Isabel

Art? Lover of art? Artist? I wish I could have been only one of those, but my choices led me to a different destiny.

I ended up standing at the opposite side of the brush. Listening to the colours, I already knew each colour by the different sounds of the strokes.

Alistair Florence. Such a sophisticated name. It even sounded sweeter coming from him. The way his eyes smiled back at me. My heart already knew.

If only I had stayed at the informalities. This was business as usual in the art world. The way we shook hands, it became a routine for me.

But the wind just had to blow that day. Maybe he bribed the weather with his charming words, that it too had to obey.

An artist with such an impeccable portfolio, with so many well esteemed clients. I might have lost my breath.

His signature is so…rather amusing. The wings of a butterfly. It might be peculiar enough that I might like it.

An aspiring artist? I believe others would say I best suit this title.

I can not blame them. My job at this gallery has tied me down, many times over.

My rather boring dark oak desktop at the front entrance, gives you a great introduction. The badge that stays firm and oppressed on my uniform, Isabel Sandfrey it answers.

Not even the gallery’s uniform believes in my dreams anymore.

The sun is shinning today. That’s odd, the sun is never this happy.

The weather all makes sense when Alistair suddenly appears at my desk. He looks different.

“Hello, how are you doing today, Miss…?”

“Sandfrey”

“Oh, yes. Of course. I would like to know if Mr. Rogers is ready to see me?”

“Yes, he has been waiting for your arrival, Alist- I mean Mr. Florence.”

Oh no, I almost exposed myself.

“You can proceed right through the door on the left.” I say cheekily

“I surely do hope has my paintings arranged.” He says as he disappears into the hallway.

Paintings arranged? Ah, it is a wonder that he looks different.

Today he is presented in a different colour.

A softer one. He is not the seller but rather the buyer.

I get back to my work on the computer.

My work. Yes, researching his history has become a new hobby.

Indeed, my assumptions were correct. Mr. Alistair Florence has a garden.

Darn it. It is too late to change careers now.

“Isabel?”

“Yes sir?”

I assume getting almost caught is my trend for the day.

Day dreaming on the job, it is not a hobby I would like to add to my resume.

“Do you like gardens?”

“It depends on the weather sir. If the day is pleasant then I would like to think that I would be fond of them.”

Wow, when did my English become circa 1920s

“Of course.”

“I would like to invite you to my house sometime. I have a feeling you would appreciate my garden.” He says with those smiling eyes.

I am afraid to look at him right now.

My thoughts might just escape my mind.

“Thank you, sir. That would be lovely.”

“You can call me Alis.” He says as he makes his disappearing act.

Plants are my favourite new colour. The internet might just be beautifully insensitive. Alistair’s garden is marvellous. This might just be where it all began.

I just realised that I am standing in the centre of his portfolio.

He is truly not like the others, he does not need to find a muse. He has created his own.

After walking around in this paradise, I felt a sense of relief. It feels like peace to my soul.

Could this be what he feels as well?

“These daisies look so magical.” I say as Alistair makes his way towards me with a cup of coffee.

As he hands the cup to me, I hear “Do you want to be fired?”

Excuse me?

“Isabel wake up before you miss the meeting again.”

Have I really fallen asleep again?

I hope the office camera was not watching me like a hawk.

They are in every corner, it is as if they are watching my every move. Hoping that I might just give in.

Last night was not the best at the slightest.

Sleep and I had a contest, apparently, I lost. To be fair, my neighbour’s son was preparing to fail at band audition for the 4^th year consecutively. The calendar might as well give him a holiday.

Well, I guess have might not have been the worst of the victims. The neighbourhood stray cat society have lost more than sleep.

Mr Alistair has not been at the office lately. My dreams are a clear sign that I do miss his presence to say the least.

I have not seen him since my visit to the small version of paradise.

His garden was indeed spectacular. My dreams serve as proof thereof.

I could not stay to long because he had to attend to personal matters.

He does not speak much about his family, but he has mentioned that he has inherited the house from his wealthy late grandparents.

Just as I update my status to “Today is not the best day ever!”

My manager Chrystal sends me an email.

I guess I’ll have to be on the manager’s dirty work duty.

Ms. Crisis is always concerned about getting everything done perfectly on time.

Every week, one of us gets put on the chopping block. If we do not oblige to her tasks, we will get “fired.”

This week, the duty description is peculiar. I must find out more about Alistair?

Unbeknownst to her, she has chosen the best candidate for the job.

It seems our gallery wants to display Alistair’s latest piece.

That will be a win for the gallery and for me.

The wind feels like it has taken my concerns with it. My long brown hair is enjoying this ride.

I started my day with Alistair. He called me this morning stating that he must ride to a nearby town to collect some special paint brushes.

He could have asked someone to collect them, but I am not complaining.

It is great to see him so relaxed. No suit, just a casual fit.

He knows his colours well, that shirt was chosen well to pair with his grey eyes.

Is this what weekends look like for him?

It sure suits him.

This is the first time he mentions his parents, apparently, they have a cabin situated near the mountains.

Would it be strange if I mention that I would like to see it someday?

It is as if Alistair always finds a way in my clutter of thoughts.

“You should see the cabin in the winter. I would like it if you could join me at the cabin sometime.” He says with a peaceful look in his eyes.

“That would be great.” I answer as a smile forms on my face.

Once we reach the small town that is tucked nicely in between the mountains.

We arrive at a rather ordinary looking store. Alistair leads the way and gives the ladies at the front desk a warm smile.

We make our way to the far back of the store.

We are then met by a friendly elderly woman. Her name tag whispers Nancy.

“Hello, Nancy. How have you been? How is David doing with the wood work?” Alistair says as he holds Nancy in a tight embrace.

“Oh yes, Nancy this is my friend from work. Her name is- “

“Isabel Sandrey” I say as I attempt to shake Nancy’s hand.

Nancy pulls me into a hug. I could feel her hospitality.

It has been awhile since someone has hugged me like this.

While I am still processing my thoughts, Nancy and Alistair make their way over to some boxes.

“You always deliver the best quality art supplies in town. That is why my grandad trusted you so much. Thank you, Nancy.”

I could see the sincere in his eyes. It made the grey pupils seem lighter.

Before we make our way back to our corner of the world. Alistair gets us sandwiches and he parks the car in front of the lake.

“This is my second favourite place.”

“My grandad uses to bring me here. He said I needed to learn to listen and understand silence.”

“Back then I never quite understood what he was trying to teach.” He says as he stares into the abyss.

“How would you describe silence, Isabel?” He turns and looks at me.

“Well, when my mom passed I was still very young. My dad would sit in front of her favourite painting and just admire it for hours on end. Sometimes I would sit next to him. In those moments of silence, He seemed the happiest.” I say as I recall my youth.

“I am sorry.” He says

“It is okay.” I response while taking a bit out of my sandwich.

This might be the closest I have ever felt with someone as of late.

I’ll exclude this one from my Alistair background intel.

“Oh my, it seems the time has passed rather quickly.”

Why does it always seem like he is chasing the clock.

We arrive back in the city and Alistair drops me off at my house.

“Today, was nice. Thank you, for keeping me company Isabel.” He says with a smile.

“Thank you for inviting me.” I say as I wave him off.

He rides away like he is chasing the wind.

The lights are off, dad has probably called it a day.

I stay with my father, he works part-time cleaning office buildings.

I check if all the doors are locked and then I head upstairs to my room.

I throw myself on top of my bed and let out a huge breath.

Alistair is so mysterious, I could almost compare him to life. The more I think I have got him figured out, the more I realise that we might be two strangers just sharing a beautiful lonely

road