On my way home, I stop at the jewelry store to get a wedding band for Jake. It's a simple process since I think he's the kind of guy who wants something traditional, and I try to let the excitement of slipping the ring on his finger keep my attention. But the truth is I can't ignore the rock-hard lump of dread in my stomach. I have no doubt backing out on Miranda Johnson at the last minute will kill my career in this city, and by the time I walk into my apartment I'm almost in tears.

I call out for Jake only to discover he's not home yet. I go into the kitchen, and my phone clatters as I set it on the counter. I notice two missed calls from Miranda. I should eat, but my stomach is so knotted up I don't know how I'd get anything down. I wander to my studio to get up the courage to make my phone call instead. When I get there, I sink down into a chair and let my tears of despair fall. I remember being in college and the disappointment in my parents' voices when I told them I was changing my major from pre-law to art. I recall them repeating the words I'd heard all my life. 'Painting isn't a career choice, it's a hobby.' In my heart, I was sure being an artist was what I was meant to do. Clearly I was wrong. I walk over to my supplies and let the silky hairs of a sable brush tickle my fingers as I stroke it. I suppose it's time for me to figure out what I'll do next.

"Hannah." I jump at the sound of Jake's voice, and when I turn to him his face falls. He rushes over to me. "You're crying." He reaches for my hands. "Tell me what's wrong."

My throat thickens as hot tears roll down my cheeks as if a damn broke, and I can't speak. I shake my head, and he pulls me into his arms. "Go ahead. Let it out, honey." I let him hold me as I try to pull myself together. He says, "Whatever it is, you can tell me. We're about to get married and I don't want secrets between us."

I pull away and look at him as I think about how little he knows about the real me. He has no idea that everything I want goes wrong. What will he think when he finds out I'm a one-hit-wonder of a painter? He said he was enchanted by an artist and a woman who was his opposite. How do I tell him I’m a failure? He's going to find out eventually, and I should let him know before he ends up married to a loser. I blurt out. "I can't marry you."

Jake drops my hands and steps back. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not the woman you think I am. I'm a mess, and you deserve so much better."

He opens his hands to me. "I'm aware of your chaos. I organized your kitchen, remember?"

My heart feels as if it's being ripped apart because I'm afraid I have to be brutally honest to get him to see. "Jake. I fail at everything I do. It's only a matter of time before I ruin us too."

"Hannah."

He steps toward me, and I hold up my hand to make him stop. "Seriously. Tomorrow I'm going to call and send you back."

Jake swallows hard as he shakes his head. "This doesn't make any sense. You aren't a failure. What about the art show in the most prestigious gallery in town? Can you not see how amazing that is?"

I force myself to keep the sobs that want to escape locked inside me. "Trust me, Jake. Please. I'm not anywhere near amazing."

"So this is it?" His eyes flash with anger. "We're over?"

I nod. "You should go get packed."

He turns on his heel to go. When Jake slams the door shut, I sink to the floor and listen as his feet pound away. Once he's out of earshot, I fall apart. My chest heaves as I cry for my broken dreams of love and my life as an artist. I glance at the paintings I've completed and realize that the one I should be working on is the proof I've continued to make the wrong choices all my life.

The floor is hard on my back as I stretch out and stare up at the ceiling. Spots of paint dot the smooth surface, and I wonder how much will be deducted from my security deposit to pay for it when I have to move. My eyes burn from crying, and I close them to block out the light.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know I'm awakened by a knock on my studio door. "Hannah," says Jake. "We need to talk."

I get up, and my back screams in pain from sleeping on the floor. "Come in."

Jake enters holding my phone up. "Miranda Johnson has been blowing up your phone with calls and texts. I thought there was an emergency, so I took the last call."

My ears burn as shame flushes my face. "Oh."

"She said you've been avoiding her for days. I made excuses for you and said you'd be in touch as soon as you could. What's going on?"

I close my eyes and let out a big breath of air before I look at Jake. "I'm not even close to being ready for my show. I never should have gotten it in the first place."

"But this is your second show. Morgan told me you did so well with the first that's why she asked you to do another one."

"I did well with the first one because my friends Cassie and Morgan know a lot of rich people with more money than sense." I sweep my arm around the room. "This body of work is awful."

Jake walks over to the canvas of the little girl in a tutu. "I saw what you were painting in this, remember?" He lifts up another one that shows a mother with her child. "And this one makes me think about how mothers have dreams for their children. Is that what you wanted to say?" I nod, because he is seeing what I intended. "Seems to me, you've got a good start on your show."

"I guess." I get up and walk over to lay out the order of the paintings I've completed by leaning them against the wall. When the last one thuds on the floor I turn to Jake. "This is it so far."

"That looks like enough to me,” he says.

"No. It's not finished and people would know. Miranda would know."

Jake takes his time studying each painting, and when he gets to the girl with a suitcase and canvases rolled up in her hand he turns to me with a smile. "It's the story of an artist who follows her own dreams no matter what people in her life wished for her instead."

My jaw drops. "You saw that?" I recall how he knew I loved him before I said it and stiffen, wondering what kind of game he's playing. "You looked into me and dug it out, didn't you?"

"No, Hannah. I wouldn't do that." He frowns. "Not intentionally. I didn't mean to look at your heart last night. I went in to hold you, and that's when I saw your love for me. I'm sorry I invaded your privacy."

I take a moment to study his face and see the sincerity in his eyes. "I believe you." I glance over at my easel and sigh.

"How many more paintings do you need to do?"

"Three more at least. And there's not enough time."

He steps over to my work in progress. "You're struggling with this one."

"Yes." I drag my finger over the canvas, and fine brush lines are rough on my skin. "It's about finding love." I gaze at him. "I can't seem to show it the way I'd like. I've been stuck on it for a while. And—" I shrug. "I'm blocked and can't seem to finish for the show."

Jake frowns for a moment and then says, "Maybe I can help." He leaves the room and then returns with his phone.

I smile as I recall the music I listened to last night. I think about how deeply it made me feel, and it makes me think Jake's idea could work. I take the earbuds he hands me. "Thank you." As Eroscian sounds fill my head, I close my eyes and replay the way Jake held me when we danced.

Jake comes behind me and slips his arms around my waist to hold me tight. He leans down and kisses my neck softly, and he reaches inside me to wrap warmth around my heart as if he's trying to tell me to let myself feel. I let out a sigh of pleasure before he releases me. He pauses in the doorway and I smile at him before he walks away.

I walk over to my paints and reach for warm colored tubes. The yellow one is slick in my fingers as I squeeze some on my palate, and the image I need to create comes to my mind in swirls of color that weave in and out of the music. My brush strokes over the canvas as I paint the story of being in love with my alien.