“I didn’t know you were scared of birds,” Chiara says, and I frown at her.
“I most certainly am not. I’m scared of nothing but the snoring version of you when you’re fast asleep. Scared me half to death recently. It was all quiet in the room and then all of a sudden—” She cuts me off by smacking my arm.
“Stronzo,” she says with a playful frown, and I smile at the way she addresses me. It feels almost nostalgic to hear it again. It’s been a while.
“Starling,” I reply, and her face softens even more at the nickname. It carries a completely different weight for me now. “Let’s go. We have to get there soon so we can go grab lunch after,” I say and take her hand without thinking about it.
The first thing we’re doing when we reach our destination is wash our hands in case the bird has any diseases, which is what I decide to focus on instead of lingering on what the hell just happened.
* * *
Chiara has been standingin the same spot at the art gallery an acquaintance of mine owns for the past five minutes. Her exhibit is different from the ones Chiara makes and is usually interested in. Instead of creative visual projections of already existing art, Annabeth created a work of art you can go through. The piece is called ‘A Thousand Little Lives’, and the balloons all over the room are meant to represent that idea. They are all red, some of them still fully blown up and others shriveling and withering away. A representation of life. This piece isn’t supposed to last forever, Annabeth told me so herself. However, people are allowed to touch the balloons, something that doesn’t sit right with Chiara.
“But, what if you touch them and they pop?” she asks, still standing inside of the art piece while I wait outside of the exhibit room with an impatient Benz. She doesn’t like that she can see Chiara but not be right next to her.
“She said this is all about responsibility. Be careful how you treat the balloons or they will pop, just like you’re meant to do with other people’s lives,” I explain, and Chiara’s features soften at my words.
“That’s beautiful,” she says while making her way through the balloons. The walls are covered in mirrors, and I enjoy the fact that I get to see Chiara five different times from every different angle.
“Yeah, it is,” I say, my eyes still on her because no piece of art could ever compare to her.
“I don’t think I could ever make my own art like this,” she says, so I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the door frame. Sensing we won’t be entering the other room, Benz settles down next to me with a complaining grunt.
“If you wanted to, you most certainly could,” I reply, and she turns to me with a surprised smile.
“You think so?” I nod immediately.
“Absolutely. You can do anything you put your mind to, Chiara. And I could help you too. I have connections to so many artists if you’d like to get some information about the process of coming up with ideas or anything else you need. I can also do some research myself, contact some other people I know. If you give me forty-eight hours, I will have a list of information ready for you,” I say, and her eyes go wide in response.
Fuck. I’ve never shown this side of me to anyone except the people I work with. I’m great at analysing data with my team. I do research to try and help my team improve so I can improve too. I’m an analytical person. With anyone but Chiara, I always get straight to the point, I don’t converse with them for longer than necessary. I get business done. It’s who I am, but it isn’t the type of person I’ve shown to her, especially not recently. The man who has hardened himself off from the world and focuses only on work isn’t the one I want to show her. When I’m with Starling, I want to linger. Conversations with her aren’t a task I have to get over with. I don’t cut them short nor do I desire to do so. I linger because any words spoken between us, no matter what they are, are important to me.
“Leonard, it’s not your job to help me all the time,” she says and makes her way toward where I’m standing. Balloons move to the side as she clears a path, careful not to break any of them.
“I like to see people reach their potential, Chiara, especially those who have so much of it but haven’t been given opportunities to reach their goals. I’ve gotten lots of help in my life, some of it even from you, and I wouldn’t have made it to where I am today without it. I want to give back what I received too,” I say, and while it isn’t a lie, it’s not the whole truth either. The reason why I do all of it for Chiara isn’t only so she can reach her potential. It’s mostly because I want to see her live her dream, to be happy.
“You’re a good person, quite a big fact I need to wrap my head around,” she teases and stops right in front of me.
Uncertainty lingers in her eyes as she stares at my chest. I tell Benz to stay before doing the one thing I really shouldn’t do. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and bring her to my chest, realizing from the desperation in my bones that this is my love language. This is the way I tell her how I feel without having to say the words out loud. And by the way she sinks into me, melts against my chest and clicks into place like we were made for each other, lets me know she likes it as much as I do.
“I’m so confused,” she mumbles against me, and I stroke her hair with my right hand.
“So am I,” I admit, making her chuckle. I press her further against me.
“Well, that’s not good. If one of us was at least certain, this would be easier,” she says with a small laugh, and I pull back to cup her face in my hands.
“Nothing between us has ever been easy, but no truly good things come without hard work. We’ll figure this out, sweetheart, because it’s you—” She smiles as she finishes my sentence.
“And me now.” I give her an agreeing nod, tracing her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. “I want us to work, Leonard,” she whispers, and I lean down to press one swift kiss to her lips and then wrap her up in my arms again. My cheek presses against the top of her head as I answer.
“So do I, Starling. So do I.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
chiara
Leonard and I have been our normal selves for the past twenty-four hours, not once addressing the moment we had in the art gallery or even the kisses we shared yesterday morning. He’s been treating me the same way he has for the past few months, and I stare after him like I’ve never seen a more stunning image than his backside. It also doesn’t help that he keeps “forgetting” to put a shirt on.
Not talking about our feelings for a day has been helping me work through mine. Leonard has thrown my world upside down in the best way possible. Before I moved in with him, everything was bleak and empty. I worked too many jobs, barely slept, ate the blandest food because I didn’t have money for something better, and my dream, even though I was working toward it, was never close to being within my reach. I was existing, but I wasn’t living. Not like I am now.
