A Kiss At Midnight (Delilah and Caelum) novel Chapter 90

Chapter 90

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I stood in front of my car as I twirl my keys around my fingers while waiting for Caelum, the parking lot alread emptint out, as my gaze drifted down to the time on my phone, wondering where he was.

At that moment, the door to the school pulls open and Caelum steps out, his eyes spitting me almost instantly and a smile adorned my face. A smile that made my stomach so that stupid little flip again.

He walks over to where I stood, grabbing the keys from my hand, “I’ll drive.”

My eyes widened slightly at this. “You drive?”

He nodded, walking around to the driver’s side.”I do,” then a sheepish smile crossed his face, “I just don’t do it.” Letting out a small laugh before climbing into the passenger seat, “we should get going soon,” he said as he started the engine.

“Where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s a surprise,” ofcourse it was, same response as this morning. I wanted to ask more, but Caelum was too smart for me to trick the answer out of him, so I gave up and leaned back in my seat.

The ride settled into a comfortable silence as I reached up, gathering my hair to tie it into a bun, “Leave it.”

My hands froze. “Huh?”

“I like your hair like that,” he kept his eyes on the road, “It’s cute.”

“Um..thanks,” it was strange, I was used to compliments like you look pretty, or I like your outfit, or you’re hot. Those were nice, but they were expected.

This? he was complimenting something so ordinary about me, something I hadn’t even thought twice about and somehow that meant more.

“So…” I tried again, “where are we going?”

“I told you,” he smiled without looking away from the road, “It’s a surprise.” Letting out a sigh, there was no winning against him.

About thirty minutes later, the car came to a stop and I looked out the window, spotting an art gallery.

Of all places..An art gallery.

The place was a bit busier than I had expected for a weekday afternoon. My eyes rested on the glass windows of the building that stretches across the front, and a handful of sculpture which decorated the entrance as people wandered in and out, carrying an exhibition pamphlet.

Turning to look at Caelum, I watched him check something on his phone before slipping it into his pocket, then he turns to look at me.

The last time I’d been to an art gallery was back in middle school, out art teacher had dragged us here for an

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Chapter 90

educational trip, insisting we would ‘learn to appreciate creativity.

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As we stepped inside, taking in the sight of a warm wooden floor that stretches beneath our feet, with crips white wall which lined with paintings in elegant frame, while sculpture stood beneath soft spotlights.

Caelum makes his way over to the reception desk, picking up two exhibition brochures, before returning back to where I stood.

I crossed my arms, raising a brow “Okay, this is nice and all, but why the hell are we here?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Can’t you live a little?”

my eyes rolled at this. “You’ve been saying that all day.”

“I want to show you something,” my brows pulled together.

“What’s that?”

He held the brochure behind his back with a grin. “That’s the surprise,” then nodded toward one of the exhibition halls, “come on,” he walked ahead, leaving me no choice but to follow.

I stayed close beside him, mostly because I had absolutely no clue where we were going. meanwhile,, he looked like he had been here a hundred times before, moving through the gallery with surprising confidence, turning corners without hesitation as if he had memorized the layout.

As we wander through one exhibition after another, I found my attention drifting from him to the artwork surrounding us, massive oil paintings, charcoal sketches,, marble sculptures so detailed they looked ready to breathe.

When I was younger, places like this had been painfully boring, now..I found myself slowing down to actually look. every painting seemed to tell a different story, some were about love, others about grief, hope, war, dreams.

some were so simple they barely used color, while others exploded with it. It was kind of crazy, how someone could pour so much of themselves into a blank canvas and somehow make complete strangers feel exactly what they had felt years, sometimes centuries, later.

We eventually stopped at the section Caelum had obviously been leading us to. Unlike the other exhibitions, this one was quieter, with only a handful of people wandering through the room,, taking their time admiring the paintings and sculptures that lined the walls.

My attention drifts to a large painting hanging beneath a warm spotlight, showing a man sitting beneath an old oak tree, with a paintbrush in hand, while across from him sat a woman smiling softly as he captured her likeness on canvas.

There was something about the way they looked at each other, something intimate…like they had forgotten the rest of the world existed.

“The Artist and His Muse,” Caelum’s voice came from beside me.

“Hm?” I turned to him.

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“The painting,” he nodded toward it, “It’s called The Artist and His Muse.”

I glanced down at the small plaque beneath it and sure enough, “So what’s the story?”

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A small smile found its way onto his lips. “They say the painter spent years trying to create his masterpiece,” looking back at the canvas, finding myself listening a little more carefully. “but every portrait he painted felt empty.” His gaze stayed on the artwork. “Until one day he met someone, she wasn’t royalty nor was she famous, and she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the country either.”

“So what made her different?” I asked.

He looked at the painting for another second before answering, “he said she was the first person who ever made him feel something every time he looked at her, so he painted her over and over again, not because he was trying to make the perfect painting but because he didn’t think one lifetime was enough to capture everything he loved about her.”

Silence settled between us as I stared at the painting. “That’s..” my lips curved, “actually really sweet.”

“It is.”

We stood there for another moment before my attention shifting to another painting hanging nearby. it depicted a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind carrying dozens of paper lanterns into the evening sky while a man watched from a distance, a paintbrush forgotten in his hand.

“There has to be a story behind this one.”

“There is,” he stepped beside me, “the painter and the woman met by chance, she came to the cliffs every evening to release lanterns.”

“For someone?” I looked at him, watching him nod slightly.

“For her late father,” something in my chest tightened, “the painter never interrupted her, he just watched, day after day, eventually he painted her because he wanted to preserve the way she looked when she smiled at the sky.”

I smiled softly. “That’s actually beautiful,” looking back at the painting, “so, did they end up together?”

“They did.”

“What happened?”

“The woman eventually found out about all the paintings, and cried.”

Frowning at this. “Why?”

“Because someone had noticed the little things about her, the things everyone else overlooked.”

Silence settled between us as I gulped. That’s kind of heartbreaking.”

Caelum only hummed in agreement as we stood there for a moment, taking it in. “You come here a lot?” I asked.

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He slipped his hands into his pockets. “my mom used to bring my brother and me here when we were kids.”

This was the first time he was actually bringing up his brother, I looked at him. “Your brother loved art.”

“He would spend forever staring at one painting while I tried to figure out what made it so special,” a small laugh escaped him, “so I started reading about the artists and the stories behind the paintings, just so I could tell them to him.”

I could picture it, a little Caelum standing beside his brother, enthusiastically explaining every painting while he listened with stars in his eyes.

My heart melted. “Did he have a favorite?”

His smile softened as he led me toward a painting tucked into the corner of the room, It was bursting with color. wildflowers stretched across an endless meadow beneath a golden sunset while a little girl ran through them with her arms spread wide.

“He loved this one.”

Tilting my head. “Why?”

“He said it reminded him that the world wasn’t always as dark as it seemed,” I nodded at that and for a while neither of us spoke, then before I could stop myself, the question slipped out.

“Do I remind you of any of these paintings?” the second the words left my mouth, heat rushed to my cheeks.

Seriously, Delilah?

Without answering, he walks toward one final painting, It wasn’t the largest, nor was it the brightest but somehow manages to demand my attention.

It shows a woman standing beneath pouring rain, her umbrella forgotten at her side while sunlight broke through the storm behind her, a tiny plaque beneath it read, After the Rain.

He stopped beside it, “I think this one reminds me of you.”

My brows furrowe, “Me?” he nodded.

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