Page 66 of I Love My Mistake
I shake my head no.
“You ready to hear what I have to say?”
I shake my head no.
“Is your name Nicole?”
I shake my head no.
He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Get ready for a truth-bomb. Here goes. Your paintings are beautiful, moving and edgy. They’re exactly what I’ve been looking for. If these guys come to your show and don’t see it, then they aren’t aligned with what I’m developing. There is no pressure on you. The pressure is on them to rise up and see what I see. If they don’t, I’ll find someone who does.”
I mumble against his chest, “I thought you were scared they’d reject your idea. Remember what you said last night?”
He kisses my head again and tightens his hold around me. I can feel his lungs expand as he takes a deep breath in. “That was before I saw the painting. We’re supposed to be doing this. I can feel it now.”
I don’t feel so sure. “I know you’re trying to make me feel good about this.”
“I’m not just saying this to make you feel better. I’m being honest.”
I pull away slowly and sit opposite him, smoothing down my hair, and moving away napkins and hotdog wrappers so I can gather myself, take the time to think. “You know, this is going to sound stupid, but it’s the only thing going through my head.”
“Shoot.”
“Well…I used to say I was psychic…” I stop. I’m wondering if he believes in things like this. Or if I sound like a hippy-dippy nutcase.
His eyebrows rise and his forehead crinkles up in the handsome way it does on some men. “Used to?”
I nod, staring at him. “Yes. Awhile back.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
He grins at me and I start to laugh. I lean back on my hands, shaking my head as I look at him. “You are like my friend. She’s the only other person who can make me laugh when I’m freaked.”
He smiles, quietly pleased at the compliment. “I look forward to meeting her.”
I pick up a dandelion and run my fingers over its feathery cap. “Anyway, I’m not psychic because my show, you dreaming of my painting, this day… you… your encouragement. All of this. It’s such a surprise, Mark.” I look up and my breath catches with the way he looks at me. We stay quietly staring at each other.
His eyes narrow slightly. “I understand.”
“Yeah? Good. Because I don’t,” I blow the seeds off the dandelion and watch as they fly gently through the air.
He watches them too. Then he looks back at me, thinking. In a matter-of-fact tone, he tells me, “I’m psychic.”
“Yeah?” I toss the stem aside. “You did have that dream.”
“Yep. And I know what you’re thinking right now.”
My eyes widen. “Oh?”
He looks at my forehead, concentrating. He nods. “Yeah.”
I rest on my hands, my head tilted. “What am I thinking?” If he says that I’m thinking you’re too good to be true and don’t leave me, I will poop in my own pants.
He takes a moment. “You’re thinking, I sure could use a great cup of coffee.”
I laugh, relieved. “Wow! How do you do that?”