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The Painter Song - Nora Jones.Somehow there was a way in which the world seemed to have arranged itself for this ocassion; in which the stars seemed to have aligned so that this afternoon could be so perfect. But the only one who could have wrought it out by mere willforce was Mathias; Mathias who had insisted in keeping the others away just this time so they could hike, alone, unguided, through the Pyrenees. Marco was the absolutely worst chaperone ever, having lost track of them at the base of a grassy cliff that flawless afternoon. How the grass seemed to have suddenly lit up underneath the soles of their boots when they sat down, Laura could never figure out.
"How exactly did you manage to keep away Gilbertine from offering to come with us instead of Marco and Délphine?" teased Laura lightly to Mathias. He was busy taking out his camera from the rucksack he had brought with him, and he made a dismissive scoffing sound that Laura took as a That doesn't matter. She sat on the grass beside him and looked over his shoulder to the camera, and he turned to her quizzically. "You know how protective Gil is of me. So I needed an explanation, Mathias Duval." She leaned her head on his shoulder jokingly, and he laughed as he gently stretched out his arm to shove her away.
"She didn't even know that we were going out, and you know how Marco is about the mountainside. He would literally steal away any moment he had to paint. And Délphine saw it as her perfect opportunity to propose--I mean flirt."
Laura laughed, perfectly knowing he was right. The sun tilted just a few inches and burned itself into her vision as they contemplated the sunset quietly only for a few minutes. "And I bet right now Marco is busy with his oil paints trying to capture that."
"If Délphine doesn't stand in front of him just to distract him," reminded Mathias as he finally lifted the camera to the sunset, just as Laura was distracted by the grassy mountainside, where the dots of white and yellow were highlighted by the light of the sun. The shutter of the camera brought Laura out of her temporary reverie, and then she leaned her head on his shoulder again; Mathias made no resistance.
"Take a picture of the side. You know, it looks just perfect. Clémentine would be jealous."
"Photography isn't my goal in life, but okay," he answered, turning the camera to the grasses that covered the mountainside, and then Laura smiled.
"You know, photography isn't as personal as painting. Marco's absolutely right about it," bemused Laura absently. "There's a way in which the green strokes of a brush make it seem not just grass, but the idea of grass. And a way someone's face isn't just the face. It has a way of conveying what the painter thought of that person." Mathias put the camera down and wrapped an arm around her, which warmed her up almost instantly.
"You're still bitter about when Marco painted you and you got into a paint fight--" tried to interrupt Mathias to tease her, but then Laura turned sharply and placed a finger on his lips.
"Who did Gil say had to be the master of the conversation?"
"You," he amended, and titled his head so that their foreheads met.
"But she was wrong. Master of a conversation, you know. A conversation isn't a fight. When a person loses an argument all you're doing is preparing yourself to have him against you. So, don't interrupt. It's not a fight," she instructed to Mathias. He patiently waited until she was over, and resumed speaking.
"Then you're not remembering the paint fight," he tried to take up their previous conversation, and instead Laura pointed at two spots down below walking quite quickly.
"Those'll be our two very irresponsible chaperones," laughed Laura, and then Mathias' hand came to her chin, who moved her face to towards him.
"Then let's take our time enjoying their lack of presence," he said, and Laura chuckled at his odd choice of words. As proficient as Mathias was in English, he still had a bit of trouble.
"Absence," she corrected him. "And yes, I really don't like it when they flirt in front of us. They'd be the ones to kiss passionately in public."
Mathias was the one to kiss her first, gently, then when he paused for breath, he answered. "Terrible, no?"
Frank Sinatra - Strangers in the Night(view spoiler)
Long eyelashes batted against his forehead while soft cheeks pushed against his, their hands grasping at each others as the moonlight fluttered through the wispy clouds. It was fast, and so abrupt, and as her luscious lips softly left residue from her lipstick on the side of his face, he couldn’t help but wonder how on Earth this could’ve happened.
It was just a glance. There were startling brown eyes, glittering with the joy of the festivities going on, and then they were gone. It wasn’t until later he caught another glance of her, her long, mocha dress curving perfectly around her figure, the blush on her cheeks the perfect shade of pink and her hair twisted in just the right way.
He probably looked like a fool, staring for a moment before clumsily making his way over to her. But she had smiled as he offered his hand, and her tight-lipped smile and shining irises had captivated him in such a way his heart told him she was it. They had danced, and when he told her he didn’t catch her name, her voice was soothing and charming, getting caught in his head, lingering there as a faint whisper.
There was nothing to say; or, at least, he didn’t know what to say. Words stumbling over each other, he asked without thinking if she believe in love at first sight. She merely grinned again, her dancing slowing to rhythmic sways as the band slowed down behind her.
