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Everyone listened. “Well hello there.” Henri shot his aunt a confused look. She was in view of the hallway. The smile on her face told him it was for him. He dropped his fork to his plate twisting around in his seat.

There she stood with a big smile on her face, a bundle of pencils in her hand, and a sketchpad.

“Hey there, Maven.” His aunt stood up. “Are you hungry?”

Maven shook her head. “No ma’am, I just ate dinner. Henri promised me an art session. I came to take him up on that offer.”

Everyone smiled at Henri and the girl willing to take what she wanted. Henri rose from the table with his plate. He took it into the kitchen gesturing for Maven to join him.

“Hi.” She whispered, looking at his family all around the dining room table. Henri quickly scraped his food into the trash and placed his dish in the dishwater.

“Hi.” He whispered back, amused she was being so cautious, as if she snuck in. He leaned in, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. Her hair grazing his nose, she smelled of lilac shampoo.

“Where do you want to do this?”

“Wow, how forward of you.” They both laughed. “I prefer the bedroom, but wherever you like.”

Maven’s cheeks were hot from his flirty intimation. She followed Henri up the old staircase, looking at all the family photos that lined the green wallpaper, the floor beneath them beautiful wood. He opened the first door on the left, switching on a light.

Maven looked around at the average sized bedroom. A bed in one corner with tousled sheets, the comforter practically on the floor, hanging on for dear life, in another corner sat a wooden writing table with a pile of books on top of it. On the other side of the room was a big window with a window seat, and an assortment of pillows situated on top of the bench. She stared at the walls, a number of posters showcased Pink Floyd, Aerosmith, and The Doors.

Henri opened the closet next to his desk. He pulled out a suitcase. Inside were a few blank canvases. He took one out as well as some black paint and a paintbrush.

“Sit over there.” He told her, pointing to the window seat. She did as he asked. Watching him gather his supplies and sit down across from her at the opposite end. He drew up one knee, resting his back against the pillows. And quickly he went to work.

“Should I pose?”

Henri shook his head. “Do whatever you want.”

She stayed still, only moving her eyes to get a better look at Henri’s bedroom. His personal space, the place he probably stored all his memories in. “What’s that on your dresser?”

Henri stopped what he was doing. He handed over the paintbrush and retrieved the large leather bound book. It was by far bigger than any book she had ever seen.

“Those are all my paintings.” He took the paintbrush back handing over the book.

“Wow, Henri.”

“Everything I’ve ever drawn is in that book,” Henri explained. He started back on his latest work of art while Maven looked at his old work.

Maven now understood his technique. Everything he painted was in black. But his work didn’t need color. It spoke volumes, devoid of fancy blues or reds or any shade in between. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Henri painted a world of optimism where maybe someone else saw none.

A distorted setting of old buildings with a gorgeous young woman in the center of all the disarray, but even amidst all that was tragic, her face held a loveliness that made you overlook the pain all around her.

Maven looked up from the picture. “Why?” She turned the painting toward Henri. He barely looked at it, busily working on the portrait of Maven.

“I was young. That’s the way I saw life back then.”

“But I don’t get it. Explain this to me. To me it’s beautiful.”

Henri nodded. “It is. Life is dreadful, but that doesn’t take away from what we all are. I guess that’s what I was trying to capture.”

She closed the book. “Well, I think you captured it.”

Henri looked at her puzzled. “You don’t want to look at any more?”

“I do. But I want to be the very best subject matter.” She leaned against the pillows, adjusting her hair so it fell perfectly against her exposed shoulders. Henri smiled behind the canvas. More than anything he just loved looking at her. He could paint her without her being in the same room. He remembered every inch of her.

“It will be the best.” He squeezed out some more paint on the scrap of paper he was using.

Twenty minutes later Henri’s painting was nearing completion. Maven was stiff and growing restless, but she knew whatever Henri was doing behind the canvas was worth the wait. She looked out the window at a roving dog by the pond. The flurry of birds as they headed for the trees, as well as the orange sun setting off in the distance, was beautiful.

She imagined Henri probably sat in the window a lot. If she were him she would. Being around Henri was peaceful. It was easy and uncomplicated. She looked at Henri, his head bowed, the soft swipes on the canvas singing a tune. His eyebrows furrowed together. He was serious when he painted.

“Tell me about your life in Tennessee.” She blurted. She sat up a little, crossing her legs Indian style and folding her hands in her lap.

Henri peered over the canvas, his brown eyes connecting with hers. “What do you want to know?”

“What kind of boy were you in high school?” She was trying to imagine Henri surrounded by a crowd of students, him being one of them. It was hard to know who he fit in with. What drove him, even what kind of grades he got. Did he have a girlfriend back at home? Or was he the sort to secretly admire you from afar? She wanted to know everything.

“I played baseball.”

“What position?”

“Shortstop.”

“What else?”

Henri scratched his nose, smearing paint on himself, but he was none the wiser. Maven cracked an amused grin.

“What’s so funny? You don’t like shortstops?”

“No. It’s your face.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands, but that wasn’t enough to contain the sudden fit of laughter. Henri rolled his eyes. He sat the canvas down and got up.

“It’s my face.” He headed to his closet, pulling open the door and looking in the mirror. “God. I thought you were calling me ugly.”

Maven stopped laughing. He seemed serious. He seemed sad even. She rose to her feet.

“No. I wasn’t saying that at all.” She wiped the paint away with her fingers, rubbing it into her shorts. “See, it’s all gone.”

Henri grabbed her hand. “We do have wash cloths. Now look at your shorts.”

Maven shook her head. “They come clean. It’s not a big deal.” She pushed her hair behind her ear nervously. Something Henri was familiar with. He could tell the minute she was judging herself, when she was feeling insecure.

He wanted to kiss her. To take her face in his hands and plant the best kiss he ever gave a girl in his life on her lips. He wasn’t sure if he had the courage or the confidence to go through with it. But he was going to try.

He moved in, his hands succeeding at finding her face. He closed his eyes as soon as his lips met hers. The sweet smell of her hair entered his nose as he grew even more certain and let the moment grow a little more in intensity.

Henri’s fingers slid past her jawbone and down her neck.

Maven took a breath, pulling away long enough to understand that what was happening was true. She met up again with Henri’s lips. They were soft and gentle with just enough power to make her head spin and her heart stir. He didn’t have to try too hard because he knew what he was doing and how to do it.

They stood in the middle of Henri’s room sharing the most amazing kiss of each of their lives.

They broke apart. Henri’s heart was pounding. His head was spinning and he could still taste her strawberry lip-gloss on his tongue. Every single part of his body was throbbing and on fire. He wanted more, but he wasn’t going to push it.