Chapter Thirty-Two

Looking back, Ginny wished that the thought had even occurred to her to film Oliver's reaction. His eyes slowly got wide, then narrowed briefly as if he thought she might be joking or something. But Ginny guessed he hadn't seen anything suspicious in her face, because then he was beaming. Now, at the dinner table a few nights later, they were talking about it for what already seemed like the thousandth time.

"It's for a year," Ginny said. Oliver frowned slightly. "We're going to travel around a lot. I'm going to write about wizarding art; that's a lot of the reason why I asked you to go rather than someone else. You'll know where to go and who to talk to more than anyone else. You can paint or you can do whatever I'll be doing. I won't spend all my time writing. Part of it will be experiential research; basically, I'll be drinking heavily and biking around in the sun."

"Sounds nice," Oliver said dryly. "What am I going to do about work? I can't just take off, I haven't got a lot of money lying around, as you may have guessed. And I make my money by painting and teaching here."

"Oh," Ginny said, "I forgot about that." She took a bite of her mac and cheese (which Oliver had very cleverly made out of a box, Ginny didn't know how) and swallowed before continuing, "I talked to Dennis and told him I wanted to bring someone else, and before I could even ask about money, he said they'd left room for an extra stipend. They were just going to send Dennis or Harry with me, so thanks for agreeing to come so I wouldn't be stuck with one of them. Traveling with Harry might not be so bad, I guess, but he can be a bit boring sometimes. He doesn't like adventure."

"And you think I do?" Oliver asked playfully, collecting their empty plates and moving to the sink.

"I know you do," Ginny replied. "Come on, let me do the dishes."

"If you really want to," Oliver sighed, faking regret. "I'll go get a sketchbook, I want to immortalize this moment." Ginny could hear him titling his work as he walked away: "The Princess Does the Dishes."

She laughed a little to herself as she started filling the sink. She and Oliver had barely had any physical contact since he'd kissed her again the other day, and Ginny was conflicted about this. On one hand, she really wanted him to kiss her again. On the other hand, her heart still felt somewhat tender from her breakup with Harry, although she couldn't think of it as something raw and recent anymore. She wasn't sure whether it was messing with her mind to have Oliver so close … sometimes so very close … but it did seem that she was more romantically volatile than ever. Anything that happened between them, anything sweet or funny or even irritating seemed blown out of proportion when she thought about it later. She sort of wished Oliver would stop painting her portraits. It was too romantic for her soft heart to take.

"Wow," Oliver said, startling Ginny from her reverie. She looked toward his voice and found him sitting on a chair, sketchbook and pencil in hand. "Oh, no, go back to whatever you were doing. Your expression was perfect for drawing."

"Sorry for disappointing you," Ginny said somewhat sarcastically. "I'll try not to look at you anymore. I don't have many more dishes to do, though, so draw fast, because I'm not standing here after that."

"Fine, grouch," Oliver said, chuckling as he bent his head over his paper.

The two of them worked in silence for a while. Ginny found herself washing the dishes more and more slowly, wondering how Oliver was drawing her. Maybe she would look like a Picasso, with her nose and arms everywhere at once; maybe she would be more like a Rubens, although she didn't think she had quite the voluptuous figure she would need to be one of his paintings. As she finished this thought, she realized she'd been sloshing water around absently in a glass for more time than could possibly be improving its cleanliness, and she hastily rinsed it and put it on the counter.

"I like when you kind of drift off in your own thoughts like that," Oliver said quietly. He was still sketching, the floor lamp trained on his paper. He wasn't looking at Ginny. "Your face looks peaceful. Peaceful faces are always the best to draw."

Something in his voice was tender, and Ginny heard it. She wasn't sure if she was ready for it or not, but she certainly liked it. "Thanks," she said rather weakly. "Can I see what you've drawn?"

Now Oliver looked up at her. His eyes were soft in the dim light. For a long moment, it seemed like they would just look at each other forever. Then, Oliver's lips quirked slightly, and the spell broke. "Rinse out the sink, lazy," he said, although the cheeriness in his voice felt forced, as if he'd had trouble emerging from their connection. "Then you can look."

Ginny sighed and did as he said. "All right, it's spotless," she said, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Come on, let me see your-" She cut off. Oliver had turned the sketchpad around, and there she was. It was just a sketch of her face, but it looked so lifelike. Her hair waved over her cheeks and down her neck, her brows stretched over her eyes, which were drawn more clearly than the rest of her features and shone gently and somewhat vaguely. Her lips were slightly apart (Ginny privately thought they looked a bit fuller than reality, but she supposed a man could dream) and the whole picture sort of had a sheen to it, as if he'd drawn it from a mirror. He'd clearly taken some care with it, despite the briefness of the interval he'd had to work.

"It's lovely," Ginny said. "Is it vain to say that about my own face?"

Oliver laughed. "It's very cute to say that about your own face," he said, "especially since I'm the one who drew it. So thank you."

Ginny smiled a little. She couldn't stop looking at the drawing, which felt odd. It felt as if she were looking in a mirror that somehow converted the observer into a sketch form of themselves. Oliver was talented. He was a good artist; and, she thought for the first time, she was a good muse.

Muse?

She liked the sound of it. She remembered Oliver's talks about Picasso in their classes and she had a fuzzy image of her head of the two of them in sunny Spain, she writing, he painting her from all angles at once…

"Do you want to keep it?" Oliver asked, breaking her daydream and dissolving the rather pleasing footage she had been playing in her head. "I'd probably be willing to part with this one, as it might not be part of the final product."

"Goodness," Ginny said. "I don't think I could. It's so nice I wouldn't want it hanging around reminding me that I don't really look like that."

"Ginny, this is a life drawing," Oliver said, setting his sketchbook down and guiding her down to the sofa next to him. "This is what you look like. Exactly what you look like, if I can flatter myself that much."

"Well, you've given me a nicer pair of lips," Ginny retorted gently.

Oliver unexpectedly dropped his gaze. "When I was drawing your lips … I mean, I couldn't really help it, but I was just thinking of Thursday night in the hallway … But," he continued, "if I were being honest, I've basically been thinking about that nonstop since then. I've been meaning to tell you. I don't want you to take me on your trip with you if you don't want me to keep trying. I don't need you to fall in love with me, Ginny," he said softly. "I'm not the kind that needs that. But it would be nice, and it's been longer than I like to admit since I've even wanted someone in my life the way I want you in mine."

Ginny couldn't breathe. If she and Oliver were going to be spending copious amounts of time alone together, with the possibility of conversations like this occurring more frequently, she would need to learn how to avoid that side effect so she didn't damage her lungs. "I'll be honest with you," she said once she'd managed to start her breathing again. "I don't know how I feel. I know I've been thinking about … us … for a while, in a sense. I know I'd like you to kiss me again. But," she continued, letting her voice become more serious, "I'm not really sure how much of it is me being lonely and still upset over Harry. I told you it went well, and it did, and that I was feeling fine, which is true to a certain extent, but I feel very vulnerable to my emotions. I want you to go with me. I don't want to go alone, and I don't want to go with anyone else. I want to go with you. And who knows what will happen between us on the road, so to speak, but I wanted you to understand the situation. Basically what I'm saying is keep trying, but maybe be aware of me and try to understand how I might be feeling."

"As ever," Oliver said, grinning. "I'm glad you're okay with me going with you still, as I've already bought some shorts for when we're in Spain."

"It was nice of you to give me a chance to leave you here anyway," Ginny said, lips quirking a little. "And how do you know we're going to Spain?"

"Ginny," Oliver replied, draping his arm around her shoulders, "how on earth do you think Pablo Picasso learned to paint like that?"