Her perfume intoxicated him as she pulled him close to her, her head buried in his chest.
She answered yes.
He didn’t know that would start. It was a flurry of hands, eager to touch each other, lips ready to explore, eyes prepared to gaze for hours and hours. There were dark rooms, bright skies, and everything in between for two years.
They were just strangers in the night.
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“You sure you won’t regret any of this?” Thom asked me.
I scoffed. “Regret having fun? Where’s your head?”
Thom shrugged and mumbled, “Back at school.”
Laughing at his remark, I stuck my head out the window, leaning by whole body against the car door. The setting sun made only the silhouettes of the cars in front of us visible.
Then I saw him, driving in the car in front of us.
“Speed up,” I urged Thom, my foot thumping on the floor of the car.
“Why?”
“Darn it, Thom; just do it.”
Jared smirked as soon as he saw us riding alongside him. His eyebrows raised, and I think he winked at me, although I couldn’t tell because of his sunglasses.
I smiled back. After all, it was all I could do to keep my face from blooming into a shade of dark red.
“Sam?” I heard Thom ask.
Sighing, I turned away from Jared to face him. “What?”
A wide grin cracked Thom’s face. “Where’s your head?” he teased me.
My lips curved downward. “Anywhere but in the gutter, thanks,” I replied.
Now it was Thom’s turn to laugh. But instead, both of us did.
“So how’s Jared?” Thom inquired.
“I don’t think he’s ever looked at me like that before,” I replied.
Thom said, “You know, he always does that before he catches his prey.”
I frowned. “Well, I won’t be just another girl.”
“To you, you won’t,” my friend retorted. “But with Jared, you can never tell.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. The one thing we disagreed on was the subject of Jared. Not politics, not teachers, but a stupid boy.
The argument manifested itself in a continuous cycle: something happened, Thom would ruin it. Only seconds before, I had been happy. But now my friend had shattered my hope, and any chances of getting Jared along with it.
It was a miracle Thom knew where Jared’s house—the location of the party—was, because he sure wasn’t getting any help from me. Nope; I was too busy sulking. The rest of the car ride was spent in absolute silence, with the exception of the honking of horns and the screeching of tires.
In the darkness, Jared’s house was a beacon of excitement. One look at the Christmas lights wrapped around the structure and the light emanating from every single window, my jaw dropped, and I stayed in a gawking state until Thom finally parked the car.
A night of fun. That’s all this was. Nothing more, nothing less. And I already had my sights set on Jared.
It would be interesting to see how that would play out…
“I know what you’re thinking.” Thom’s voice blocked any more thoughts from circulating. “And it’s not a good idea. Not when we’ve just arrived.”
I opened my mouth, ready to snap at him that it was none of his business and he shouldn’t care about it and that I knew what I wanted, but Thom cut me off before I even had a chance to start by advising, “Let him come to you. If he feels the same, he will, Sam. Just trust me.”
Clenching my fists, I sucked in the bitter words that had been about to jump out of my mouth and entered Jared’s house.
My voice was hoarse from screaming, but I kept on shouting at the top of my lungs. Everything was a little blurry, but I didn’t mind. It made everyone laugh, and I liked making people laugh.
The world became a little dizzier when I saw Jared. I stumbled over to him—and almost fell—but it didn’t matter because he caught me.
“Samantha…Is that you?” he asked.
I leaned against him, trying to get back up by myself. “It’s…Sam…just Sam,” I corrected him, my words slurred. His eyes locked with mine, and my legs gave way again.
“Are you all right?” Jared chuckled, wrapping his arms around me.
My voice suddenly restricted to a whisper, I answered, “I might be a little tipsy.”
His smile scrunched up his nose. A smile that made me feel queasy. Or was that the alcohol?
Oh, well. I guess that they were both the same thing.
“Come with me,” Jared urged suddenly, tugging my wrist toward the door.
My movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, which was why I was mostly trying to lean against him for support. I had no idea how far I would make it before I retched.
Next thing I knew, Jared had scooped me up in his arms.
I turned to him, beginning to ask what the heck he was planning on doing with me, but Jared just promised, “You’ll see.”
Our destination: the rooftop. He set me down, but warned, “You’d better not lose you balance. I would be dead if someone learned that I’d killed you.”
I wasn’t really listening to Jared, though. Instead, I was gazing up and down the street, at the luminescent windows and the burnt out street lamps.
“It’s kind of like looking at the world from space. All these lights,” I whispered.
We sat there, my arms extended and placed way closer to him than they should’ve been; his expression blank as he stared at the lights.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jared agreed quietly.
Smiling, I leaned over to tell him something, and maybe to kiss him. But that was when my food decided to make another appearance. Right on his jeans, too.
“Oh, crap,” I whispered, putting my hand to my mouth. “Were those designer jeans?”