The House

Chapter 40 - Day 4: Inspired Drawings

David is standing at the stone kitchen island, paging through my sketchbook, when I return from getting cleaned up. He is no longer wet and dishevelled and looks exactly like he did yesterday when I met him for the first time.

Was it really only yesterday?

It feels as if he'd been in my life since the beginning of time, and looking at the way his hair flops over his forehead and the strong, slightly stubborn lines of his beautiful profile, I realise that I want him in it until the end of time.

He starts when I sit down on a stool near where he's standing and gives me a guilty look, closing the book. He'd been so engrossed in what he was seeing he didn't even hear me join him in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry... I was curious," he says, giving me a shy smile and shoving a hand awkwardly through his hair.

"I don't mind," I smile and thank him for the mug of steaming coffee waiting for me at what has become my favourite seat. "You can look all you want."

"Thanks," he grins, opening the book again. "You are really talented, Belle. I love these sketches. You also have some awesome ideas for what I could do with the front areas of the house and that dodgy driveway. I love it."

I am incredibly pleased to hear him say that. "Thank you. I was having so much fun."

"I mean it; these drawings reflect my vision in a big way. It's actually really helpful. If... if you want... if you have time... if..."

"What do you need, David," I chuckle at his sudden insecurity. We've braved storms together, shared some mind-blowing kisses and had long, rather personal chats about virtually any topic one can think of, and here he is now, too tongue-tied to voice a simple request.

"I don't want to interfere with your work," he shrugs, smiling at me in that brain-destroying sweet way he often uses on me without any mercy at all. "There are a couple of areas around the house that I'm struggling to really see. You know? I have a vague idea of what I want it to become, but it's too foggy. This one was very vague too," he says, lifting the pad to show me the cheerful drawing I made of the decaying gazebo in a dying section of the front yard further to the east of where the steps lead down to the utility room. "This sketch is just perfect; it clarified my vision. This is exactly what I was trying to picture but couldn't."

"Sure," I grin, glowing in his praise. "I'll do some drawings of the areas you're struggling with. If you try to describe your vision to me, I could-."

"No," he says, closing the book, placing it out of the way of possible coffee accidents and sitting down at the other side of the 90-degree corner to see me clearly. "I didn't describe my vision for these others to you, and your drawings are awesome. I don't want to influence you. I want to see what you come up with to knock my socks off as you did with these."

"Oh, so, no pressure," I grumble, and he laughs, shaking his head and taking my hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"Just do what you do, Belle. It's worked great so far. If you're far off, I'll try to describe what I'm trying to picture." My hand is lonely when he lets it go to pick up his coffee mug. "The kids are a nice touch," he adds with a grin, taking a long, leisurely sip of his coffee.

"Kids?"

Frowning, I rise to retrieve the book and page through it. He is right; I have a child or two in virtually all my drawings. I remember thinking about children playing in the yard, but I do not remember actually drawing them. I give a nervous little laugh and start to close the book when my eye is drawn to a shadow in the drawing I did of the front patio just before the rain hit.