Scrooge

33. Alexander

33

ALEXANDER

“W hat are you doing?” I ask her as I walk into the lounge after finishing a conference call with the team. It went longer than I was expecting. This time of year, there are always things we’re trying to complete before the holidays, so people work twice as hard so they can have their break without deadlines hanging over them.

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind, but I found some paper and just felt like sketching,” she says, looking up at me from where she sits on the armchair, her back against one arm, her legs dangling over the other, a pad of paper across her knees. I admire her for a moment. Her hair is up in a high ponytail, and she’s wearing blue jeans and a white cable-knit sweater. Her feet are bare, her toes painted pale pink. So fresh, so natural, and all mine.

“I don’t mind at all. What are you drawing?” I ask as I walk over to her, standing closer and looking down at her sketches.

“I was just trying to capture the ocean. The waves are beautiful today.”

I look up and out the window. Her sketch is almost identical. The way she can just draw something that looks exactly like what our vision holds is astounding.

“This is really good,” I tell her, looking back down at her sketch.

“Well, it is a nice day, so…” She shrugs, and she is right. Although still cold outside, it’s clear with blue skies; the wind has died down and the sun is out.

“I have a break for a while before my next meeting. Do you feel like going for a walk?” I ask her, and she smiles wide.

“Let me just get my shoes on,” she says, jumping up.

“I’ll grab our coats,” I tell her, and we get organized and walk out into the chilly yet beautiful day.

“So do you sketch a lot in your downtime?” I wrap my arm around her middle, pulling her close. Walking down the grass to the sand, we step along the beach she was just sketching.

“I would sketch or paint all the time if I could. I don’t really get any downtime. This is the first break I’ve had in… I don’t know, maybe a few years.”

I frown as I look down at her. I’m not good at taking breaks either, but every now and then, I take a few days. Either here at the beach or overseas, because burnout is real, and in order for me to perform at my best, I need that balance. Not that I’ve had much of a break besides bedtime each night for at least the past year, but I want that to change. I have a reason to want to change that now.

“So where did your love of art come from?” I ask, intrigued on how she developed this amazing talent she has. She leans into my chest, the sand firm beneath us as we walk with synced steps.

“My mom, I think. She has a great eye for design. She was the one who always did the shop windows and all the creative elements in the store. Growing up, I was her right-hand man, following her everywhere, helping her pick colors and decorations. At school, I gravitated toward art and design and picked it up quickly.”

I nod, remembering the day we met.

“What about you? I know your father was very business-minded, but did you ever want to do anything else?” she asks, looking up at me, and I smile.

“It was always just the two of us, so I guess I didn’t have any other influence. I fell into business and math a little more naturally than any other subject at school. No point giving me a pencil; the best I could do would be stick figures.” I huff a laugh as she grabs my hand, and we continue walking along the sand. The fresh sea breeze feels amazing in my lungs, the stress from a busy work morning already melting away.

“It’s so beautiful out here.” It really is.

The beach is empty. As it should be. And it’s my favorite time to come here. The Hamptons in December isn’t really thriving. This part of the beach is owned by me, so it is private, secure, and safe. No media, no camera or paparazzi. Just us. Together.

“What is your favorite thing to draw?” I ask her, wanting to know more about the things that she loves.

“People,” she says firmly, and I laugh.

“I should have guessed that with all the portraits at your parents’ place.”

“I just love their stories, you know. How everyone has been through so much, and each line on their face, each sunspot or freckle, each misplaced eyebrow, or out-of-control hair is different, for everyone,” she says, her passion so evident it even lights me up inside.

“I love that you have found your passion,” I tell her honestly, stopping and looking at her. She turns to face me, her hair blowing in her face, and I brush it behind her ear. “Tell me, what is your dream? What do you really want to do?” I already know, but I’m interested in her answer.

“I want to own my own gallery. I want to have my artworks displayed. I want people to walk by and see them. I want the people of New York to see themselves,” she tells me, practically glowing now as she describes what she wants for herself.

“That would be amazing. I can see it.” I smile down at her, and she shrugs, like it is all just a pipe dream.

“What about you? Do you still dream?” she asks inquisitively.

“I don’t know. They are kind of changing at the moment,” I tell her honestly “My vision has always been bigger, better, and more. My goals tied to financial forecasts and how the next twelve months can be more than the previous. But I don’t know, maybe slowing down a bit is what I need to be doing,” I say, looking out at the water before I look back at her smile. The wind has picked up a little, causing her hair to fly around once again, getting caught in her lip gloss.

She giggles, and I lift my hand, brushing the tendrils from her face again, her eyes sparkling in delight. Considering what she has been through with her ex, and the feelings that have been dragged up for her these past few days, she truly is radiant.

“Are you happy?” I ask her, and her smile widens in an instant.

“So happy. Are you happy?”

The stupid grin that comes to my face says it all.

“Very,” I confirm with a nod as I pull her to me and kiss her forehead before she steps back.

“Race you home? Last one there is a rotten egg?” she says, already taking a few steps away from me.

"Rotten egg?” I chuckle, eyebrows pinching in question.

“Yeah, it’s a game the kids play at the store all the time. Catch me if you can!” she yells as she starts to sprint. I move quickly. The hard, wet sand provides little resistance as I stride and chase her, her laughter coating me in pure joy. I catch up to her quickly, and I reach out and grab her hand. She squeals as I wrap her up in my embrace, kissing her all over her face, the two of us panting and laughing like schoolkids.

“No fair, you caught me!” she says, laughing.

“Oh, Sunflower, I’ve told you that I will always catch you,” I tell her. She smiles, wrapping her arms around me, and I pull her tightly to my chest. The two of us stand together on the shore, the waves crashing nearby, as the fresh air and meditative sounds of the ocean roll through us, then we walk back together, feeling even more connected and content.