Chapter 40 Go for It
Brad held my hand like when we were kids as we walked along the mountain path.
He talked about folk painting masters I’d never heard of, shared his views on art, and reminisced about our childhood walks.
Under the blue sky, with the sun blazing and beautiful scenery around us, we felt like tourists in a painting.
In the park, we saw two-person open-top rickshaws. Noticing my interest, Brad rented one, and we rode around, soaking in the natural beauty.
We pedaled hard until my legs were exhausted. Then, we ditched the rickshaw and lay on the grass to rest.
We found a thin, still stream, clear as a mirror, showing every grain of sand at the bottom.
A few smooth stones, dark red or pure white, divided the stream. I took off my shoes, waded in barefoot, and watched little fish swim between my toes.
Ignoring Brad's calls to come ashore, I splashed water onto his pant legs.
With a stern face, Brad lifted me out, threw me onto his back, and dried my feet with his hands.
He said the northern autumn water was cold and could make girls sick.
He carried me for a long way, talking about lakes, mountains, and what makes a successful artist.
Brad's voice was as soothing as a storyteller's.
I lay quietly on his back, feeling at peace.
At that moment, his broad back was my whole world.
This place was a paradise, far from the hustle and bustle, with fiery red maple leaves, layered mountains, and stunning paths.
As the scenery passed by, I felt a sense of simplicity and detachment. I wished I could stay here forever, merging with the mountains, water, maples, and stones.
Maybe it was Brad's earlier comfort, but amidst this landscape and strangers, I felt unexpectedly calm.
"Brad, this place is so beautiful. How did you find it?" I asked.
"This is beautiful? There's an even more beautiful place ahead. Want to see it?" Brad's deep, pleasant voice was like a cello in this magnificent scenery.
When the car stopped in front of a small village, I was stunned.
If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't believe such a beautiful place existed.
If the earlier place was a fairyland, this was a picturesque village.
"Brad, where are we? This is more stunning than any painting," I exclaimed.
"This place is called Blossomwood, also known as the Painter's Village."
"Painter's Village? Do all the residents here paint?" I asked.
Brad explained, "No, it's the scenery that draws painters here. Many live in the village now. But no brush can capture all this beauty. I brought you here to see it for yourself. Maybe it'll inspire you someday."
I stared at everything, wanting to paint.
"Want to paint? Let's eat first, then we'll paint the sunset," Brad said.
He found a bed and breakfast. The owner came out, greeting Brad like an old friend.
"Brad, it's been a while. Great to see you with a girlfriend. Now I don't have to worry about you."
"Not at all. I'm Jane, and he's my brother, not by blood," I quickly clarified, feeling a bit embarrassed.
"Jane, you're even more beautiful than the scenery here. Good luck, Brad," the owner said.
Brad shook hands with the innkeeper, sealing some unspoken agreement.
The innkeeper laughed, telling us to enjoy ourselves while he prepared our food and lodging.
That evening, we had delicious northern dishes, leaving me so full I could barely walk.
Brad laughed, holding my hand as we strolled around the village to help me digest.
Later, Brad opened the trunk, revealing a complete set of painting supplies.
He set everything up, placed a brush in my hand, and said, "I'll paint with you."
I sat for four hours. The sun set, the moon rose, and the inn's lights illuminated us. But I couldn't capture the beauty of the place.
After four hours, I had only sketched a rough outline. I painted the stream, stones, fish, distant mountains, and maple leaves, but something was missing. The picture seemed dull.
Brad stood by the easel, then quickly picked up a brush and started drawing.
Soon, a long-haired girl in a white dress appeared by the white stone, barefoot in the stream, playfully teasing the fish, with splashes of water wetting her dress.
The painting instantly became lively with the addition of the girl.
Brad's skills were indeed superior to mine.
"Brad, is that me? It's so beautiful," I asked.
Brad looked at me tenderly, his gaze like strong wine. "Compared to you, the scenery fades away. Jane, even with all my skills, the you I paint falls short of the beauty you hold in my heart. You are the most beautiful scenery in the world."
Brad's words flow like poetry, so darn charming. I blushed and replied, "Stop it, Brad. You're just sweet-talking me. With a charming guy like you around, I'm on cloud nine."
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