He shrugs, biting back a smile as she steps further into the room to inspect it.
The walls are painted in cerulean with hand-painted clouds and seagulls floating across the horizon. It’s open and expansive, as if the sky and the sea itself stretched from one end to the other. A whitewashed crib with gentle distressing stood in the middle of the room over a sandy, circular rug. Lucy’s chest rises and falls evenly as they tread throughout the room.
The quilt features sea creatures—seahorses, whales, and starfish—their pastel colors soft and inviting. Above the crib, a driftwood mobile sways, its seashells and starfish catching the light. In the corner, a tiny rocking chair, painted in a soft mint green, sits beside a small bookshelf.
On the right wall, a large painting of the beach at sunset fills the canvas. The gentle waves are captured intricately alongside the pink and orange streaks across the sky. On the far right of the painting is the back of a full-length man gripping the hand of a small child. A girl. Jahlani leans down, her fingers brushing the wall. She turns to find Roman leaning against the doorway.
“Is this?—”
“Yeah.”
She turns back to face the painting, continuing to run her fingers over the wall. “It’s beautiful.”
He clears his throat. “My mom did it.”
Standing to her full height, she faces him with wide eyes. “Your mom did this?” she repeats, keeping her voice low.
He nods. “She did the whole thing.”
She blinks. “She’s incredible.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking around the room. “She was an art major in college. She owns a studio downtown. She holds classes during the week,” he says, moving back out into the hallway.
“Does she freelance?” she asks, trailing behind.
Roman nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sometimes when business is slow,” he says, shutting the door softly, before leaning on the handle. “When she’s not watching Lucy.”
She turns to face him and folds her arms over her chest. “So, what happened to you? Where’s your talent?”
He laughs, pushing from the door so that he’s in front of her.
“You saw the clouds in there,” he says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. “I did those.”
She hides a smile behind her fist, clearing her throat to sound serious.
“Wow, that’s something.”
He draws near her. “Are you making fun of me?” he asks, tilting his head down at her.
She lets out a soft laugh, turning away to pad down the hallway.
“Who, me? I would never.”
She thinks about him here late at night, staying up with a crying Lucy as he guides her through the rest of the house, his hand resting every now and then against her shoulder, her elbow to tug her here, her back to guide her there. They return to the kitchen, and he pours her a glass of water, which she finishes immediately, her mouth apparently drier than she realized. He says something, but she doesn’t hear.
Her eyes snap back to his. “I’m sorry—what?”
He leans forward, rocking on his heels. “I said you should come with us next time.”
“Come with you …” She trails off, her eyebrows scrunching.
“To the beach.”
“Oh, I?—”
“Or not.”
She toys with the bracelet on her wrist, looking down. “Yeah, I’m just not a beach person.”
