She’s right though. I’d sign over my soul to be at her mercy again.
Quickly, I list out all of the stuff we will need. Noelle even inspires the painting we will be doing—mistletoe. Because kissing her is always on my mind.
It only took me about five minutes to get everyone’s station ready. Our makeshift station is the kitchen island with dining chairs lined up around it. A smile drifted onto my face sometime during the prep work, and I can’t seem to shake it.
Noelle coming up with this idea means a lot. I’m completely in her environment, in her home with her family. This is the perfect blend of my world and hers.
Mingling voices echo down the hallway, growing louder by the second. Abby and Ben burst into the room, unable to contain the beaming smiles on their faces and the intense look of love in their eyes.
Abby gasps when she sees me. “Ahh! Sorry, I didn’t think anyone was in here yet,” she says, seemingly embarrassed.
Well, that’s a weird reaction for them just smiling at each other. I can’t quite place it, but something is off about how they are acting right now.
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m just kind of hanging out and waiting for everyone to join.” Smiling, I gesture to the layout of stations. “Take your pick!”
They seem to study the chair options for a moment before sitting on the left of the island. Well, my left. I opted out of a chair since I knew I would most likely be walking around the entire time. At the head of the “table,” I have my station set up a bit differently than theirs.
My canvas is on the kitchen counter across from my spot on the island. All of my paints are on the island, set up in the same order as theirs. So that when I say what shade of red or green to paint with, it’ll be easy to explain if they’re confused.
Abby and Ben continue to whisper and look overly joyous for a painting class. Nancy and Scott are next to join, leaving Noelle.
I can feel the energy shift in the room when she walks in. I’m always blown away by her beauty. But it’s not just the outside that catches my attention. It’s the gestures she makes for the people she loves, the way she treats others, the way she is sunshine and strength, rolled in one.
She smiles at me as she settles into the seat at the end of the island, directly across from me.
Warm shivers seem to skate across my skin as I pick up my paintbrush.
I lead them through the entire painting, helping along the way with hiccups and happy accidents. I will say that none of them should pursue a career in painting. But on the other hand, art is subjective, so maybe I’m just a bad judge of it, and they are all immensely talented.
About halfway through the painting, we take a break to pour wine and grab a quick snack. A glass of wine quickly turns to multiple, and by the time we finish our paintings, everyone is either drunk or buzzed.
Noelle walks up behind me and hooks an arm around my waist as she leans into my back. “They all seemed to enjoy themselves. Did you?”
I nod, and butterflies flutter in my tummy at her low-speaking voice. “Very much.”
She kisses the back of my head. “Good. So, how exactly does mistletoe work?”
Her question completely catches me off guard.
“What?” I laugh.
“You know, the tradition of kissing underneath mistletoe. Does that only apply to the real plant? Or could it also apply to a painting?” she asks as she gradually raises her painted mistletoe canvas into the air in front of me.
Spinning around, I find our bodies are close together with my back pressed into the island. “I’m not sure.”
She smirks, and a flash of deviousness reflects in her eyes. “I say, it applies to paintings too.”
Pursing my lips, I ask, “Is that so? What if I say it doesn’t?”
“Oh, shut up and kiss me,” she says right before she reaches out, grabs my chin, and pulls me in, crashing our lips together.
Her kiss is firm but gentle. It only lasts a moment, but when we pull apart, our foreheads roll together, and I exhale.
When did Noelle become my safe place?
Safe spaces are rarities for me—they have been my whole life. Nic’s home has been my safe space for so long, but not necessarily because of him, but because I know as long as I am there, I never have to worry for anything. My safe space has always been exactly that—a place. But it’s never been a person, not before Noelle.
The idea that what we have is temporary is gone. I can admit that what I feel for her isn’t a fling or something that is going away anytime soon.
