for lunch instead?" he asked me, with a soft playful smile. I don't know why, but his lips suddenly seemed kissable to me.
Nodding I said, "Thank you."
About twenty minutes later, after I'd seen everything in his art gallery--which by the way, was the most interesting, beautiful place I'd ever been to before--I got into his truck and we drove back towards town.
"Hey, is Sally's still open?" I asked, naming my old-time favourite diner.
He laughed and said, "That's where I was going to go."
"Yes," I said, as if I was tweleve again and I was getting my way. I laughed at his skeptical look.
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