Champagne Kisses (The Kisses 4)

I nodded and rested my head against his shoulder. He felt good against me. I bent my arm behind me, pulling his hand so that it wrapped around my waist. My world felt right again.

Chapter 11

June 7th, 1990

The boardwalk creaked under our feet as we made our way along the sandy planks. Small local shops had their doors open to let in the warm ocean air and passing customers. The smell of hotdogs and popcorn drifted by, and music played softly from the inside the shops.

"I'm starving. You want something to eat? My treat." Dean let go of my hand, eyeing the food stand.

"Sure. I'll take a hotdog. Thanks!" I flashed him a big grin as he hurried over to the line. I was about to follow him, but something caught my eye.

On the edge of the boardwalk, facing out toward the ocean, a street vendor was selling his paintings. They were amazing. The seascapes caught my attention, particularly one of a storm about to roll in. A woman stood silhouetted in the foreground, tiny against the powerful thunderclouds and swelling waves. I could feel the surge of the water, the light fading quickly into the clouds as the storm threatened to overcome her. Despite the storm, she stood strong and ready to survive. I stood mesmerized by the play of colors and the use of light, exploring the nuances of the art.

"There you are," Dean said, coming up behind me. "I turned around and you were gone. What are you looking at?"

He handed me a hotdog, ketchup and mustard in clean lines down the middle. I pointed to the painting that had captured my attention.

"This painting is spectacular." I stepped closer, almost forgetting about the food in my hand. The painting was small, about the size of a hardcover book. I could see it siting on a bookcase or a mantle. I could also see the price tag and that it was more than my meager budget could afford.

Dean peered at it, tipping his head to the side as though a different view point would help. He shrugged and looked back at me. "What's so special about it? It looks like just another beach scene to me. There are hundreds of stupid beach vendors hawking this same picture all over."

I rolled my eyes. "No, there are no vendors with this painting. I've never seen one like this before, and I've been looking. I have a degree in art; I know this stuff. This is really good."

Dean gave me a skeptical look, biting into his hotdog. I turned back to the painting and began to point out the features.

"See the light here? How it contrasts with the dark of the sky and the water and silhouettes the woman? It's called chiaroscuro. Rembrandt is the artist who made it famous. But see how the sun shining on only this area creates a sense of forbidding? You can feel the storm coming, but she stands defiantly against it." I glanced over at Dean, and he had his brows furrowed, his concentration completely on the painting and me.

"I see it," he said, his voice quiet as he stepped toward

the painting.

"See how the light and the dark interact? Without the light shining here, the dark wouldn't look so deep. The sun shining on her, making her a silhouette, in addition to her stance, is what makes her feel so strong. She is in the light despite the oncoming darkness. It is the way the two interact that make it powerful, the way the painter used the light to detail the shadows."

Dean looked over at me, his eyes filling with understanding. "I've never had anyone explain a painting to me like that before. I always just thought art was just kind of a bunch of glorified nonsense."

I gave him a smile. "Art is supposed to make you feel something. To help you experience the world. A good piece of art will change the way you look at things, maybe even change the way you look at yourself."

"Do you always see the world this way?" He gestured to the painting. "A world of light and dark and all the shadows in between?"

"Mostly. It takes a little training to get good at it, but I've always looked for the beauty in the world. That's why I went to art school. I love seeing the beauty in things that most people just take as everyday or ordinary."

Dean stared at the picture for another moment. I took a bite of my hotdog, enjoying watching him suddenly realize the beauty in the painting. I remembered the first time I really "got" a painting, and watching him was a wonderful mirror of that memory. The same slack-jaw stare, eyes wide, shoulders relaxed except for the one arm reaching out to touch the picture, but stopping before contact.

"You're right. It is beautiful," said Dean, turning to face me with a sheepish grin. "Thank you for showing me that. You like your hotdog?"

I hadn't realized how hungry I was, I had snarfed the entire thing down already. I pulled my finger out of my mouth, sucking off the last little bit of ketchup. I looked at him sheepishly, then we both laughed. "They're probably all waiting for us back at the house," I said.

We headed back down the boardwalk in contemplative silence. It was comfortable to just walk with Dean, knowing both our minds were still back with the painting. I could still see the whorls of color in the water and the light reflecting off the waves. Glancing over at Dean, I knew he could see it too.

Chapter 12

June 8th, 1990

When I woke up in bed again with Dean, it was the first time that I didn't feel like things were perfect. This was the last day that I would spend with Dean, and I knew that none of us girls were ready to say goodbye. If there was ever a time when I felt home, it was here in Florida, with my two best friends and the three guys that made us happier than we had ever been.

Still, when he rolled over at me and smiled, I couldn't help but grin back. "Hey," I said.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said. He looked completely at peace.