Overture (Rain Dance, Book 1) (Rain Dance Series) by Elle Devrou Page A

in
various shades of blue.
          "Do you
have the time?" I asked, remembering that I hadn't checked since I'd left
the apartment.
          "A quarter
to two."
          "Oh."
I continued working in silence.
          "Liszt?" he questioned after a moment, referring to the piano
in the background.
          "Mm,"
I confirmed. "I can't work without music."
          He began to
slowly pace through the room. As he moved away from me, I let out all the air I
didn't know I was holding in. I had to tell my heart to steady itself every
time I felt his gaze on me.
          "Are you a
dancer?" he asked suddenly.
           … What? "Um...No."
          "There's
something about your movements," he spoke easily. "The way you walk.
Even the way you're holding the brush. You're very graceful."
          I stopped
mid-stroke and looked at him blankly. Me? Graceful? But coming from the man
who was the epitome of elegance, I didn't think I had the right to argue.
"Thank you."
          I focused my
attention back onto the wall before I could get a chance to lose myself in his
eyes. As I painted, I felt my body loosen up on its own. There was no longer a
need to force it. All because he complimented me… I bit my lip, trying to
hide the goofy grin that was desperate to make itself known. I had to distract
myself quickly. "I like to prance around my living room as though I were a dancer, but I would hardly call those moments graceful. By the way, how are
you today?"
          "Very
well, thank you. And you?" His voice was warm now, and I just had to
smile.
          "Very
well, thank you," I repeated, pulling away from my work to look at him.
          For some
reason, he quickly averted his eyes after a second and cleared his throat.
"So you know what you're doing then? I figured you would have needed some
more time."
          "Are you
going to be keeping an eye on the progress?"
          "Am I in
your way?"
          "Not at
all. I just assumed you wanted to be surprised."
          "That's
true. I am interested in seeing your process, though."
          "There's
not much to it, really," I shrugged. "Once I know what I'm doing,
it's just a race to get it done."
          "And how
long do you think it will take to complete?" he inquired.
          "I'm not
sure." Bringing the back handle of the brush to my chin, I looked at the
other walls, comparing them to what I had done already. "Three weeks
minimum. Is there a time limit?"
          "Not at
all. Please, feel free to go at your own pace," he answered smoothly.
          I nodded and
returned to working. Bing Crosby's voice filled the room then, singing about
cows. When I noticed that Mr. Desmond was distracted with his own thoughts, I
sung along quietly.
          "Have you
eaten yet?" he asked a minute later. Does he ask everyone such random
questions?
          "I had
breakfast," I replied.
          "I meant
lunch."
          "Not yet.
I have to finish what I'm doing here, first."
          He frowned
slightly. "Do you often skip meals when you work?"
          "Only when
I'm in top form. I make up for it later on by eating triple the amount of
yummies." I cringed inwardly when I realized I had just spoken the word
'yummies' out loud. He's not Dale, silly. Talk like a grown-up.
          "Even so,
you shouldn't go too long without eating something. So long as you're working
here, do keep yourself well-fed, Daphne."
          He only said
my name, no need to start swooning. Normally, I would have told him to
butt-out, but I was able to look kindly back at him - he hadn't spoken
condescendingly.
          "I will,
thank you." I hesitated before I finally decided to ask, "Do you have
a first name, Mr. Desmond?" I kept my eyes on the wall, but I could feel
the heaviness of his gaze on me again.
          Eventually, he
answered, "…Ethan."
          Ethan…? Of course. I faintly remembered Patricia mentioning it