“Yeah.”
There was an awkward lull in the conversation. Ash wasn’t quite sure why. Had he said something wrong? Everyone knew the three of them were inseparable. Even Cassidy knew that, since she’d brought it up.
But now their conversation had sputtered to a stop. How was he supposed to restart it?
Refocus on art,he told himself. That had been mildly successful so far.
“So anyway, that fence,” he said. “At first I thought it oughtto be black, too, like a haunted-house theme. But then two out of three fences would be black, and that’s too monochromatic.”
“Still doesn’t explain the field-of-flowers mural,” Cassidy said.
“Not how the house looks right now, in October,” Ash said. “But have you seen it in the spring?”
She shook her head. “I try not to look at it at all.”
“Next spring, after the rain, check it out. Everything dead and black there gets overrun by green grass and a riot of wildflowers. There are birds and butterflies and, I swear, bunnies frolicking. It’s like a grand statement from Mother Nature. No matter how ugly things get, beauty will always find a way to prevail.
“It’s also why I chose an impressionist style. It feels spontaneous and unfinished, like nature itself. I mean, I understand that there was no uniform philosophy among the impressionist-era painters, and their beliefs spanned a wide—”
Oh god.He could hear himself. True was right. Hedidsound insufferable.
“Never mind,” he said.
“I want to hear what you were going to say.”
“No, trust me, you don’t,” Ash said. “It was boring.”
“Nothing you say could be boring.”
They both froze as soon as the words were out of Cassidy’s mouth.
Did she mean…?
No. Impossible. She was just super-nice to everyone.
But then why did she also seem immobile right now?
Cassidy cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s really cool, howmuch you know about art history. It’s kinda like how I’m a big nerd about cross-country stats.”
Oh. Great. So she thought Ash was a nerd.
At least that was more in line with how he understood the world. Ash = blundering geek. Cassidy = sweetest girl on the planet who patiently listens to him blather on and tries to make him feel like he’s interesting.
Lesigh.
He could practically hear True advising him:Back to a safe topic, Ash. Murals. But try not to torture the girl with “fascinating art tidbits.” Stick to what’s in front of you.
Right.
“So, uh, about the mural on your fence—”
“Yes!” Cassidy seemed as relieved as he was to change the subject. “I’m dying to know what you think about my family.”
Dammit.How had Ash not foreseen how this conversation was going to go? He’d painted—or talked—himself into a corner.
But here’s why he couldn’t explain the vivid, abstract mural on the fence: it wasn’t about the Riveras. It was all about Cassidy.
The bold, luminous colors were the way she tackled life, whether it was the lung transplant or cheering on her teammates or playing with her brothers.
