Henri stopped what he was doing. He handed over the paintbrush and retrieved the large leather bound book. It was by far bigger than any book she had ever seen.

“Those are all my paintings.” He took the paintbrush back handing over the book.

“Wow, Henri.”

“Everything I’ve ever drawn is in that book,” Henri explained. He started back on his latest work of art while Maven looked at his old work.

Maven now understood his technique. Everything he painted was in black. But his work didn’t need color. It spoke volumes, devoid of fancy blues or reds or any shade in between. It was beyond her wildest imagination. Henri painted a world of optimism where maybe someone else saw none.

A distorted setting of old buildings with a gorgeous young woman in the center of all the disarray, but even amidst all that was tragic, her face held a loveliness that made you overlook the pain all around her.

Maven looked up from the picture. “Why?” She turned the painting toward Henri. He barely looked at it, busily working on the portrait of Maven.

“I was young. That’s the way I saw life back then.”

“But I don’t get it. Explain this to me. To me it’s beautiful.”

Henri nodded. “It is. Life is dreadful, but that doesn’t take away from what we all are. I guess that’s what I was trying to capture.”

She closed the book. “Well, I think you captured it.”

Henri looked at her puzzled. “You don’t want to look at any more?”

“I do. But I want to be the very best subject matter.” She leaned against the pillows, adjusting her hair so it fell perfectly against her exposed shoulders. Henri smiled behind the canvas. More than anything he just loved looking at her. He could paint her without her being in the same room. He remembered every inch of her.

“It will be the best.” He squeezed out some more paint on the scrap of paper he was using.

Twenty minutes later Henri’s painting was nearing completion. Maven was stiff and growing restless, but she knew whatever Henri was doing behind the canvas was worth the wait. She looked out the window at a roving dog by the pond. The flurry of birds as they headed for the trees, as well as the orange sun setting off in the distance, was beautiful.

She imagined Henri probably sat in the window a lot. If she were him she would. Being around Henri was peaceful. It was easy and uncomplicated. She looked at Henri, his head bowed, the soft swipes on the canvas singing a tune. His eyebrows furrowed together. He was serious when he painted.

“Tell me about your life in Tennessee.” She blurted. She sat up a little, crossing her legs Indian style and folding her hands in her lap.

Henri peered over the canvas, his brown eyes connecting with hers. “What do you want to know?”

“What kind of boy were you in high school?” She was trying to imagine Henri surrounded by a crowd of students, him being one of them. It was hard to know who he fit in with. What drove him, even what kind of grades he got. Did he have a girlfriend back at home? Or was he the sort to secretly admire you from afar? She wanted to know everything.

“I played baseball.”

“What position?”

“Shortstop.”

“What else?”

Henri scratched his nose, smearing paint on himself, but he was none the wiser. Maven cracked an amused grin.

“What’s so funny? You don’t like shortstops?”

“No. It’s your face.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hands, but that wasn’t enough to contain the sudden fit of laughter. Henri rolled his eyes. He sat the canvas down and got up.

“It’s my face.” He headed to his closet, pulling open the door and looking in the mirror. “God. I thought you were calling me ugly.”

Maven stopped laughing. He seemed serious. He seemed sad even. She rose to her feet.

“No. I wasn’t saying that at all.” She wiped the paint away with her fingers, rubbing it into her shorts. “See, it’s all gone.”

Henri grabbed her hand. “We do have wash cloths. Now look at your shorts.”

Maven shook her head. “They come clean. It’s not a big deal.” She pushed her hair behind her ear nervously. Something Henri was familiar with. He could tell the minute she was judging herself, when she was feeling insecure.

He wanted to kiss her. To take her face in his hands and plant the best kiss he ever gave a girl in his life on her lips. He wasn’t sure if he had the courage or the confidence to go through with it. But he was going to try.

He moved in, his hands succeeding at finding her face. He closed his eyes as soon as his lips met hers. The sweet smell of her hair entered his nose as he grew even more certain and let the moment grow a little more in intensity.

Henri’s fingers slid past her jawbone and down her neck.

Maven took a breath, pulling away long enough to understand that what was happening was true. She met up again with Henri’s lips. They were soft and gentle with just enough power to make her head spin and her heart stir. He didn’t have to try too hard because he knew what he was doing and how to do it.

They stood in the middle of Henri’s room sharing the most amazing kiss of each of their lives.

They broke apart. Henri’s heart was pounding. His head was spinning and he could still taste her strawberry lip-gloss on his tongue. Every single part of his body was throbbing and on fire. He wanted more, but he wasn’t going to push it.

“I need to sit down.” Maven said first. She took a seat on his bed, dazed and confused. She’d never felt anything like it before. Not even when she kissed Jake. She concentrated on her knees, taking in huge breaths.

Henri sat down next to her. “Are you alright?” He had never seen a person hyperventilate after kissing him. He wondered if it was a bad sign.

“Just feeling a little dizzy.” She touched her forehead, laughing it off.

“Sometimes when I feel that way I just lay down.” He threw his hands up. “I swear I’m not trying to get you in my bed.”

Maven laughed. “I don’t think that at all.” She laid back, letting out a sigh as she stared up at the ceiling. “Much better.”

Henri took a seat at the end of the bed. “Great. I thought I failed for a second.”

Maven patted the spot next to her. “Failed?”

“I don’t know, bad reaction to a horrible kiss.” He laid down beside her, arms behind his head.

“There was nothing horrible about it.” She drew in her bottom lip, thinking about it all over again. “It was perfect.”

They fell asleep to the sound of crickets chirping below his window, until the sun was nothing but a distant memory and his room was filled with darkness, with only the moonlight shining through the window.

Maven rolled over, a bit confused, trying to make sense of where she was. It took her a couple of seconds to realize she was in Henri’s bedroom. She sat up in the dark, her eyes barely adjusting to her surroundings.

“Henri.” She whispered. She patted the bed, trying to find him in the dark. Suddenly her hand touched something damp. She pulled back startled. And then grew curious and touched it again, rubbing her fingers together to make sense of it. She felt some more until she ran into Henri’s head. She used her other hand to touch his hair, finding her way to his shoulder to shake him.

“Henri.” She called out. “Henri, I can’t find the light. I’m worried, it’s really late.”

When he didn’t answer she grew concerned. She cautiously guided herself to the end of the bed and very carefully, inch by inch, found her way to where she remembered his closet and desk were. She held onto the desk, running her hand along the wall until she bumped into the light switch, at last the room filled with light.

Maven gasped, her hand was bloody. She immediately checked the rest of her body. Her first thought was that she started her period, but that wasn’t it either. She ran to the bed, shocked to see the side of Henri’s face covered in blood as well as his pillowcase and bed sheet.