said. “I made dessert.”
We both stood up and I gathered some of the dirty dishes and put them in the sink while she opened the fridge. After a moment she turned around, holding a large plate covered with whipped cream, meringue, lemon curd, and fruit.
“It’s called pavlova,” she told me proudly, setting it down on the counter. I’d never heard of it before, but I had the feeling it had taken a lot of work. I looked at it and then at her and I felt a rush of warmth spread through my body.
Gratitude probably. Maybe something else . . .
“I need a knife,” she said, stepping forward and leaning past me. I grabbed her hand as she reached to open a drawer.
She looked at me in surprise as I held on to her and raised my free hand to lift her chin. I brought my mouth to her throat and as I worked my way up to her lips, she let out a soft sigh.
Our mouths met and I brought both of my hands to either side of her face, pulling her closer as we kissed and finding myself once again amazed at how warm her lips were. I finally pulled away and looked at her face, still cupped in my hands.
We smiled at each other and with that third kiss out of the way, I let her get the knife that she needed and we sat down to enjoy dessert. It was almost as good as our kiss.
“So,” she said, scraping at the last bit of whipped cream on her plate with her fork. “I was thinking about something . . .”
“What’s that?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to think I’m trying to take advantage of you,” she said hesitantly.
“I won’t,” I assured her.
“If you don’t want to do it,” she said, “it’s totally fine.”
“What?” I was on my second serving of pavlova and I put another bite in my mouth.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d draw me something?”
“Sure,” I said, swallowing. “What?”
“Well,” she answered, “I have this group I work with in Molly’s class and Wednesday is my last day with them and . . .”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“How long does it take you to do one of those caricatures?”
“Not long,” I said, shrugging. “But I’ve got to have pictures of them.”
“Oh, I’ve got pictures,” she said. “I’ve been taking pictures of them all semester.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“How long will it take you?” she asked.
“How many kids are there?”
“In my group? Four.”
“Pfft,” I said, waving my hand at her. “I can do that in about twenty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Sure,” I said. Then I added quickly, “but of course I took a lot longer on the one I did of you . . .”
“Oh, of course.” She grinned.
A few minutes later we had finished our dessert and were sitting on the couch together with a picture of Ernesto pulled up on Emily’s computer. She watched as I drew a rough sketch of his face, exaggerating his prominent round cheeks, dark eyelashes, and brush-top haircut.
“He likes whales,” Emily mentioned as I ran my pencil across the paper, so I made sure that when I drew his body, it was of him in a kneeling position, poolside, with one hand on a smiling orca.
After I finished Ernesto’s picture, I passed it off to Emily so she could start coloring while I began a sketch of Adrian.
“I wish I could draw,” she said wistfully as she colored. “This is totally what you should do for a living.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d hate it if I had to do it.”
“Can you draw other things?” she asked. “Like landscapes and portraits and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever had lessons?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Where did you get your talent?” she asked. “Did your mom or dad draw?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still looking at my paper. “I was adopted.”
“You were adopted?”
I nodded.
“What happened to your biological parents?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well you must know something.”
“Nope,” I said. “All I know is that I was adopted.”
“Your mom
We both stood up and I gathered some of the dirty dishes and put them in the sink while she opened the fridge. After a moment she turned around, holding a large plate covered with whipped cream, meringue, lemon curd, and fruit.
“It’s called pavlova,” she told me proudly, setting it down on the counter. I’d never heard of it before, but I had the feeling it had taken a lot of work. I looked at it and then at her and I felt a rush of warmth spread through my body.
Gratitude probably. Maybe something else . . .
“I need a knife,” she said, stepping forward and leaning past me. I grabbed her hand as she reached to open a drawer.
She looked at me in surprise as I held on to her and raised my free hand to lift her chin. I brought my mouth to her throat and as I worked my way up to her lips, she let out a soft sigh.
Our mouths met and I brought both of my hands to either side of her face, pulling her closer as we kissed and finding myself once again amazed at how warm her lips were. I finally pulled away and looked at her face, still cupped in my hands.
We smiled at each other and with that third kiss out of the way, I let her get the knife that she needed and we sat down to enjoy dessert. It was almost as good as our kiss.
“So,” she said, scraping at the last bit of whipped cream on her plate with her fork. “I was thinking about something . . .”
“What’s that?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to think I’m trying to take advantage of you,” she said hesitantly.
“I won’t,” I assured her.
“If you don’t want to do it,” she said, “it’s totally fine.”
“What?” I was on my second serving of pavlova and I put another bite in my mouth.
“I was wondering if maybe you’d draw me something?”
“Sure,” I said, swallowing. “What?”
“Well,” she answered, “I have this group I work with in Molly’s class and Wednesday is my last day with them and . . .”
“What do you want?” I asked.
“How long does it take you to do one of those caricatures?”
“Not long,” I said, shrugging. “But I’ve got to have pictures of them.”
“Oh, I’ve got pictures,” she said. “I’ve been taking pictures of them all semester.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“How long will it take you?” she asked.
“How many kids are there?”
“In my group? Four.”
“Pfft,” I said, waving my hand at her. “I can do that in about twenty minutes.”
“Really?”
“Sure,” I said. Then I added quickly, “but of course I took a lot longer on the one I did of you . . .”
“Oh, of course.” She grinned.
A few minutes later we had finished our dessert and were sitting on the couch together with a picture of Ernesto pulled up on Emily’s computer. She watched as I drew a rough sketch of his face, exaggerating his prominent round cheeks, dark eyelashes, and brush-top haircut.
“He likes whales,” Emily mentioned as I ran my pencil across the paper, so I made sure that when I drew his body, it was of him in a kneeling position, poolside, with one hand on a smiling orca.
After I finished Ernesto’s picture, I passed it off to Emily so she could start coloring while I began a sketch of Adrian.
“I wish I could draw,” she said wistfully as she colored. “This is totally what you should do for a living.”
“No way,” I said, shaking my head. “I’d hate it if I had to do it.”
“Can you draw other things?” she asked. “Like landscapes and portraits and stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever had lessons?”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Where did you get your talent?” she asked. “Did your mom or dad draw?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still looking at my paper. “I was adopted.”
“You were adopted?”
I nodded.
“What happened to your biological parents?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well you must know something.”
“Nope,” I said. “All I know is that I was adopted.”
“Your mom
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