by R. C. Martin
It’s these people that make me so anxious to get Daphne to come back. They aren’t perfect, none of us are, but I see them as a representation of Christ’s love. The relationships I have forged here are a constant reminder that God’s affection is great and worthy to be shared. Daphne is no longer convinced that she can find love here, but she’s wrong. The compassion she yearns for is never ending in the church. I think that’s what makes Trevor come back.
I was pleasantly surprised to see Trevor when I walked in tonight. He doesn’t know it, but his presence always reboots my faith and my hope that everyone can be saved. Even the reluctant. I’m not sure if Trevor fully understands what draws him to God, but I believe he’s transformed a little more each time he comes. One day, he’ll find the peace and healing that he’s after.
“So, Daphne tells me you won’t tell Logan where we’re going tonight,” he says as we make our way out into the parking lot.
“She hasn’t ratted me out, has she?”
“No,” he says with a laugh. “She’s looking forward to it almost as much as she’s enjoying keeping the secret from Logan.”
Good, I think to myself. I had her and Trevor in mind when I made our plans. “Yeah, I’m hoping everyone has a good time.”
“Since I have you alone for a second, I thought I might run this idea by you,” he begins to say, stopping me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Sure. What is it?”
“Did you want to come up with a code word? You know, in the event that you want to duck out early if this whole thing is a bust?” I can tell he’s trying to keep a straight face, but by the time he’s finished his sentence, he’s grinning from ear to ear. “Just looking out for you, man.”
I shake my head and continue making my way to my Jeep. “I’ll be fine.”
“I know, I know,” he insists. “Hey, Rome—even if she does drive you crazy, stay cool, alright? It’s been a long time since she’s been on a date. She’s out of practice.”
I furrow my brow and cast a sidelong glance at him. “Did Daph tell you to say that?”
“No. Contrary to popular belief, Logan’s more of an underdog than people think. She might not care to acknowledge it, but she bleeds just like everyone else.”
I nod, allowing his words to sink in. I’ve never heard him talk about her like this. Then again, why would I? I’ve never shown any interest in her before. Now that I am—or at least pretending to—it makes it somewhat easier knowing that she’s got more allies than I thought.
“I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes,” he says as he unlocks his truck.
“Yeah. You and Daph can ride with Logan and me.”
“Sounds good.”
We part with a wave and pull out of the lot one right after the other. It only takes about fifteen minutes to get to the girls’ place and I’m sure I’ll arrive right on time. Along the way, my thoughts wander back to what Trevor said about Logan being an underdog. Honestly, I don’t see it. I’ve always known her to be a woman who gets what she wants. She carries herself like nothing and no one can touch her. I can only imagine that Trevor’s opinion of her is influenced by Daphne. Regardless, hearing him stand up for her like he’s her big brother or something, I feel like I really do need to make sure she has a good time tonight.
On a whim, I decide to make a stop. I have no idea what kind of flowers she likes but it’s the thought that counts. I won’t claim to be the most romantic guy in the world, but I have my moments. While this date isn’t exactly real, everyone else seems to think so. My gesture will help make the whole thing that much more believable. Besides, what girl doesn’t like getting flowers, even if for no reason at all? I choose an arrangement of daises and then continue on my way.
I see Trevor’s empty truck when I park. I check the time and note that I’m only five minutes late. Even so, I hurry my way up the flight of stairs to their door. After I knock, I hide the flowers behind my back and wait.
“You’re late,” greets Daphne.
“Well, hello to you, too, sis.”
She folds her arms across her chest and juts her chin out as if she’s about ready to threaten me. She’s practically the size of a toothpick so I’m not the least bit intimidated. I am curious to know what she’s trying to convey with her stance. I shrug my shoulders, expressing my own nonverbal cue.
“She’s been primping for the last hour. If this is some kind of joke—”
“Daphne,” I groan. “I’m here, aren’t I? And…” I show her the flowers and her whole body instantly softens, her arms falling to her sides as she coos at my thoughtful gesture.
“Okay,” she says with a smile. “Wait—” she pulls her eyebrows together as she looks me up and down. “Is that really what you’re wearing?”
Just like that, my moment of victory is crushed. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I cry, throwing my arms up in exasperation. “What is wrong with what I’m wearing?”
She smirks at me before she turns and yells over her shoulder, “Logan! Your date is here!”
When Logan comes to the door, Daphne steps out of the way. As if my eyes are acting of their own volition, they scan her from head to toe. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, which seems to be the only casual aspect of her outfit. She’s wearing a loose fitting, black, spaghetti strap dress, which accentuates her long legs and her lean arms. The tan belt that’s wrapped around her waist reminds all of us that she’s got a body any guy would like to get his hands on. It isn’t until I notice her leopard print heels that it clicks. When she giggles, I can only assume she’s come to realize the same thing.
We match.
“This is kind of disgustingly adorable. I’m not changing, by the way, so you’ll have to deal.”
“Doesn’t bother me at all,” I assure her as I hand over the flowers.
She looks at the daisies and then at me before she finally accepts them. “For me?”
“You are my date, right?”
