Find Me Alastar

“You are very talented. I’m very impressed by what you do.”

He gifts me with a bashful smirk.

“I’m very proud of what you have achieved for yourself, Alastar.”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“You’re proud of me?” He frowns.

I smile and nod as I pull him down to my lips. I don’t know what possessed me to say that, but I can

feel it meant a lot to him. It’s true, I do feel proud of what he has achieved. That’s no mean feat to do what

he does with such ease.

He drops his head to my breast and we lie still for a moment, my fingers running idly through his

messy curls as I start to doze again. His lips occasionally kiss my chest and I can tell he is deep in

thought. Although I have no idea what about.

“I have to get up.” I sigh.

He looks up suddenly. “I thought you were staying home with me?”

“No. I have to have a job to pay my rent. You are about to flit off around the world and I am still going

to need an income when you’re gone.”

He nods, understanding yet dejected.

“Can we go to the art gallery at the weekend?” I ask.

“Only if you want to. I forget not everyone loves art as much as I do.”

I smile broadly. “Why don’t you paint more if you get so much money for your paintings?”

He shrugs. “I have to be inspired.” His face lights up as an idea comes to light. “Can I paint you?” he

asks.

I laugh. “Why on earth would you want to paint me?”

He smiles as if I have just given him a new challenge. “I could paint you in our bed.”

“It’s your bed, not our bed.”

An unfamiliar emotion crosses his face.

“What is that look?” I smile softly as I run my fingers through his hair and push it away from his face

before it falls onto his forehead.

He shrugs. “I wish things were different.”

My eyes hold his as regret fills me.

So do I.

He fiddles with the blanket, deep in thought as his eyes drop to his fingers.

Here is the time where I should lay it all out on the table. Why couldn’t he give us a chance? Where is

he going to on this trip and what’s stopping us having a future… any kind of future?

I’m not going to, though.

If things ever did develop between us, it will be coming from his side, not mine. He made it perfectly

clear that day back in the café when he said he didn’t want anything serious, and even though I now know

I could easily fall for him, I’m not letting myself.

I have more self-respect than to let myself fall in love with an emotionally unavailable man.

I sit up suddenly. I need to break from thinking and to get ready for work.

“Can you drive me in half an hour?” I ask casually as I start to retrieve my things for my shower.

He falls back into bed and watches me, his mind seemingly miles away. “Sure.”

Alastar

I wait on the corner for Em to finish work, checking my watch for the tenth time. She’s late… as

usual.

I don’t do late, but with her I have no choice. She’s chaotic, spontaneous, consistently late, and

will be my damn undoing. I look up to see her bouncing happily through the crowd, and an intrinsic

smile crosses my face.

She is so beautiful.

She wraps her arms around me and kisses me with her sweet lips. “Hello, my Twinkle,” she

breathes.

I smile as I envelope her in my arms and inhale her scent.

I’ve missed her today.

I would give anything to be able tell her just how much.

“Hello, my Emmaline.”

She links her arm through mine and we start to walk down the street. “Where is your car?” she

asks.

“I thought we might go shopping and then get dinner out.”

“Oh,” she replies sounding surprised.

I smirk down at her and raise my eyebrow in question. “You don’t want to eat out?”

She shrugs. “Yes, I suppose.” “Just suppose?”

“Meh, I’ll be honest. No restaurant cooks as good as you do. I am happiest in your kitchen.” She

goes up on her toes to kiss me as we walk and pulls my face down to hers. I happily oblige. What

must we look like to the outside world? Everywhere we go, we carry on like love struck teenagers,

kissing and cuddling, unable to keep our hands off each other while smiling like idiots.

I can’t help it.

She makes me feel like a pubescent fifteen-year-old.

“Did you have a nice day?” she asks.

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Well, I wasn’t with you, so yes. Just okay.”