Leading me into his house filled with easels, canvases and indoor plants, I set my art pad by the glass coffee table and waited for his instructions.

Gesturing for me to sit, he took out his gold-rimmed aviator glasses from his pants pocket and headed towards his open kitchen to make me a coffee. Without specs, he was like a handsome blind mouse. With specs, he was an even more handsome mouse.

I had enlisted him to teach me how to sketch. I was an infant at art and he was my teacher instructing my adult-self how to draw proper circles because I had wanted to draw cute animals. In turn he had explained that I needed to understand how to draw circles because without them, my animals would not look round and cute.

Passing me my coffee, he flipped through my pages of circles from over my shoulder.

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"They’re too oval-shaped. Hold the pencil with the underhand grip and mimic stirring a pot of soup as the tip touches the page" he commanded.

My hands trembled as I felt his intense stare on my fingers. Wanting to distract him, I asked, "would I able to get an extra helping of sugar in my latte?"

Knowing and coy, I saw the edge of his upper lip curl as if he wanted to toy with me. Leaning down he placed his long fingers over my own. His ink-abstract patterned tie tucked in his knitted vest captured me and his scent of wood and spice made me heady.

"Don't procrastinate. Let me show you" he told me, his tone low and husky in my ear.

With his hand gripping my pencil, I turned to him and admitted "I can't draw when you're making me nervous".

> SMILING BROADLY, HE LOOSENED HIS TIE AROUND THE COLLAR WITH HIS LEFT HAND, "I CAN'T HELP YOU DRAW EITHER WHEN ALL I WANT TO DO IS LOOK AT YOU".

"Do you want to draw me?" I asked.

"More than that, I think".