Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Rose

I wake surrounded by warmth and a satisfied smile spreads across my face at the memory of last night. Stretching, I enjoy the slight ache in my muscles. My movement makes Phillip's arm tighten around me and he nuzzles into the dip between my neck and shoulder still half-asleep.

"It can't be morning yet." The feather-light brush of his lips against my sensitive skin sends a shiver through me as he mumbles.

Disentangling an arm from the covers I reach over to my bedside table to check the time on my phone. "My alarm is set to go off in five minutes." Looking down at him sprawled across my bed has me wishing we could stay here all day, but he has lunch with his family later.

A squeak of surprise flies from my throat as Phillip hauls me back towards him. "Then stay with me for five more minutes," he commands, voice low and gravelly. Nipping kisses down the side of my neck banish the protest from the tip of my tongue. Gladly snuggling back into his embrace I tilt my face up to meet his twinkling blue eyes.

"Hi." Unexpected shyness takes over me. I have never felt this vulnerable, but that's probably because Phillip is the first man I've really opened up to. Before last night I thought my feelings were mostly under control but I've been lying to myself. I have well and truly fallen for the man lying next to me and it terrifies me. What if he doesn't feel the same? My stomach churns at the thought but I focus on the fact I'll be meeting his parents next week. You don't introduce your family to someone you're not serious about.

"Hi," he replies drily, amusement at my awkwardness dancing in his eyes. His familiar grin settles the last of my nerves and I giggle with the release of tension. Phillip's calloused hand drifts up and down my back in a gentle caress as we lie enjoying a few more minutes of peace in the quiet of the early morning.

All too soon my alarm bursts our peaceful bubble of contentment and I huff indignantly, turning it off with a slap of my hand. "I don't want to leave this bed," I grumble into Phillip's bare chest then, unable to resist, place a gentle trail of kisses from his sternum to the base of his throat.

"If you keep doing that we won't," he answers, voice pitched sensuously low. Cupping my cheek, he uses the light pressure of his thumb under my chin to guide my head up until I meet his gaze.

"Sorry?" My half-hearted apology comes out more like a question and I feel rather than hear his laughter as his shoulders shake with amusement.

"You never have to apologise for putting your mouth on me." Like a cat I lean into his touch as he strokes my hair. "Come on." He taps my thigh. "Time to get up."

When Phillip heads home to get ready for lunch with his family I decide to treat myself to a leisurely morning. After a long, relaxing shower I dress in one of my favourite loungewear sets then potter through to the kitchen for breakfast. It's still raining heavily outside and I sip my coffee listening to the patter of the raindrops against the window pane.

Maybe it's the peaceful start to the day, maybe it's getting closure with Malcolm, or waking up in Phillip's arms, but I feel good . Inspiration tugs at the corners of my mind and, determined to take advantage of whatever magic's in the air this morning, I head back to my bedroom and pull out my tablet and stylus. Something in my gut tells me this will be the time I come up with a concept worth actually painting. Not only do I miss the work but my bank balance is starting to miss the money I made from sales. Aria is paying me well for the set project and I have savings, but I know I can't rely on those and the party jobs forever. I need to get back to doing what I'm best at.

Swept up in the new idea, the rest of the world melts away from me. For the first time in months I feel truly connected to my creativity. Nearly all my paintings are abstract portraits made up of florals and other shapes. I work primarily with oils but enjoy adding extra layers with charcoal, sometimes even gold leaf once a piece is nearly complete.

I quickly use my stylus to sketch out a man's face with peonies bursting forth to fill in the top half of the page. Once the rough sketch is complete, I add another layer to the project. Selecting a different brush tool, I add a few colour swatches on the right-hand side, creating my colour palette for the piece. It's a soothing mix of greens and blues and if one of the shades of blue happens to match Phillip's eyes perfectly, well, I'm calling it a coincidence.

Time flies by while I work and when my stomach growls, I realise I've missed lunch. Not wanting to stop for long now that I've finally got going, I hurriedly make a sandwich, eating it quickly on my way back from the kitchen.

I decide it's time to transfer my idea from screen to paper before I can overthink it. Armed with my digital concept sketch and a spark of hope, I dig the large sketchbook I use for drafting out from under my bed where I tucked it away when I stopped using it regularly. There are a few completed paintings stored under there too but I'm not ready to do anything with them yet. I take everything over to my desk then rest the sketchpad on the easel that's been sitting empty in the corner for far too long.

Bringing my tablet screen back to life, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that I'm still happy with the rough draft I came up with. My break may have only lasted a few minutes but recently it's taken me less time than that to end up dismissing potential ideas. Before I can chicken out, I grab a pencil from the pot on my desk and get to work. Soon enough, a rough outline appears on the page before me. After another hour I've filled in a lot more detail and the drawing is beginning to come to life. It won't be long until it's time to tear the page from my sketchpad and mix up a few paint colours to test, so I can figure out exactly how I want the colours to look before starting the process for real on canvas. For the first time in a long time the thought of painting doesn't fill me with dread. Instead, as I return to sketching, excitement bubbles up within me like a freshly opened bottle of champagne.

A yawn wracks my body and I check the time, surprised by how late it is. I've actually been having fun . I yawn again and have to admit that, for now at least, the fun is over. It's time I call it a night or I'll be no good to anyone tomorrow. I clean up quickly then eat a light dinner before getting ready for bed. When I snuggle under the covers, a sense of peace washes over me like a cleansing rain.

Phillip

Guilt makes the delicious lunch my mother made sit heavy in my stomach as I drive home on Sunday afternoon. She was disappointed Blake couldn't make it this week but perked up once I told everyone Rose would be joining us next time. After that Mum was too wrapped up in her excitement to pay much attention to my mood but Eric kept shooting concerned glances my way. My big brother still looks exhausted, I really need to make the effort to check in on him soon. Just one more thing I'm messing up.

It's still raining heavily and my focus should be entirely on the road but I'm distracted. I shouldn't have left Rose's place without telling her about the art show. Before picking her up last night I had every intention of bringing it up over dinner but then her shithead ex showed up, blowing my plans out of the water.

Rose seemed surprisingly relaxed once the altercation was over but I still found myself on the fence about broaching the subject. When she opened up to me about the absence of support from her family surrounding her health issues and their lack of interest in her artwork, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The sadness in her eyes was heartbreaking and I didn't want to upset her any further.

Still. I should have said something before leaving her flat earlier, I know that. Waking up next to Rose felt like a dream, a dream this secret has the potential to destroy. I didn't deserve the way she looked at me this morning and yet I soaked it up anyway like a plant in desperate need of water. I don't want Rose to think I'm like Malcolm. Telling her about the art show right after sleeping with her could seem like I'm pushing her to do more, like I think our night together suddenly entitles me to an opinion on the matter. With their confrontation still fresh in my mind, bringing it up today still seemed like a bad idea. The last thing I want to do is make Rose doubt that I think she's enough exactly as she is. She's everything. Sighing, I pull onto my driveway and stare at the rain hammering down against my windscreen. Tomorrow. I'll tell her about it tomorrow.