Page 64 of Legally Yours
“If possible, I’d like to have the day’s special?”
“You’re in luck! We’re havingcacio e pepetoday.”
I beam at the news. “Thencacio e pepeit is! I’d also like to have apizza al taglioand one cookie.”
“Will you be having it here?” Mr. Angelino asks expectantly, eyes shining.
I shake my head. “I’ll be taking out today’s special,” I say, already expecting his disappointment.
Sighing, Mr. Angelino punches in my order and rings up my bill on the cash register, clicking his tongue.
“You’re always working, Ren. Come eat here sometimes! The regulars miss your stories, you know?”
I laugh, delighted by the sentiment. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make time in the next two weeks. I just have to finish this piece.”
“Well, whatever it is, I hope the piece is going well.” He barks orders for someone at the back before turning to me with a quiet smile. “The kids at the elementary school miss your art sessions as well, or so that’s what my daughter tells me.”
“I’ll be sure to pay them a visit some time,” I promise. He gives a silent nod and goes back to polishing glasses while I wait for my order.
When my food arrives, I take it gratefully from Mr. Angelino and leave the place after promising to visit again soon. I pass by the playground to give Antonio his cookie before I make my way back to my apartment.
I go straight to my bedroom and place my food on the high table next to the balcony. I then take the covers off the piece I’ve been working on tirelessly for weeks. I stare at it, marveling at how the colors are finally coming together.
“This part still looks wrong, though,” I murmur, closely observing one area of the painting.
I open my takeout box, and the salty smell of the dish hits me. I smile in delight as I take a small bite, the creamy texture blessing my tongue.
“Oh, that hits the spot,” I say, taking another bite of the dish. After I’ve momentarily satisfied my hunger, I make a grab for my materials and resume last night’s work.
With practiced hands, I squeeze small blobs of oil paint onto my palette. I dip the brush into the paint, and once the brush hits the canvas, I lose all sense of time and begin painting the hours away.
It’s like a trance. The feeling is akin to floating on water, letting the waves guide me while the sun keeps me energized.
When I finally stop to rest, the sun is already beginning to set, the sky tinted with hues of reds, yellows, and oranges. The food beside me is gone, and the colors on the painting make more sense than they did a week ago.
I step back and admire my work, a calm feeling suffusing me.
“Wish you were here to see this, Dad.”
With a sad smile, I take the brush again and go back to work, never wanting to lose the trance I’m in.
50
JENNIFER
“Nearly there, miss. Just around this corner,” Jonathan tells me as the car circles around, and I look up from my phone to see the museum up ahead. Jonathan parks the car just across the main entrance, and I step out of the car nervously.
It’s out of character for my father to call me in when I’m still working. Usually, he’d wait after I’m done with the day’s deals, and we’d talk over dinner at our favorite restaurants. So whatever he has to say right now, it’s something really important to him.
Before I can walk to the entrance, Jonathan lowers the car window and sticks his head out.
“Would you want me to wait for you and Mr. Allair?” he inquires.
“No. You can take a short break first. We’ll probably be out in time for our scheduled dinner,” I tell him. I wave goodbye as I cross the street and head for the museum.
At this time of day, Musée du Allair is bustling with art enthusiasts and art students alike. There are also couples trying to get into the arts or pretending to have a good time for the sake of aesthetic photos on Instagram.
I smile in amusement as I tear my gaze from the visitors. Nodding at the museum guides as I step into the lobby, I march toward the elevators on the left side and shoot Papá a message, telling him I’m here.