“Yes, but—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head and then reaches over to kiss my cheek. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Don’t mean to rush you through this incredibly abnormal moment you two seem to be sharing, but Grace just sent me a text. They’re already there. We should probably get going,” says Daphne.
“I’m going to put these in some water. I’ll be quick.” True to her word, she hurries off to the kitchen.
Trevor joins Daphne and I at the door. He places his hand on my sister’s back, guiding her out of the apartment. She follows his lead and, as he passes me, he gives me a thumbs up. “I’m impressed already.”
By the time Logan has locked up behind us, Trevor and Daphne are in my car. “Nice touch with the flowers,” she says, taking advantage of our moment alone.
“Do you like them?” I ask honestly.
“I do. Feel free to buy me flowers anytime you want,” she replies with a grin. “Now, are you finally going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Nope.” I shake my head to emphasize my answer. “I will say that it involves art and wine.”
“Hmm. I love wine.”
“I figured you wouldn’t be opposed.” I walk her to the passenger side of my car and open her door.
“Thanks, Double-O,” she murmurs before I close her inside.
We’re the last to arrive at the art studio and Ryan, Trisha, Harvey, and Grace are already drinking their first glasses of wine as they wait for us. Our instructor for the night, Tammy, welcomes the rest of us by offering us filled glasses of our own. As soon as we’ve all said our hellos, she leads us to the four stations she’s set up and begins describing how our evening will proceed.
I walk by this studio all the time. It’s a couple doors down from where I teach yoga. When I strolled past it on Friday morning, I noticed the sign in the door advertising group activities such as this one. It worked out in my favor that the group that was going to be meeting tonight had to cancel, so it was
no trouble reserving our spots. This session is a couples event. Essentially, it’s just an opportunity to hang out, drink a little, and do some art.
Tammy explains that we’re each supposed to pick out a paint-by-number canvas. The twist is, we are supposed to pick with our partner in mind. Then, once we’ve chosen, our partners will be the ones painting it—except they’ll be blindfolded. It’s our job to physically guide them through the project. The only thing they are in complete control over is color choice, but we aren’t supposed to disclose which number is associated with which aspect on the canvas.
Basically, it’s an exercise in relaxing and trusting your partner.
“Now I see why the wine is necessary,” Logan jokes as we set out to pick our canvases.
We have four options to choose from. A mountain-scape, a pair of birds perched in a tree, a vase full of flowers, or a tree blowing in the wind. I pick the flowers for Logan, making sure to hide my choice as well as she’s hiding hers. She insists that I have to be blindfolded first and I give in with hardly any fight. I sit on the stool in front of the easel and allow her to cover my eyes. I listen as she sets the canvas in front of me and then makes her way to stand behind me.
“Okay, there are seven colors. What do you want the first color to be?”
“Blue,” I answer with little thought.
“Dark or light?”
“Mmm, dark.”
I wait for her to dip my brush in the appropriate paint and then she hands it to me. “Do you trust me?” she asks softly in my ear, pressing her front against my back.
We’ve never been this close to each other before and I’m surprised how much I enjoy it. I hate to admit it but, she feels nice. As she slides her hand down my arm and wraps her fingers around mine, I’m distracted by her alluring scent. For a moment, I wonder how it is that girls can smell so amazing.
“Roman?”
“Hmm? What?”
“Do you trust me?” she repeats with a giggle.
A knowing smile pulls at the corner of my mouth as the truth comes to my lips. “I’m working on it.”
“Well, how about you work on relaxing?” She gives my hand a shake, implying that I need to let her take the lead, and I do my best to let her guide my brush across the canvas. It isn’t long until we settle into a sort of rhythm. “You know, this idea is actually pretty damn ingenious,” she whispers in my ear. “You might be more brilliant than I thought.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yup,” she says, popping the p at the end of the word. “You should see the two of them right now.”
“You’re my eyes, remember? Tell me what you see.”
“He’s sitting down, holding her between his legs.”
“Which one is blindfolded?”
“Trevor.” When she giggles again, I turn my head slightly toward the sound. “Busted.”
“What?”
“We’re not the only one’s checking in. Not to worry, though, I think you and I are pretty convincing for now. Next color.”
“Gray.”
We spend the next forty minutes talking idly and spying as we work on my painting. We manage to only insult each other a couple times and we actually make each other laugh, which catches Daphne’s attention every time. I can tell Logan is feeling mischievous and growing tipsy as the night progresses because she kicks her flirting up a notch. I pace myself, offering to share my wine. I plan on going out for drinks after we’re done here and I still have to worry about getting everyone home.
“I like it,” she says, removing my blindfold. “What do you think?”
She picked the mountain-scape for me and I filled it with shades of blue, gray, black and white. Somehow my choices worked. I mean, it definitely doesn’t look natural, but that’s what makes it appealing. Considering we literally painted it together, it looks pretty good. “I like it, too,” I agree, turning to face her. “Why’d you pick this one?”
“Really?” she asks, scrunching her forehead. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Would I ask if it was?”
