“A lot of guys ask for boob shots on dating apps. If you painted me nude, I’d have something to send. Still a boob shot, but, you know, classier.”
On more comfortable ground now that he’d assessedthat she was messing with him again, Adrian went over to her stool to turn her to five-eighths profile against the light source and adjust the flowers in her lap. Clothes aside, it wasn’t a bad idea for a portrait at all. There was a pillar next to the window that provided an interesting material contrast in the background, and the juxtaposition of golden-haired girl and yellow flowers by the concrete form was a modern enough image to appeal to his sensibilities. He hadn’t painted from a live model in years, but he found himself very willing to take on the challenge.
“If you’re going to send a nude portrait to someone on the Internet, it doesn’t have to be of you,” he suggested. “Send one by Jean-Léon Gérôme and say that’s you coming out of your well to shame them.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows in appreciation of the joke. “But what if he’s an educated guy? Then I’m just areallyold catfisher.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be meeting men on Internet dating apps at all,” Adrian said. He took a step back to check Caroline’s position against the window. “At least half of them are probably serial killers.” That proportion sounded about right. “I’m serious. It’s not safe.” The idea was deeply concerning.
Caroline’s head swiveled to follow him. “That’s howwemet.” The motion took her out of the pose he’d already envisioned. He swapped out the small canvas for a larger one. He hadn’t applied black gesso to it yet, but with Caroline mostly backlit in the frame, he’d want to start with brighter colors on the base to show the light pouring through toward the viewer.
“We didn’t meet on a dating app,” he protested. He pulled over his side table and got his palette and paints arranged at his left hand. The calm and focus he’d beenmissing for months began to sweep in as he composed the scene in his head.
“Oh yeah? What was it, then?”
His lips pursed as he strove for the very important differences between himself and whatever dangerous creeps Caroline was dealing with online. His mind was running down well-worn paths of form and shape, the shadows and highlights he planned pushing all other concerns to the background, and he did not want to think about Caroline’s extracurricular dating life at all.
“Basically the classified ads,” he said absently. “For people.”
Caroline snickered. “Now I feel guilty,” she said. “I’mone of those creeps they warn you about on the Internet.” She was nervous for all her bluster earlier. It was probably harder to be the model than the artist, exposed and intimate while he was already withdrawing to the meditative distance he needed when painting.
Adrian was prepared to start his underdrawing, so he took a step closer to Caroline and caught her chin between two fingers. He gently tilted her face back into position. Had he ever touched her before? He couldn’t remember. She touched him often, small brushes of her hand on his arm or shoulder. He’d probably remember if he’d touched her before. Her skin was warm, despite the coolness of the day and the temperature inside the studio.
“Can you hold this position?” he asked quietly as she made big eyes up at him. Her throat moved as she swallowed.
“I think so,” she said in a tiny voice.
He rubbed a thumb briefly between her eyebrows to soften the expression there, then drew it to the flowers to focus her gaze on them.
He stepped backward to see if she’d comply. She didn’t budge.
“Good,” he said.
He sat down, picked up a piece of vine charcoal, and lifted it to the canvas. A small, mean voice inside him said that this composition was a cliché and his subject matter saccharine sweet. He hesitated with his hand braced against the unblemished white of the material.
“Is it okay if we listen to music while you work?” Caroline nearly whispered, not moving her head. Whoever had been playing their radio had left, and all Adrian could hear in the studio was Caroline’s low breathing and his own heartbeat.
Adrian took his phone out of his pocket and set it on the table next to his paints.
“Of course,” he said. “What do you want to hear?”
“TheLes Missoundtrack,” she said. “OrAnastasiaagain.”
Adrian took a deep breath and queued upAnastasia.
“Ready?” he said.
“Perfect,” Caroline agreed. She relaxed her features as he’d arranged them. There was no reason not to paint her. Even if nobody else liked the work, Caroline probably would, sweetness and all, and then he’d have madeoneperson happy in his life. Adrian picked up the vine charcoal again and began to sketch.
Chapter Ten
Huffing and puffing under the weight of her crate of antique liquor bottles, Caroline rushed to catch the theater door before it closed behind the broad retreating back of Nathan, the set designer. Despite her burden, she was full of pleasant anticipation: she’d managed to track down every last item on her portion of Rima’s prop list. Perhaps she was skilled at procurement, she thought. She would never have guessed that about herself before starting on the project. Part of her mind was already spinning her newfound talent into a line on her résumé. Another part was looking forward to announcing her success; since she didn’t know Rima’s last name, she hadn’t been able to send an email to confirm that she had the bottles.
Caroline failed to catch the door before it closed. She readjusted her grip and tried to open it with a spare finger, but she was afraid she’d drop her crate. Hefting it higher against her chest, she made a swipe for the large handle of the door with the toe of a sneaker. She had hopped backward on one foot and nearly tumbled onto her ass before Nathan happened to glance back, see her, then rush to push the door open.
“Mother of Jesus, let me help you with that,” Nathan said. He made a grab for the crate.
“No, no, no,” Caroline yelped. “I’ve got it. Really. It’s a prop. I’ve got it.”
