Bashful Hearts

the artist.

He could get used to the tinkling of those Christmassy bells and that sweet lady welcoming him each day. He had returned to Mary Rose’s little coffee shop, just like he had vowed he would the day before. He went to the table he sat at yesterday, secretly deeming it “his” special table. It was right in front of a bookcase with books by Oscar Wilde and all of those other dead writers he loved and had a nice view out the window that was constantly tapped by pink roses blowing easily in the breeze. However, his favorite part of his new special table was the perfect view of the beauty he saw yesterday – and she sat in the same place he saw her yesterday, scribbling away. It’s like she hadn’t even moved.

His heart delighted in seeing her, his fingers clenching around the worn sketchpad that he had not forgotten today. He was determined to create a masterpiece out of her in pencil form, because god knows the real thing was certainly that and more. Once he had opened his sketchpad and chosen a pencil up to his qualifications, he looked up. And his breath caught in his throat. She was looking back at him. And she smiled.
♠ ♠ ♠
I AM DELIGHTED TO ANNOUNCE THAT I HAVE FINISHED THIS STORY. IT WILL HAVE 9 CHAPTERS.