Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Feeling like changing the subject, I rose and went to gather a small folder of my drawings from my desk. I brought them back over to Maggie and saw curiosity light her features as she opened the folder.
“Wow, these are beautiful, Shay. You’re very talented.” Pride stirred in my chest at her praise as she studied a sketch I’d done of a crow sitting on the roof of our neighbour’s shed. A wave of pleasure rushed through me. Why did her praise affect me more than the praise of anyone else? I couldn’t explain it.
She lifted her head to study me. “Do you only draw birds?”
Mostly, I signed.
“Most of the time? Is that what you said?” she asked, and I nodded, grinning.
Maggie smiled. “It’s such a rush every time I understand a bit of sign language. I asked my teacher from the literacy class, Hazel, about learning it. She mentioned there are classes available but suggested I focus on improving my reading and writing first. She doesn’t think I should overload my plate.” She paused, giving a self-deprecating chuckle. “Maybe I’m a little eager to be able to talk with you.”
I held her gaze, a strong emotion taking hold. No one outside of my family and Nigel had ever gone to the trouble of learning sign language just for me. Emer’s brother was deaf, so she was already fluent. It was one of the reasons we’d grown close, being able to connect in that way.
Maggie drew in a breath and brought her attention back to my drawings. “Do you use charcoal and then paint over it with water colours?”
I nodded.
“It’s such a unique style. I work for an artist, Alan Cole. Have you heard of him?”
I nodded again. Alan Cole was a well-known Irish painter. I was pretty sure he’d attended NCAD, too. Though, unlike me, he hadn’t dropped out in the final year.
“Well, I think he works mostly with oil paints, but he has this grant scheme he runs to sponsor new artists. I should show him your work.”
I shook my head, and she frowned. “No? You’re not interested?” I nodded, and she seemed surprised, tilting her head as she studied me. “Why not?”
I exhaled heavily and cast my gaze out the window, regret and discomfort taking over. “I’m guessing it’s a long story?” Maggie said, and I nodded. Her eyes softened.
“Well, maybe sometime soon you can tell me. And if you ever change your mind about Alan, just let me know.”
She returned her attention to the folder, and I tried to ignore the squeeze of pain in my chest. Once upon a time, I wanted nothing more than to be an artist, someone who got paid for their work. But that all changed after Mam was diagnosed with cancer. I’d been in my final year of college, and her illness threw our family into disarray. I completely lost the ability to create. My well had dried up. It was only about two years ago my inspiration returned, but I had no wish to share my art with the world anymore. Not like I used to. Now I created only for the joy of the act.
Maggie turned the page to the next drawing, and my chest seized. It wasn’t a picture of a bird that time. It was the outlined sketch of a hand. A small, feminine hand. I knew exactly who it belonged to, and I also knew what Maggie was going to find when she turned to the next drawing. I’d forgotten I’d placed those pictures in this particular folder, and now, she was going to discover the true extent of my obsession with her.
I couldn’t let that happen, so I did the first thing that came into my head. I shoved the folder off her lap, took her soft cheeks in my hands, and kissed her.
10.
Maggie
My head swam when Shay’s warm lips captured mine, and I lost the ability to think straight. I hadn’t been expecting him to do that, especially not when I was so concentrated on admiring his artwork. The shock of it trapped a gasp in my lungs. It came out as a pleasured sigh, and I’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hungrily Shay was kissing me.
He kissed me like he’d been thinking about doing it for a while. The very thought had butterflies flittering around in my stomach causing havoc.
His lips were firm, his tongue flicking along my bottom lip before his kiss grew hungrier. I felt like he was drinking me in, savouring me. His nose traced along mine, the gesture making my heart pound with how sweet it was. His hand came up to cup my jaw, and I didn’t know what to do with my own hands. I was floundering, eventually resting them on his solid shoulders before wrapping them around his neck.