23

Conversations In The Dark - John Legend

T he plates have been cleared away. My glass has been refilled twice , yet Bradley remains on his first bottle of beer. Surprisingly, our conversation flows effortlessly, with me doing most of the talking. Big shocker there, right? But it's different tonight.

He's opened up more than I've ever seen him, and it's amazing. Underneath all that gruff, there's a genuinely kind-hearted man. I feel a sense of pride knowing I might be the only person who gets to see this side of him. It's like a privilege, and I'm grateful he's chosen to share this with me.

As the minutes tick by, my phone screen flashes 7:15 PM.

We've been engrossed in conversation for nearly an hour, and neither of us has hinted at leaving. I wonder if I'm babbling on too much, filling the air with more stories about my kindergarteners—not exactly the typical dinner date conversation, right?

But Bradley seems engaged, and that surprises me. Maybe he finds my tales amusing, or maybe... just maybe, he's enjoying this as much as I am. His eyes, usually guarded, reflect genuine interest and warmth .

It's a side of Bradley Mitchell I never expected to see, and yet here we are, sharing this moment.

"I really love my art classes with the kids," I mention, trying to keep the enthusiasm in my voice. "Watching them paint is so rewarding."

He's quiet, his gaze intense, yet oddly comforting, as he listens. Is he really interested in my school talk? Or am I boring him to death? Maybe I should switch gears, ask him about his hobbies or something.

Yeah, that might lighten the mood.

"Anyway, I guess that might not sound too exciting for everyone, so, enough about that—"

"Hold on. I wasn't done listening," he interrupts, his voice gravelly and unexpectedly attractive. How can someone's voice be both deep and alluring at the same time?

Oh my.

Those piercing blue eyes hold mine, and a ripple of excitement dances in my gut.

"Tell me more about your paintings," he continues.

Does he really want to know? No one has ever shown this kind of interest before. Maybe that's because I've always kept this part of me to myself. Silly me.

"Oh," I say, trying to steady my voice. Come on, Amelia, focus. "Uh, well, I like to use oil paints, occasionally watercolour. I like to paint subjects that will evoke strong emotions from them."

He nods slowly. "What sort of subjects?"

Goodness me .

"People. I paint people. Well, portraits , technically speaking." His eyes widen for a moment, taking in what I've said. Is that bad? Is that not what he was expecting to hear?

"Just random people?" he asks.

He's been studying me ever since we sat down, as if trying to unravel a mystery. He's good at it, too. Maybe too good.

"Sometimes I use models I find online. Other times, I create characters in my head. But usually, I'll paint someone I know, like a family member or friend," I explain, taking a sip of wine to steady my nerves.

"I've started this new series of portraits," I continue, my voice brightening with excitement. "But I've been stuck on finding a new model for my next canvas…" Then, without warning, the thought pops into my head.

"I could paint you," I blurt out, freezing mid-sentence. My eyes widen involuntarily, and his brows arch in surprise.

No, I didn't just say that.

That was definitely an intrusive thought. Intrusive thought 1 - Amelia 0.

Oh, gosh, why would I even suggest that?

Sure, I've thought about it before, but now that I've actually said it out loud, I'm embarrassed. What if he thinks it's weird? He's such a private person.

"Kidding. I don't... I won't do that," I quickly add, my words stumbling over each other in my haste.

"Why not?" he asks, a faint frown crossing his face. "Am I not a good enough model?"

Oh my.

Now I've made him feel inadequate.

"What? No!" I blurt out, flustered. "You most definitely are. I mean, look at you . You'd be a great subject... You are… very handsome."

His mouth quirks up into a smirk, his eyes crinkling slightly, as if he's suppressing a laugh, before a genuine smile spreads across his handsome face. Is he teasing me?

No, scratch that. That smile—it's all real.

"I'm just joking, sunshine," he says, and I exhale in relief, trying not to smile back too broadly.

"That's… not funny," I say, trying to sound stern, but feeling a smile tugging at my lips as I playfully smack his arm from across the table.

The bastard, affectionately, of course, bursts into laughter, a rich, warm sound that sends a shiver of delight through me, like sinking into a warm blanket on a chilly night.

"So, you think I'm very handsome, huh?"

I let out a nervous giggle. "Well, I mean... It's just... obvious, isn't it?"

"Well, if it's that obvious, maybe you should paint me, after all," he suggests, leaning forward again with a slight smirk. "I'd be more than happy to model for you."

His suggestion catches me off guard, and I blink, momentarily surprised by his confidence. His playful demeanour makes my heart flutter, and I find myself smiling back at him, intrigued by his sudden openness.

"You'd really model for me?" I ask, my voice a little breathless.

"Absolutely," he replies, his tone teasing but sincere. "Anything for you, sunshine. Remember?"

My heart flutters at his words, and I take another sip of my rosé.

"I'll hold you to that, officer." A smile tugs at my lips.

"I'm counting on it."

As our conversation becomes more relaxed, I can't help but ask the question that's been on my mind.

"Can I ask you something?" I say hesitantly.

"Of course."

"Why do you call me sunshine?" My heart pounds in my chest. He takes a moment to study me before answering.

"Because you light up any room," he says simply, and my stomach does backflips at his words. He doesn't know this, but his words mean everything to me. More than he probably ever realised .

"I… thank you," I manage to say through a shaky breath.

And just like that, without realising it until now, I know that I am falling for him—hard and fast. Panic sets in as I realise this could end badly, but then he flashes that genuine, heart-stopping smile and any doubts melt away.

Despite the risks, I am helpless to resist him.

This is not good.