All too soon, however, the exhilarating ride does end. This time when the bike slows a few minutes later, it feels legit, and when it comes to a full stop and Lucas puts down the kickstand, I reluctantly pry open my eyes. A row of gnarly trees, tall buildings, and a cool, funky sculpture greets me. I glance around, trying to get my bearings, and see a sign directing university vehicles.
“Where are we?”
“UCLA,” Lucas replies, hopping off. He slides his hands around my waist and lifts me up, and for a moment, I’m completely weightless.
That’s hot.
He sets me on my feet and takes off his helmet, shaking out his golden curls before removing mine. Caressing my hair to smooth what I’m sure is crazy helmet hair, he grins down at me with an expression bordering on vulnerable.
That’s even hotter.
“This place is important to me,” he says with a slight shrug. “I wanted to share it with you. Before my family moved back to Milan the last time, we used to live just up the road. Whenever the day was nice, Mom would pack a lunch and bring us here.”
I look around again, seeing the scenery through his young eyes. Something tugs inside my chest.
Lucas is my first real boyfriend. That makes today my first real Valentine’s Day—the first one that didn’t just involve gifts from my dad anyway. Even while excited, I’ve been nervous about tonight, too, not knowing what to expect. After debating all afternoon, I figured it would be some variation of the old movie and dinner routine.
But this?
Taking me to an important place and sharing a part of himself? That’s the stuff romantic comedies are made of…and it makes me want Lucas even more.
I didn’t think that was possible.
Lucas clears his throat. “Anyway, Mom was an artist, too. She and my dad actually met here, at UCLA. Officially, she got an accounting degree, but her minor, and her heart, was in art. She passed that on to me, I guess, by bringing me to her favorite place.” He looks toward the gnarly trees. “The Murphy Sculpture Garden.”
He shrugs again and shifts on his feet, obviously nervous, and I want to tackle him to the ground. I’m completely, 100 percent falling for this guy, and he has no clue how wonderful he is. How special. That feeling tugs my chest again, driving home the reason I’m doing this thing with my mom. Why I have to see it through. If I have any hope of becoming the kind of girl Lucas deserves, I need to get closure. When I finally say those three little words and give my heart to this beautiful boy, I want it to be whole.
Sliding my hand into his, I say honestly, “This is perfect, Luc.”
“Yeah?”
He searches my eyes with a crooked grin, and I nod. “Yeah. I couldn’t think of a better place for our date.”
That crooked grin grows until it reveals his lethal dimple. “Well then, you should know the ride and a picnic is only phase one of my plan.” A mischievous glint lights his chocolate-brown eyes. “Plenty more surprises still to come.” Squeezing my fingers, he pulls me forward until I’m standing right in front of him, and he leans down to kiss the tip of my nose. “Follow me, little badass.”
Proving just how little I know about motorcycles, I’m shocked as he quickly removes a pouch from the side of his bike. When he unzips it to look inside, I peek and notice it does indeed hold a picnic dinner, as well as a blanket. He catches me before I can see what else it holds, however, and tucks the bag beneath his toned arm.
“All will be revealed in time,” he intones, mimicking Reyna’s mysterious accent.
I laugh. “Gosh, you’re a dork.” But I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him tight, letting him know I’m only teasing. I love that he knows about my gypsy girl and my fantastical/impossible journey to the past. Sharing it with him reminds me how lucky I am.
Lucas presses his lips to the crown of my head, and I’m tempted to stay here, just like this. But I can feel Lucas twitching, antsy to show me his favorite spot, so I step back. “Lead on, Professor.”
His smile is infectious as he takes my hand, and I find myself hanging on every word as he leads me down the sidewalk and begins explaining the sculptures that shaped his childhood.
As I listen to him talk, I catch a glimpse of the young boy who fell in love with creation.
Being here with him, soaking this place in, I totally get the inspiration. My fingers literally twitch with the urge to sketch. To capture the beauty, the tranquility, the brilliance of this park on paper. For now, I settle for snapping picture after picture with my cell phone, storing up memories so I can attempt to recreate them at home.
