She asks me about my day, and I prattle on about what I did. I set up the workspace for tonight, I drove to a place twenty-five minutes away to get some new paint, and then I went to the boxing gym. She’s happy to listen, interrupting to ask me questions about the gym.
We get to the tavern and park. Inside it’s packed, but Anthony has a booth along the back wall.
“Hey,” I call out above the music.
His arm is around Julia’s shoulders, but when he hears me, he scoots out of the booth. Julia gets up too, and everyone does that awkwardhello, nice to meet youthing. Anthony asks me to go with him to grab drinks from the bar. After we place an order, he looks back at the booth. Julia and Brynn have sat down, and now they both lean forward against the edge of the table, talking.
“You didn’t say she looked like she stepped out of the pages of Sports Illustrated.” Anthony punches my shoulder. “I prefer brunettes, but Brynn must have the men falling all over her.”
Just as he says it, two guys approach the table. Brynn shakes her head at them and they turn around, dejected.
“See, what did I tell you?” He laughs. “Did you do what I said to do?”
The bartender passes our beers and Brynn’s sparkling water over the bar top. Anthony thanks me when I throw down a twenty and turn away, two bottles in one hand and Brynn’s drink in the other.
“You were right. She says a lot more than I thought.”
Anthony can’t keep back his shit-eating grin. “You’re welcome. Next time I’ll charge.”
We get to the table and hand out drinks. Anthony slides in and puts his face in Julia’s neck.
“What did those guys want?” I ask Brynn.
She sips her water. “They wanted to know if you guys are single,” she says around the straw still in her mouth.
I bark a laugh and grab her thigh under the table, squeezing. She squeals and squirms, giggling. One hand falls to my chest as the other pushes against my arm, trying to push it off her leg.
“Stop,” she pants, laughing still.
I keep my hand there but release the teasing grip. She smiles and leans into me. Across the booth, Anthony raises his eyebrows.
“So, Julia,” I start, and ask her a question. I follow that up with another one, and then one more after that. Soon she and Brynn are talking a mile a minute about something called contouring, and which shows they’ve seen in Vegas.
While they talk, I plan out my process tonight, thinking about lighting and positioning and what paints will work best for her skin tone.
At one point she glances at me and grins, reaching over to rest her hand on my knee. She turns back to Julia, her sentence never faltering.
The hot robot who made me dent my fender can also charm the pants off a complete stranger. I shouldn’t be surprised. The grumpiest guy in town is her new best friend.
* * *
“Your place is nice.”Brynn circles the kitchen, touching the cabinet pulls I installed last year. She runs her fingers over the forest green agate, her index finger bumping along the irregularities in the rock.
She seems nervous. She keeps touching things. If it’s not the countertops or the agate, it’s her fingers drumming on her thighs. I’m nervous too. Grabbing the pitcher from the fridge, I pour two glasses of water.
“Are you ready?” I ask, handing her one.
She rests her lips on it, but she doesn’t take a drink right away. “I guess so. I’m not sure what it entails, but I’m game.” She sips from the glass and watches me.
“Come on,” I say, taking her by the hand and leading her to the living room. We both ditched our shoes as soon as we walked into my house, and the drop cloth is rough against my bare feet. I love that feeling because it means I’m creating.
I walk with her to the stool I’ve set up two feet from my canvas. “This is where you’ll be. For now, just sit down. I’m going to think for a moment about how I want you.”
Brynn listens, lowering herself gracefully onto the seat. I stand back, watching her. She points to the picture of the eye,her eye, and asks about it. I would tell her all about the painting, how she was the inspiration, but I’m not sure she’ll be happy about it. Instead, I give her a blasé response. I’m busy watching her talk, thinking about angles.
“It’s captivating,” she says, her voice warm and appreciative. “It has depth. All the colors, everything about it, it’s incredible.”
Watching her talk has given me an idea. As much as I love her face, I think I want to paint her profile.
