Thorn in My Side (Bunch-A-Blooms 2)

“Get the bag. I brought you a present.”

She grins.

“Great minds must think alike. I’ll be right back.”

She stands and strides toward her workspace. She returns with a small burlap bag tied with a black ribbon and a huge grin. The sight is fetching. It’s day and night from the overly quiet version of herself I’ve seen lately. She’s back to her old self. This is the best present of all.

“You first, love,” I say thinking of the ring I’d seen in England, and couldn’t leave behind. She sits beside me, and I hold my breath as she pulls out the black velvet case. She opens the lid and gasps. I hold, my breath. The silver band has a base molded to look like a flower, and the raw Herkimer diamonds inside are clustered to look like a flower. It’s not the most expensive, but it screamed Olive to me.

“This is beautiful, Luk.”

“Not half as beautiful as you are.”

She leans in and gives me a peck. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love. May I?” I take the ring and slide it onto her middle finger. “Perfect.”

“Your turn,” she said giddily.

“Alright.” I untie the pouch and pull out a shiny, smooth, black necklace with weight. The beads are broken up by silver pieces.

“Those are black onyx.”

“Did you make this?”

She nods. “Do you like it?”

“I do.” I run my thumb over the beads, admiring them and the craftsmanship of my woman. “You’re so talented.”

“Thank you.” Her career has truly launched over the past couple of months as orders come in and the word about her continues to spread. One of the few perks that came along with the flood of journalists and photographers.

I put the necklace on and take her hand and kiss the back of it. “Happy six month anniversary, Olive.”

“Happy six month anniversary, Luk.”

I stand and offer her my hand. “We should go, so we don’t lose our reservations.” As she rises I know this is the first of many milestones, we’ll celebrate together.

Luka

She’s a vision lying across the couch with nothing but the sunlight on her flesh. I let the canvas translate what my tongue is too clumsy to put into words. It took some convincing, before she finally agreed to let me do her portrait. I know it was more to get me back into art than anything. My woman is sweet like that. The arm over her head, pushes out her full breasts and gives me an unobstructed view of the body I’ve grown addicted to. Our gazes meet and I smile.

“I like seeing this side of you. You light up when you paint.”

“Maybe it’s just my subject.”

She smiles. “Sweet talker.”

“Realist.” I blend the brown, beige and pink on my palate until I’m satisfied, and grab a smaller brush. It’s our last session. My palms are sweaty and my nerves are all over the place. It took months to get her to move into the mansion. The lure of the gated community, bigger work space, and library were the clinchers. It was enough for a time, but once we sailed past a year together, I craved more. My hand shakes as I make the final addition to her ring finger.

“Are you done yet?”

“Almost, love.”

She sighs.

“I want to get it just right,” I say as I paint my mother’s engagement ring from memory. The rose gold oval set with a scalloped ring were heirlooms passed down from generation to generation. I highlight the white to make the diamonds sparkle and set down my brush.

“Now?”