The Night Bus Before Christmas by J.A. Belfield

Author:J.A. Belfield [Belfield, J.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J.A. Belfield

Chapter 12

Another day. Another ridiculous hour.

Part of Morgan wondered if, without the clock set, she’d sleep right on past when she usually woke. Like, maybe it wouldn’t happen for the second night in a row when she actually wanted it to. And that, maybe, it would be a sign that she shouldn’t be piddling about catching buses while most normal folks were sleeping and she should tell the insects in her stomach over a guy she barely knew to buzz off.

But no. A little after one in the morning, she stood sipping steamy liquid from an oversized mug and wondering whether she was the only ridiculous thing in her life right then.

As she could have predicted, she spent the first thirty minutes of being awake wandering the flat and resisting the urge to catch that bloody bus. And also as she could have predicted, she found herself standing in the spare bedroom, staring at the painting Brandon had so scrutinised a couple of days earlier. From the earthy blends of colour, rough lines, scratched in criss-crosses and swishes of paint, to the slightly darker outline of what could actually be … a jaw?

Swallowing, Morgan allowed her gaze to drift upward, over where a nose ought to be—if she had in any way created a face—and a little higher, to where dark eyes would be gazing out with warmth and little bit of humour and just enough something to make her stomach pitter-patter …

Just as the dark shapes peering back at her from the painting did right then.

But they weren’t eyes. No way were they eyes. Because then she’d have to admit there might be some kind of features beginning to form in her painting, and she didn’t want to. She certainly didn’t want to admit that, oh hell, Brandon could be right. Not when ‘right’ was his favourite place to be and she’d never hear the end of it.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. Another ridiculous thing to add to her life.

With a huff and a swing of her mug, she spun away from the easel and stomped from the room.

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