“What I wouldn’t give for a sketchpad,” I murmur as we walk past a soothing fountain. The water trickles down from a funky sculpture, surrounded by tall trees, and for the first time in my life, I think about college. My future. I can see myself here.
I glance at Lucas and catch him looking at the ground with a small, satisfied grin.
When the sun begins to set behind the trees, he stops beneath a big, shady tree and spreads the blanket from his bag. It’s been an amazing afternoon, with zero talk of our current family dramas—Lucas’s rule. I snap another picture of him lying there, hair mussed, skin flushed from our walk. Maybe I’ll sketch him later, too.
He rolls his eyes and holds up his hand. “All right, Annie Leibovitz,” he says, referencing my favorite photographer. “Enough pictures. Join me.”
Snagging my wrist, he tugs me onto the blanket as he sits up. After placing me between his open legs, my back to his chest, he releases a breath of contentment. I know the feeling. A few stragglers remain in the park, other than Jack and his partner, who I spy hanging out near the fountain. I’m sure there’s a photographer or two hiding in the trees, too, hoping for a scandalous make-out scene. But I feel like we’re alone. Perfection.
As vibrant colors streak across the sky, I say, “This is beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.” He slides my hair to one shoulder and chuckles against my ear, sending chill bumps racing across my skin. “That sounds like a cheesy line I ripped from Valentine’s Day for Dummies, but I happen to really mean it.”
I smile, knowing he does. And that’s what is so amazing.
I wiggle my hips back, snuggling into him, and Lucas presses his lips to my neck. A shiver rolls down my spine. To distract myself from turning around and giving the hidden paparazzi precisely what they want, I focus on a young mother and little girl a few feet away. The two of them are holding hands, the girl skipping, the mother smiling.
“Before I feed you,” Lucas murmurs, his lips brushing my ear as he speaks. The resulting shiver now spreads to my toes. “I thought we could do something first.”
At the tone of his voice, I tear my gaze from the sweet family moment and crane my neck around, wide-eyed. We’re in public, with cute, innocent eyes within viewing distance…but still, I’m tempted. Lucas laughs when he sees my expression and promptly opens the saddlebag. Grinning, he whips out a box of drawing pencils and a sketchpad. “You didn’t think I meant something else, did you?”
I shove his shoulder playfully—he knows exactly what I thought he meant. Shaking my head, I grasp his chin and pull him in for an eager kiss, then exclaim against his lips, “Dude, you flipping rock!” Now this date is officially perfect. I make grabby hands at the supplies. “Gimme.”
His smile widens as he hands over the goods, and then he removes a second pad, presumably for himself. While I tend to gravitate toward sketching, painting, and photography, Lucas is more into sculpting and ceramics…but his talent knows no bounds. Having him in my art class fires up my competitive edge like nothing else (along with other fiery thoughts), and our teacher, Mr. Scott, loves our friendly rivalry. Ever since Lucas transferred in January, my portfolio has pretty much been made of win.
Tapping through my pictures, I land on the image of a cool female figure and begin to sketch. It doesn’t take long to lose myself in capturing the piece. The fluid form of her body, the drape of her skirt. It’s
just a torso, no arms, no head, no legs. It’s beautiful in its simplicity. But midway through, I sigh and flip the page, beginning a new drawing. This one featuring a little girl, eyes full of joy, and a mother beside her, smiling with loving pride.
For so long, I thought that kind of connection was a pipedream. That’s why I got my tattoo, inspired from my favorite painting Madonna and Child with Apples and Pears, to remind me of that.
In the famous painting, Mary looks at her child with such love and adoration—an expression my own mother never wore. On the table in front of her are an apple and two pears, one of them sliced in half. In Renaissance art, pears symbolize marital fidelity, which I always found fitting since my mother’s infidelity sliced our family apart.
Somehow, a Renaissance artist captured my life story in paint five hundred years before it ever happened. And just a few years ago, I captured it somewhat illegally in ink on my hip—a sliced pear, a permanent reminder that the heart can’t be trusted. That it only ever leads to pain.
