I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(82)

“I love you too,” he says back, his hand reaching out, his thumb grazing my bottom lip. He finds a smidge of mousse and swipes it away.

As the sky darkens, we lie back on the blanket. For the longest while, we talk and cuddle, all while millions of stars twinkle above our prone bodies.

“Those are the same stars we’d see if we were in Paris, baby,” Chase tells me at one point.

“I know, but I like these stars better,” I reply.

Chase sits up and blows out the candles. The countless pins of light blanketing the velvet-black sky glow even more brightly.

“There always seems to be so many more stars out here in the country,” I say as I sit up and settle back into Chase’s chest. He wraps his strong arms around me.

My boy looks down at me and smiles. “Those stars are always there, baby. We just see them more clearly out here is all.”

Maybe there’s deeper meaning in what Chase is saying. Maybe everything is clearer out here. I know my mind feels free and unburdened at the moment. As if to illuminate that fact, I immediately come to the conclusion that, for once in my life, I have not a care in the world. It’s just me and my guy. And everything is perfect, just as Chase promised it would be. This man has brought me Paris. And in doing so, in doing something so thoughtful and caring, he’s taken away all my worry, all my fear. In a way, it’s like we’re not even in Harmony Creek right now. Sure, we’re physically here, but Chase has ensured that tonight we exist in a world of love and friendship, one we’ve built together for the past several weeks. But this love feels like something much bigger. I know in my heart destiny and fate rule our love; they have from the moment I crashed into his arms that Sunday in the church parking lot. I smile to myself, I wanted a man to sweep me off my feet, and that sure has happened.

The air eventually grows cooler, and I shiver in response. Chase, taking notice, suggests we go back inside. “I still have to show you the rest of your surprise anyway,” he reminds me in a voice as whisper-soft as the velvety black night.

Chase takes my hand and helps me up. What could possibly top a romantic sunset picnic on the roof? What could be better than lying beneath the stars, feeling so very much in love?

I’m about to find out…

It’s dark when we step back over the window sill and into Chase’s bedroom. I can’t see much until he switches the lamp on by his bed.

Then, my breath catches in my throat.

I step closer to the dresser, my hand reaching out. I am speechless. My artist boy really has brought Paris to me. First, out on the roof, through taste, touch, and smell. But now, in his lamp-lit bedroom, it’s through sight.

A set of sketches, done in richly hued oil pastels, rest propped up on the dresser. A café in Montmartre, a tree-lined view of the Champs élysées, the Arc de Triomphe in a base-to-top angle. And that is just the start.

I stand before the sketches—these pieces of art—brought to life by Chase’s unbelievably talented hands. A bakery that reads boulangerie on the awning, where baguettes—like the one we just ate—are displayed in a basket in the window, next to chocolate éclairs and croissants, steam rising from their golden tops.

I touch the edges of each drawing, one-by-one, tentatively. Every sketch is as beautiful as the next. The colors are stunning, rich and dark, the detail is pristine. Chase’s ability to recreate these lifelike scenes blows me away. So much so that words temporarily elude me.

Two of the pieces at the edge of the dresser my boy has framed. They rest all set to display. The first framed sketch is of Notre Dame Cathedral, and the other framed piece depicts arguably the most recognizable landmark in Paris—the Eiffel Tower. Both are springtime scenes, pink-blossoming trees pepper the landscape, along with daffodils and tulips that are in full bloom.

I turn to my insanely talented artist boy, who never ceases to amaze me, and who is currently leaned up against the frame of the door, as nonchalant as ever, savoring my reactions.

I find my words, at last, and, in a reverent voice, say, “My God, Chase, these are incredible.” I shake my head. “No, that’s not good enough. I don’t think there’s even a word to describe how beautiful these sketches are.” I glance back at the sketches, then to the artist himself. “You should draw professionally, Chase, you’re certainly good enough.”

My boy blushes as he peers down at the floor. So shy sometimes, I think. “I don’t know about that,” he replies quietly.

“It’s true,” I insist. “You’re a real artist.”

Chase, still leaning against the doorframe, crosses his arms. Blue-gray cotton pulls taut at his biceps and wide shoulders. “I’m glad you like the sketches, baby girl,” he begins, smiling and catching my gaze, “’Cause they’re all yours now. I drew them for you. It’s the rest of your surprise. I finished the one of the bakery just before you got here. On the first try I f*cked up the word ‘boulangerie.’” He chuckles. “So I had to start that one over.”

I turn back to the art, still in awe. “So you’re saying you drew all of these today?”

“Yeah, I got started after I got back from the store. I only had time to frame two of them though. I’ll fix the others for you tomorrow and we can hang them up in your apartment.” He shoots me a knowing glance. “That should take care of that blank-wall problem, yeah?”