Maid For You 4

Chapter 62

Coleman tried to snatch the notebook out of my hands, but I firmly pushed him away and sprinted to the other side of his room.

"You drew a picture of me!" I squealed as I dashed away from him.

"Cassie, give it back. That is my notebook."

I held the notebook close to my chest and stole a glance at him. I couldn't tell if his face was flushed from embarrassment or anger. I decided to do the mature thing...to run into the bathroom and lock the door behind me as fast as I could. I slid to the floor and sat with my back against the bathroom sink cupboards, my hands shaking as I held out the notebook before me. This was probably a bad idea, but I had made it this far and I wanted to look at the picture. Coleman pounded on the door and yelled at me to give him his notebook back, but I ignored him.

The picture wasn't finished yet, merely a soft outline of me, but unmistakably me. The jawline was clearly mine, even the shape of my eyes. The portrait was looking at me with pouty lips and furrowed eyebrows, and a loose strand of hair fell across my eye. I'd been growing my bangs out, and occasionally hair fell in my eyes. I was impressed that he'd been able to capture me so well.

Bang bang. "Cassie, this isn't okay!" he cried. "That is my property!"

Why is he so upset over a simple drawing? I wondered. And because I was incurably curious, I flipped the pages until I reached the front of the notebook. The first image was dated in August, with a picture that looked like Calista. I flipped the page, and saw a picture of Luke with various notes scribbled in a mix of English and what looked like German. They looked like notes from a meeting. I saw a picture of his mom, a few quick sketches of men I did not recognize, and then, on September 4th, there I was again.

This picture did not look like me nearly as much as the last one had—the details on the face were fuzzy, but there I was with a messy ponytail and fierce eyes. In his script, a small description was given: "The Girl from the Shop. Cassandra Carmichael.". I felt my heartbeat quicken, and I turned the page. There I was again, only this time I wore my frilly maid cap and I looked very annoyed. The details of this picture were certainly better. I flipped the page, and there I was. My heart pounded faster as I kept turning the pages. There were a few other portraits mixed in there—Luke, his family, Duarte, random officials, and scrawled across the pages were various notes and minutes from meetings, but it was clear who the predominant figure in his sketchbook was: it was me.

I saw various pictures of my emotions throughout the pages—at first mostly anger and annoyance, but then a wider range of expressions, such as joy, laughter, sorrow, confusion, slight smiles, and more. He became better at drawing me as time went on, and the portraits in the latter half of the sketchbook were strikingly accurate.

The bathroom door burst open, and I glanced up to see a very upset Coleman and a key in the bathroom door.

"Alright, Cassie." He was certainly angry. "You need to give that notebook back."

I looked at him silently, and despite his angry tone and his huffing and puffing, I could see the desperate look in his eyes, and it was almost heartbreaking. It made me wish I hadn't rifled through his notebook, it made me feel as though I'd seen something deeply personal.

"It's all me." My voice was just above a whisper. I watched his face carefully, as his eyes widened and the red in his face deepened. "Almost every picture..."

There was a palpable silence between us, both of us unsure of what to say to the other, unsure of what this development would mean. Finally, Coleman reached down and took his notebook out of my hands and walked out of the bathroom. I got myself up off the floor and followed him out.

"Coleman," I said. But he didn't look at me, he just hastily walked towards his bookshelf and began shoving his notebook into it. "Coleman," I repeated, rushing up to him and placing my hand on his arm.

He still wouldn't look at me.

"Are you angry with me?" I asked.

He said nothing for a moment, but stared hard at the notebook in front of him, his hand still pushing it into its place. "Yes."

I swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

"That was personal, Cassandra." His voice was very quiet.

I withdrew my hand from his arm. "I know." The two of us didn't say anything for a moment. "They're beautiful," I finally said, looking at the ground. "Your drawings, I mean. You're very talented. I didn't know you could draw like that." I stole a glance at him, and saw he was turning his head to look at me, his green eyes full of emotion.

"I just...I wanted to understand you better," he said. His hand was resting on the shelf. "You always...you...you fascinated me. And, drawing you...it's become a habit."

There was no calming my heartbeat in this moment, no pushing aside any notion of interest in Coleman. There was a crackling energy in the twelve inches between us akin to what I'd felt in the beginning. All I could do was just stare into his eyes.

"I see," I finally said.

His hand that sat on the shelf moved towards my face, and his fingers hovered less than an inch away from my cheek, and the anticipation filled me up inside, I could feel the warmth radiating from his fingertips tingling on my skin, though he did not touch me. However, his hand left its place by my face and came to rest on my shoulder. He leaned down so that his face was closer, and I could see the troubled expression in his eyes. "I'm trying," he said, and his jaw flexed as he squeezed my shoulder. "I'm trying so hard to just be your friend, Cassandra."

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