At least that’s what I used to believe. Thanks to my ancestors and the beautiful boy beside me, my views have shifted. And with Mom suddenly wanting to be a part of my life, I can’t help thinking that maybe she will look at me that way…someday. Even if she doesn’t, even if it is just a pipedream, I owe it to the hurt little girl inside me to find out for sure.
I don’t budge from my spot or lift my head until a shadow falls across my paper. When I look up, I realize the sun has all but set, the colors deep and vibrant on the horizon. Lucas watches me with a wistful smile on his face, and I can tell that he’s seen my sketch. That he understands. I lower my lashes and close the pad, stretching and massaging my stiff neck. It’s not that I’m embarrassed that he knows; it’s just still new for me to be so exposed.
Lucas takes my drawing hand and presses a soft kiss against my knuckles. “Would you like to see my sketch?” he asks, smoothly shifting the focus away from me.
Grateful, I nod, eager to return to the land of happy, swoony thoughts. “I’d love to.”
He hands over his work, and I expect to see a cool car or maybe the stainless steel cross that he seemed to love so much. When I look at the paper, however, my head tilts in confusion.
It’s a flower.
A beautiful flower, don’t get me wrong. But…a flower.
Definitely not the manliest of things to draw. I think back, trying to remember if we saw any rosebushes on our walk, but I come up blank. Scrunching my nose, I ask the obvious. “Why a rose?”
He beams, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask that very thing. O-kay.
“Did you know that in Renaissance art, a rose with eight petals symbolizes renewal?”
His gaze flickers down, toward my hip, and a lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down, my earlier thoughts still fresh in mind. Tears prick my eyes as I return my gaze to the sketch and count eight petals.
“No,” I whisper. “I didn’t know that.”
“You told me the story about your tattoo,” Lucas says, sliding closer to me on the blanket. “And I know what it represents. Or what it used to represent. I’m hoping that maybe your opinion has changed in the last few months. Since you went to the past and met Alessandra.” He pauses, and I lift my head to meet his eyes. “Since you met me.”
I nod again, that lump back in my throat, making words impossible.
A smile curves his lips as he searches my face and seems to find what he’s looking for. Leaning back, he slides his hand into his pocket. “I thought you could use a new reminder. Not necessarily in ink, but one close to your heart…and possibly just as permanent.”
Confused, I look down and see him fingering a small suede pouch. My pulse begins to race as he turns it over, spilling a silver chain into his opened palm. A tear escapes when I see the charm sitting on the end.
An eight-petal rose.
“May I?” he asks, lifting the delicate chain.
I nod, still unable to speak, and scoot so he can clasp it around my neck. When the cool, soft weight touches my skin, my heart stutters beneath the charm.
Lucas presses a kiss at my nape and slips his arms around me. “Cat, I understand your need to explore the possibilities with your mom.” His voice is low and gentle in my ear, and another tear falls. “But never forget that you’re already loved. Unconditionally. Chase whatever you need to find, get your closure. But whatever way this turns out, know that it doesn’t affect us. There’s no need to fear me leaving or ever hurting you.”
I close my eyes as his words flow over me.
There’s a difference between loving someone and being in love with them. I know that, and I’m not sure which one Lucas means. But he does care for me, deeply, and that truth fills me with so much joy I could burst.
A strange sensation flutters in my chest—almost as if a piece of my heart is healing. Another section of the puzzle I’ve been building these last few months is stitching itself back together. I turn in Lucas’s arms, and although I’m unable to return his sentiment now—I can’t promise something that isn’t yet fully mine to give—I do my best to show him how I feel. If not with words, then at least with my lips.
He seems to get the message.
Groaning, Lucas thrusts his fingers through my hair and holds me still, devouring my mouth for one wonderful, glorious minute. His lips are soft, yet firm, and when his tongue flicks out to lick the seam of my lips, I open eagerly, wanting more. Almost needing it.
But more never comes.
“What the hay?” I grumble, nipping his lower lip when he pulls back.
