I’m rocking ripped jeans and a casual black shirt, throwback Nikes, and a belt bag. My hair is pulled back in a messy bun. My makeup is subtle. I am the most underdressed and understated I’ve ever been for a date, and it feels right.
More right than anything I shared with Josh. And better than the nerves that pinged around my stomach when Axel took me to Le Papillon.
Tonight, my expectations are managed. But my excitement, for the surprise, for the laidback vibe, for getting to see more of the real Axel, surges.
He knocks on the front door a little before six. When I pull it open, his eyes fill with appreciation. “You look perfect.”
“I don’t know about that,” I laugh. “But I’m excited to learn more about this surprise.”
“I’m not giving anything away,” he swears. “You really like surprises?”
I nod. “You don’t?”
“Can’t stand them. I like to plan.”
“I can see that. You’re very…intentional.”
“How diplomatic.”
I laugh. “How would you describe yourself?”
He ponders this while I step out onto the porch and lock up. “Serious,” he says finally.
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Lola thinks I need to have more fun. She’s always telling me not to overthink things. To live in the moment. My brother backs her up, so it’s two against one.”
“You disagree?”
His frown deepens. “I don’t know,” he says when we reach his truck. He pulls open the passenger door for me. “I guess…I guess I never had the chance to live in the moment. Lola was born when I was sixteen and after that there was always expectations. There needed to be a plan.” His voice is low, lined with his usual gruffness, but I can tell he’s trying to open up. His body is angled toward mine, his hands gesturing as he speaks.
“That makes sense,” I say, understanding things through his worldview. Living in the moment is a luxury, one for people who don’t have to provide for dependents. “I never thought about how that perspective would change with having children. Especially so young.”
“I’ve never known anything else. It’s made me…”
“Serious.”
A small smile turns his lips. “Serious.”
“Well, tonight we’re being spontaneous.”
His smile grows, giving me a glimpse of how beautiful he is when not scowling. “Because of you,” he admits. Crossing his arms, he leans against the open passenger door. “Since our dinner, I realized I don’t have any hobbies.”
I snort out a laugh. “Do you want some?”
“I’m considering it. I’ll let you know after tonight.”
At his cryptic response, my curiosity spikes. “And you’re not going to give me any hints?”
“And ruin the surprise you say you love? No way. Buckle up,” he says, before shutting the passenger door and rounding the truck.
While Axel drives closer to the UT campus, I wrack my mind for ideas. I search outside for clues. I pepper him with questions.
But he doesn’t budge, just gives me pointed looks and vague replies. His specialty.
When we pull up to a small art-studio/bistro, my excitement ticks up. “Oh my God! We’re painting!”
“We are,” Axel confirms.
“Do you like to paint?” I turn toward him. “Because of your mom?”
“I haven’t painted since I was a kid. With Mom, yes. We always did fun, messy projects. Even when Lola was a kid, Mom would encourage finger-painting. She’d hang paper on the windows and let Lol go to town. But now,” he exhales, “I guess we’ll find out.” He turns off his truck and slips from the driver’s seat.
My heart melts. This man. This big, overpowering, intentional, purposeful, serious man is stepping so far out of his comfort zone right now to do something special for me. Me. A woman he’s taking on a second date and trying to prove—what? That we really do have a connection?
The significance of tonight takes on new meaning and already, I know it’s going to be better than our fancy dinner. It’s going to be more meaningful than anything I shared with Josh. Or Mitch, my ex before Josh. Or Keith, my ex before Mitch.
Tonight, is a turning point in my romantic life. It’s going to make or break the connection I have with Axel. Tonight is as intentional and purposeful as the man waiting for me to slide out of his truck.
I hop down, liking the way Axel catches my elbow to steady me. His hand, big and strong and reliable, slides down to my wrist and squeezes once before releasing me.
We enter the art studio, welcomed by the delicious aroma of food, before the scent of acrylic paint greets us. Axel glances around, taking in the bar, the small restaurant occupying one side, and then, the studio. The works of art that hang on the walls and line the shelves. The corridor of workspaces, places to paint and sculpt and create. Spaces that encourage the freedom to get messy.
“Welcome to the Art Attic,” a woman dressed in a royal blue caftan greets us.
“Thanks,” Axel says gruffly, pulling out his phone to pull up the information for the class we’re taking.
“Ah,” the woman says softly, a spark lighting her eyes. “It’s just this way. I’m Mel.”
“Axel,” Axel says.
“Hi!” I wave. “I’m Maisy.”
Mel smiles. “It’s nice to meet you both. Would you like some wine? Perhaps something to eat?”
Axel and I exchange a look. Should we eat here? Does he want to have dinner afterwards? Are we drinking?
“Are you hungry?” Axel asks.
I shrug, not wanting to say, “I can always eat.” But I can always eat.
“How about a charcuterie board and two glasses of wine—”
“Merlot,” I toss out helpfully.
“Merlot,” Axel agrees, his posture relaxing. “And then, we can always add on more afterwards.”
