Willow

Hunters eyes.

Hunter came into Willows flat. It was small and untidy, not in the best part of town. 'Organized chaos', She said taking in his reaction. 'That's a name for a band', he said smirking.

It occurred to him again how little he knew about Willow except in the biblical sense. He looked round the flat, to see what would give him a clue about her. On the walls there were pictures of well known paintings, Monet he recognized. Some of the other pictures he knew but wouldn't be able to tell you the name of the piece or artist.

Everything in her flat, was colorful and chaotic. He wondered if she had studied art at some point. Going further in to the flat, in one corner an easel was set up. Paints and brushes were stacked nearby.

They had all been recently used and the smell of paint hung in the air. He was grateful for this small insight, into the woman he now adored. He moved the cloth away which was draped over the canvas, curious to know what she is working on at the moment.

His own eyes looked back at him. His own exact shade. She covered the canvas again. ' It's not ready', she said shyly. 'Can I ask you something', he said. 'Sure why not', she replied. 'You haven't heard the question yet', he teased. 'I just wanted to know a little more about you'. She smiled at his nervousness. 'What do you want to know?'.

'What's your last name?', he said. 'Mine is Clarke', Willow said. 'What's yours', she asked. 'Mine is Redding', he replied. She didn't really want to answer questions right now. She wanted to take him to her bed. She wanted to smell him on her sheets and on her body.