I felt so much excitement sitting next to this man. My body tingled and I didn’t even know my body could do that.

Then a horrible thought crossed my mind. “What if Mama hid these paints too?”

My heart raced, my hands became clammy and I could feel the tears forming. I looked out at the sun and noted that Mama would come striding through our door soon.

“I can not accept these paints.” I panicked and I became frantic as I  hide them in his satchel.

His hand grabbed mine firmly, freezing it in its motion.

“Why? Why would you not accept this gift?”

“I might lose them.” I lied through my teeth remembering how crushed I was the morning I could not find my charcoal pencils.

He held my hands in a death grip, his left froze my hands in their effort to hide his gift. His right hand  forcefully grabbed my chin. He tilted my chin up so I could not escape his indignant gaze. “You are lying to me. Tell me the truth.”

I glanced at the door with apprehension. There were still two beautiful bottles of paint on the table. Mama would know that I had been dawdling. I had not even started cooking.

“I can’t tell you the truth. I have to get started cooking. My parents will be home soon.” I struggled to break free from his grip. He tightened it further.

“I am a business man. When I want to spend a full day with someone and they have distractions, I arrange for the distractions to be eliminated. Your parents will not be home until sunset. Now truth is what I asked for and is what I demand.”

His grip tightened on my chin, it almost hurt. If my body hadn’t been tingling so much I may have cried out in pain.

I looked in his eyes and my resolve crumbled, the teas started gushing down my cheeks.

“When I was young, I used to love to draw. Mama considered it a waste of time. She said she needed me to learn how to be a good wife. She stole my charcoal pencils and hid them from me.” My head hung in shame. “I had to walk away from my dreams to become a good wife. I thought I had killed my dreams. That is what Mama said I should do.”

I looked at him again searching his face for understanding.

“You said you thought you had killed your dreams. Did they actually die?” He gazed at me with such intensity I began to tremble.

“I thought they had and then something happened one day. When that event happened it is like my dream exploded within my heart, pleading to be nurtured again. It begged with such ferocity it was like a starving baby.” I was trying to distract him from the truth.

“What was it that gave life back to a dream that you had thought was dead?”

I paused for a moment, weighing the consequences of truth,  he was not taking the bait of distraction for one minute.

“It was seeing you when you were walking in front of my house that day.”

I have never kissed a man the way that I kissed him. It is one thing to kiss a man, it is another thing to kiss a man who has re-birthed your dreams.