She runs her fingers through my hair and then cups her hands around the back of my neck as she looks at me. I forget to breathe for a second, the sensation of her touch catching me off guard. She didn’t even hesitate. Her boldness is nothing new and I find myself questioning why I’m surprised.
“You with your luscious mane and your slightly overgrown facial hair? You’re a mountain man—a Coloradan through and through, just the way I like ‘em.”
I wonder if she’s telling the truth; if she thinks I’m legitimately her type, or if she’s just acting. Who knows? The way she puts herself out there, she might not even know what she’s really looking for.
I don’t get a chance to respond because we’re interrupted by the sound of someone clearing her throat beside us. We both turn and see Trisha and Daphne staring, like we’re on display for their inspection. I guess, in a way, we are.
“Can we help you?” I inquire.
When Trisha’s jaw drops wide open in response, Logan laughs and then pulls away from me to reach for her wine. I watch her take a leisurely sip as she twirls the tip of her ponytail around her finger, her eyes smiling at me from over the rim of her glass.
“I think I might be starting to believe them,” Trisha tells Daphne, catching our attention.
“It’s still the weirdest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” she replies as if we can’t hear her.
“Daph—”
“Stop,” Logan says, playfully smacking my chest. “Let it slide. You can’t blame her, right? When has she ever seen the two of us have fun together?”
“Fine,” I say as I stand. “You get one freebie. Now you just have to get over it.” I take the blindfold and wrap it around Logan’s head before guiding her to the stool. After she sits, I replace my painted canvas with her blank one and then I take my spot behind her. I look back at my sister and Trisha, who still stand by watching us. “Don’t you guys have more painting to do?” They exchange a quick glance, smile at one another, and then head back to their stations.
“Okay, now, how did you do this?” I ask Logan as I reach around her and take her hand. It feels awkward being positioned behind her the way that I am. As I try a different approach, she laughs at me.
“Remember earlier when I called you brilliant? Maybe I spoke too soon.”
“Nope. No take backs.” I glance over at Harvey and Grace to see how they’re managing and I see that she’s sitting in his lap while he follows her lead, blindfolded. Then I notice that even though Daphne’s now the one without sight, she’s standing between Trevor’s legs like she was before. “Stand up,” I tell Logan.
“Why?” she asks, turning her head toward the sound of my voice.
“Do you trust me?”
“Working on it,” she teases as she stands.
I occupy the stool, pull her back against me, and immediately decide that now she’s too tall. “Take your shoes off.”
“Okay, bossy! I think I like it better when you’re wearing the blindfold.”
“I’m sorry.” My hands find her hips before I think better of it. I start to pull away but then stop when she immediately kicks off her heels.
“Better?” she practically purrs.
I don’t hide my grin, amused that my touch has such an affect, and say, “Yes. Thank you. Now pick a color.”
“Pink!”
“Why am I not surprised?” I mutter, dipping her brush.
“Hey, no judging. You know, I’m beginning to think I’m nicer than you.” I bark out a laugh and she retaliates, turning to swipe her paintbrush across my cheek. She’s fast and the feel of cool paint on my face silences me. She lifts the corner of the blindfold to examine her handy work and her pleased expression makes me scowl. She then winks, covers her eye, and turns around to face her canvas.
“What was that you said about being nice?” I rub the back of my hand across my cheek, smearing paint over my knuckles.
“Serves you right. Now are you going to help me or not?”
I grumble as I take her hand and begin painting. Like before, we find a rhythm and she moves when I move. My irritation wanes as the next few minutes pass in silence and my mind loses track of everything except for our current task.
“Roman?”
“Yeah?”
“This is fun.” She relaxes against me, resting her free hand on my thigh, effectively pulling my focus from the painting. “M is sorry for getting paint on your face. Such a Logan move.”
“I’ll take your apology under consideration. Time for another color.”
She spins so that we’re face to face and drapes her arms around my shoulders. “First, say you forgive me.” I shake my head when she turns her lips down in a pout. Obviously she can’t see me do it, but it doesn’t matter. The act isn’t meant for her. It’s for me.
That pout is annoyingly sexy. With her draped all over me, I can’t seem to resist the gravitational pull towards her. We’ve been at it for over an hour now, flirting and bickering like this is real. Ironically, my apparent lack of discomfort is making me squirm. I haven’t wanted to push her away once and I’m starting to think I’ve fallen victim to her feminine wiles.
No wonder she can walk into a bar, drink for free all night, and walk out with a stranger. If you let your guard down, she’ll knock you out before you even know she tried.
“Double-O?” she whispers, inching her face closer to mine. Her pout turns into a smirk and I’m suddenly pulled back into my right mind. I can tell by her sly smile that she thinks she’s bested me. She almost did, but I can rectify that.
I reach for a discarded paintbrush and carefully dip it in pink paint. I move stealthily and bite back a laugh when the brush makes contact with her cheek. She gasps and straightens her spine in response.
“I forgive you, M.”
She frowns and not a second later she kisses me—or, she makes an attempt, her lips grazing the corner of mine. My whole body jolts, startled by her forward act. She doesn’t pull back right away and I look down at her mouth as she speaks.