He rests his forehead against mine and exhales heavily. “The trees have eyes,” he reminds me, referring to our friendly photographic friends.
I grumble again, knowing he’s right. We can’t get carried away—as much as I really, really want to. Not so much because the world would see pictures of Lucas and me making out on the cover of some tabloid…but because my dad would see it.
That reality pours more cold water on my libido than a freaking tsunami.
Lucas chuckles at my expression as he stands and gently takes my hands to lift me up. “Don’t worry. I have the perfect place in mind where no one will see us.” He wags his eyebrows, and a spark of mischief enters his eyes, making me laugh. “Prepare for phase two.”
…
I frown as I gaze at the abandoned warehouse. We’re in a deserted part of town I’ve never been in before, there’s a broken-down car a few feet away with a busted-out windshield, and almost every streetlight on the block is out.
Phase two is looking pretty shady about now.
“You’re right, no one will see us here,” I agree with a slow nod and pop of my hip. “And there’s a very good reason for that.” I look at him and circle my finger in the air. “This place is condemned.”
Lucas shakes his head as he yanks out his keys and proceeds to unlock the main door to the building as if he owns the joint. The fact that he has keys to this suspect place is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.
“It’s not condemned,” he says, grunting as he twists the key in the stubborn lock. It gives, and he glances back with a satisfied smile. “But it is private. Come on, where’s my little badass?”
“On a momentary siesta,” I mutter, lifting to my toes. I try to sneak a peek past his shoulder, although to be honest, I’m kind of scared of what I might see.
Lucas chuckles. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
He widens his eyes with excitement, then disappears through the opened door before I can say heck no. I glance over at Jack, parked in his truck and reading a newspaper. Said security man lifts his head as if he can feel my anxious stare, then sends me a wink through the windshield.
If Dad’s main guy thinks this is legit, it must be. Right?
Before I can answer my own question, the door to the building opens and Lucas returns. “Everything’s ready.”
The naked bulb suspended over the doorway reveals his vulnerable smile from the par
k is back, mixed with anticipation. He tries to hide his eagerness, but his hands are tapping his thighs, and his neck is doing this adorable chicken jut thing. It completely wins me over. Despite the heebie-jeebies bouncing like Pop Rocks in my gut, I give him my hand and close my free one around my new delicate charm, choosing to follow him. To let him tug me into the great and nerve-wracking unknown.
Inside the rusted-out door is a sea of pitch black. Lucas releases my hand to flick on the overhead light, and I blink at the sudden change. When my surroundings come into focus, my gasp echoes in the wide, deserted space.
A huge blank canvas lines one wall. Tarps cover the entire floor. And tubs of what appear to be balloons filled with some kind of substance sit in intervals along the ground.
“No. Way.” I turn to my amazeballs boyfriend in shock. “Are you a closet Princess Diaries fan?”
Lucas laughs, a deep, rumbly sound, and tucks a section of hair behind my ear. “No, but Angela is,” he says. “I’m not too proud to admit I hit up my little sister for advice. And since she knows we both love art, she suggested this from her favorite movie. As for this place, an old friend of my mom’s owns it.” He glances at the tub of balloons I now know contain paint, and then back at me. “Dumb idea?”
“Awesome idea,” I correct. I look down at my pretty top and frown. “Although I probably should’ve worn an old tee for this.”
Lucas taps my chin up and winks. “Got you covered, babe.” He walks over to the nearest tub and grabs two plastic raincoats I hadn’t noticed. “Literally covered.”
He grins at his bad pun and helps me slide on my coat. The plastic crinkles as I twist my hair into a ponytail and shove it under the hood. He did well—the coat must be ogre-sized, because it covers me from head to foot. I kick off my pretty shoes just in case and snap the buttons closed, doing a happy shimmy. I’ve always wanted to try this.
“Rules,” he declares, picking up one of the balloons. “There are no rules. The balloons are divided into tubs of red, blue, yellow, purple, and green paint. You lob those suckers at the canvas, the balloons explode, and magic happens.”
My Not So Super Sweet Life Page 9
