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the velvet curtains.
    She watched him enter, then turned
to look at the rest of the room. No one was even remotely paying attention to
them. Jackie was kissing a security guard in the corner of the room and Aralia
was talking animatedly while a group of people sat around her, captivated.
    Aralia had always been a star and
there was nothing that could drag her away from an audience. She turned back
towards the curtain and took a deep breath, then stepped forward and pulled
them apart to walk through. The curtains quickly closed behind her and Caroline
found herself alone in a small room, maybe only twice the size of her bedroom
or a little less.
    There was a bed to one side with a
large counter on the adjacent wall. There were all kinds of products, clothes,
and travel items strewn across it. The other side of the room is where Logan
stood, facing away with her. He had taken his shirt off and was only wearing
baggy sweat pants at this point.
    She paused, taken aback for a
moment, by the site of the clearly defined muscles in his back, followed by his
tall and bulging shoulders and bulky biceps, all covered in different tattoos
that told a story she so badly wanted to read.
    Caroline was so distracted by him
that she hadn’t noticed what he was doing until he turned around to look at
her.
    “What do you think?” He asked her.
    Logan was standing in front of an
easel with a partially painted canvas on it. The scene was of a girl’s profile,
looking behind her. The girl looked sad but confident, yet there was something
in her eyes that made Caroline lock in. She walked further into the room to
look at the painting more in depth, forgetting Logan was standing there and now
fairly close to her. The girl had brown curly hair, pale white skin, and rosy
lips. Her neck and the rest was still not drawn, only her face and the
beginning edges of her hair were completed. It was probably one of the most
beautiful paintings that she had ever seen by the intricacies he was able to
capture with his brush. It looked so real, like the girl was going to turn back
around and look right at her. Not only did the painting look real, but it was
overflowing with emotions and meaning. It wasn’t just a picture on a canvas, it
told a story through her gaze, the soft light around her face, the worry as she
looked behind, and the hazel complexity of her eyes.
    “It’s beautiful.” Caroline said,
hauntingly. There was really nothing more that she could say that would
accurately capture what she was looking at. She had now entirely forgotten that
Logan was standing there by her side until his hand came around and sat lightly
on the dip of her lower back. Her breath staggered for a second and she cleared
her throat, then turned back to look at him.
    “Whose is this?” She asked him.
    “Well once I finish it, you can
have it.” He replied.
    “I meant who painted it,” Caroline
started, then stopped and realized what he had just said, “wait, you painted
this?”
    “Don’t look so surprised,” he said
smiling at her again, “I am more than a guy hugging a microphone every night.” He
turned from her to look back at the painting.
    “Plus, I had a wonderful muse that
pulled this out of me.” He told her. She looked at the painting, feeling
jealous of whoever this girl was that he was painting, even though she knew
that was ridiculous.
    “Oh, that’s nice.” She said curtly,
not meaning to sound annoyed but she was, even with every logical part of her
brain telling her she is crazy.
    Logan turned back to look at her, a
confused look on his face. Then he seemed to have a realization and smiled at
her. He took another step closer to her, this time entirely closing the gap. His
arms encircled her waist and he pulled her against his bare chest.
    Again, Caroline lost every ability
to breath or even to think. She was frozen in his arms and her legs had gone
limp, which is why it was a good thing that he was holding her up.
    “Caroline, I painted