Falquen's Nest

Chapter 11

The next morning, Janie woke up refreshed and feeling optimistic. She'd slept in a little later than she would have liked. It was already ten o'clock by the time she'd gotten dressed and left her room. She wanted to get up and apologize to Falquen before he left for work that morning.

Imagine her surprise when she stepped into the kitchen and found Falquen dressed in black as usual, standing in the front room by his easel, painting away.

"Hi..." she said, stepping up close beside him. Another dark morning, she frowned hearing the rain beating up against the windows behind the tightly drawn curtains.

Falquen nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her fairy-like voice.

"Oops... I d-didn't mean to scare you," she said, deflated, the hurt evident on her face. "It's just so d-dark in here." Would he ever be glad to see her?

"Janie... please stop doing that," he said, dropping his brush into a jug of water.

"Sorry, I d-didn't expect you to be home," she said, self-consciously adjusting her t-shirt over her yoga pants. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.

"Gray's watching the shop this morning," he explained, taking a deep breath.

"Gray?" she repeated.

"My brother, Gray. Darien and Jessie also work there," he explained.

"Oh, I see," she said, shuffling awkwardly.

"My brother and I own the shop together. We take turns looking after it. That way we both have time off."

"So, this is your day off?" she nodded with comprehension.

"Off from the shop, yes, so I can spend my time painting," he explained, hoping she'd take the hint and busy herself elsewhere.

"He apologizes by the way, for offending you last night."

"Right... well, I'd like to apologize too, for reacting the way I did. I didn't mean what I said about your paintings." She'd called them miserable. She winced at the memory of it.

"You're entitled to your opinion. Don't apologize if that's the way you feel about my art," he said, sitting back on his stool. "But don't expect me to lie about liking yours either."

A sheepish smile crossed her face. "You haven't even seen any of my paintings. Although, I'm sure you'd hate them."

"I never said anything about hating them. I only said that I might not like them," he corrected her. How could he possibly hate anything she created? The girl was sweetness personified. As odd as that reality was to an angst-ridden Goth like himself, it was the ultimate truth.

"Fair enough," she said with an apologetic shrug.

Falquen sighed and frowned. She continued to stand in front of him. Confounded girl, could she not find something else to do with herself? Did she have to stand there looking so enticing, with the heavenly curves of her hips wrapped up nice and snug in those incredible body-hugging yoga pants? Not to mention the lovely swells of her perky breasts, deliciously veiled by yet another cream coloured t-shirt.

The colour blended so naturally with the peaches and cream hue of her skin. His eyes lingered on the curve of her slender neck, her delicate chin, sweet little heart shaped mouth, the halo of golden hair, and the mesmerizing blue of her overtly innocent eyes.

He couldn't help himself. He was an artist after all, and her beauty captivated him. He only now realized how Botticelli must have felt when he painted his Venus.

"Um, so I was wondering..." she said, thoughtfully looking around the space that he claimed as his studio.

"Yes?" he asked, rather impatiently, shaking himself awake.