The waiter brought her order and looked slightly aghast as Georgia reached out to take the glass. Her fingers were stained with shades of green and blue, despite the good scrubbing she’d given them.
“Occupational hazard. I’m an artist,” she explained.
“Ah.” The waiter smiled and nodded politely before moving back towards the bar.
Georgia sipped her drink and then smiled as she rubbed at a particularly stubborn spot of indigo near her thumbnail. As she rubbed, she wondered if her vision of a night sky over chalky white ocean cliffs would be ready in time. Submissions for the open exhibition at the Wycroft Gallery were next week and though the painting was almost done, there were still some details Georgia was struggling with. But that was okay. If she wasn’t ready this time, there was always next year. In the meantime, she’d just keep painting. And drawing.
The first notes of a Cat Stevens classic floated through the room, and anticipation burned through Georgia’s veins. She moved to the edge of her seat, but as Tom began to sing, she sat back again, and let his voice wash over her instead. He was as good as he’d ever been. Better, in fact. His voice, his playing, all effortless and natural. Though the crowd had initially kept up their quiet conversations, the hum of voices gradually faded away as all eyes turned to Tom. She watched his hands as they moved over the strings, caressing them, his long fingers as gentle as a lovers. Georgia blushed as she thought of what else she knew those fingers could do.
Tom’s next song, once the applause from the first had finally died down, was his own. But it wasn’t one of the new compositions and Georgia recognised it instantly, almost from the first note. Her heart skipped, and as Tom caught her eye, she smiled and raised her glass to him. He winked, and then he began to sing.
The audience was enthralled once more as he played, and if the musician was intended as background music, that wasn’t the case tonight. As Tom hit the chorus, the door of the wine bar opened, allowing a couple more people to enter. The group outside had obviously come to some agreement. Before it swung closed, Georgia caught a glimpse of the night sky. The stars were out again, she noticed, shining bright. The storm had passed.
The sight of them reminded Georgia of something. Of a promise she’d made a long time ago, on a beach, under a similar starry sky. Smiling, she opened her bag, pulled out the sketchbook she always carried these days, and as Tom sang a song that was sweet and sad and wrapped up in beautiful, she focused on his face, his hands, his guitar, and she began to draw.
THE END
Starcrossed Page 6