“Certainly,” Mel says easily. “I’ll settle you into your workspace and put in your order. Follow me.”
Axel and I fall into step behind Mel, and I can’t help but note how his eyes peer into each workspace we pass, curious and a little confused. Is he thinking about his mom? Did she used to paint in a space like this? Does being here bring back memories?
I grip his hand and squeeze his fingers. “We’re going to have fun tonight, Axe,” I murmur, shortening his name the way he’s shortened mine.
His dark eyes find mine, earnest. “I already am, Mais.”
I bite my bottom lip and duck my head as Mel leads us into the room our class is taking place. She helps us set up with the necessary paints and brushes. Axel and I sit down in front of two canvases and introduce ourselves to some of the other participants, making small talk, until our wine and snacks arrive.
We’ve just sipped our wine when our teacher enters the room, clapping his hands together. “Bonsoir, mes amis.” He sweeps his arms to the sides wildly. “My name is Francois. I will be leading tonight’s class on portrait painting. Woo!” Francois fans himself. “Wait until you meet our model. He is très sex-xy,” he emphasizes the words.
I snort, unable to hold back my laughter as Axel’s eyes bulge. Panic crosses his face and it’s the sweetest, most hilarious expression I’ve seen him sport.
Pam, the grandmother of nine, across from us, whistles appreciatively.
My laughter ricochets around the room, increasing in volume when I take in poor Axel’s haunted expression.
“Let’s give Benoit a welcoming applause!” Francois announces.
Pam bolts up from her chair, her cane clattering to the ground, as she claps enthusiastically. A few other members of our class join her, and I grip my side as my laughter, my fascination with this moment, grips me.
Benoit enters the room, wearing a poofy white shirt and trousers. His hair is slicked back from his face, tied at the nape of his neck with a navy ribbon. And he’s brandishing a…sword. A real gold one, that seems a natural extension of his hand. And a package that has Pam’s eyes widening, her hand clutching her proverbial pearls.
Dead. I’m dead.
“What did you sign us up for?” I manage to sputter out.
Axel turns toward me, his expression frozen in shock. Highlighted in horror.
My laughter bubbles upward again and I’m silently shaking with it. My eyes are tearing.
“Welcome to the romanticism of the eighteenth century!” Francois continues, helping Benoit to the center of the room, where a small, circular stage sits.
“He’s wearing a poet shirt,” I comment to no one. “With bishop sleeves.”
In my peripheral vision, Axel’s head swings toward mine. “How do you know that?”
I shrug, wiping away my tears of mirth. I look at him, smiling so wide my cheeks ache. “This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”
At the genuine happiness he reads in my face, he relaxes, releasing a chuckle. “I booked the wrong class.”
“This is genius.”
“It’s a mistake.”
“I’m so excited.”
Axel dips his head, his cheeks pinking. Oh my God, is he blushing? “I’m glad.”
“Axel,” I say, waiting for his eyes to latch onto mine before continuing. “We’re going to have fun tonight,” I remind him.
“I already am, Mais.” He gives me the same answer, which eases some of my nerves over his obvious panic.
“Me too.”
“Now, let us take out our first brush,” Francois says, demanding our attention. “And pay particular attention to the curves of Benoit’s muscles. The tightness of his abdomen.”
Axel groans next to me.
“The impressive size of…well, Benoit.”
“Amen,” Pam murmurs, gulping her wine.
“The strength and vibrancy, the nostalgia and longing, should be evident in your masterpieces this evening.” Francois walks around the space, giving bits of encouragement to the participants.
The group begins to paint.
I roll my lips together as Axel grumbles, pulling out a paintbrush and heaving a long sigh.
“I’m going to disown Lola,” he mutters.
My laughter seeps out. At the sound, Axel swears, but the sound is cheerful. In the next moment, the two of us are laughing together.
Axel’s face, open and overcome with mirth, is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen him. He tosses his head back, his jaw on full display, his beard quivering with the waves of laughter that bubble up from his chest. His eyebrows, dark slashes, are raised with amusement. And his eyes, always so heavy, black like midnight, are colored charcoal, more hypnotizing than a fire.
“I’m sorry, Mais,” he wheezes out.
I shake my head. “You’re beautiful, Axe.”
The observation tumbles from my mouth like a confession. Since it’s the truth, I don’t regret saying it.
Axel’s laughter dies in his throat and his eyes turn solemn, serious, once more. “And you’re exquisite, Maisy. Already, you’ve opened my mind and…” He works a thick swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re changing things for me.”
I reach out and link our hands together. “It’s the same for me. Now, let’s paint.”
“You still want to do this?” he asks, tipping his head hopefully.
“Hell yeah,” I say, my eyes darting to Francois and Benoit. “I’d pay good money to do it again.”
Axel groans but he dips his paintbrush in a tan-tinted paint and begins to roughly outline Benoit’s shape.
Not gonna lie, it’s not half bad. He must have picked up some tips from his mom.
Sweeping my paintbrush over my canvas, I grin. Tonight is already the best date I’ve ever been on and it’s barely begun.