“They taught us about mixing colors. It was really the first time I’d ever heard of color theory. It’s a red rose, but there’s so much blue here, see?” She pointed at the base of the rose. “And yellow up near the top, where the light is coming from a different angle. It was so cool. I’d never been very good in school, but I got colors. I wanted my mom to hang it up so I could tell other people about it and prove that I didn’t suck at everything.”
Martin watched her as she gazed at the painting. Compared to the depth and feeling her drawings upstairs conveyed, this was much more rudimentary—a single red rose on a white canvas—but the way Cassidy looked at it, he could feel the whole story.
“We just found a topic for your essay.”
“This?”
“I think so.” Martin smiled, excitement growing inside him. If he knew about any topic, it was being seen and having your work recognized for its inherent value, even years after the fact. He could help Cassidy with this.
Cassidy frowned at the painting. “But I’m supposed to tell them about how good I am. No one would accept me based on this painting.”
Martin shook his head. “You’ve got the portfolio to show them that. The essay is about who you are, what your work ethic is like, and why you’re passionate about what you do. Try to explain how you felt when you were painting this, and why it was so important to you that people see it. Talk about how creating things makes you feel. I bet you they’ll like it.”
A slow grin spread on her face. “Do you think so?”
“You don’t have to pretend to be anything you’re not,” he said. “They’ll see how much your skill has grown. Everyone has to start somewhere. Tell them how you felt when you found something you knew you could be good at.”
Cassidy’s smile grew the whole time he spoke. She pulled her backpack off her shoulders and rummaged through it until she pulled out a laptop.
“Can I work here a bit? I can start and you can tell if you think it’s good?”
Martin checked his watch. His shift would be over in just a few minutes, but it wasn’t as if he had any other plans.
“Sure.”
Cassidy took the flower painting and the laptop to one of the couches and hunched over, tongue peeking out between her lips as she booted up the screen. Martin watched, feeling a little thrill that she’d liked his suggestion.
He locked up the shop and went to the back to throw out the last of a pot of coffee he’d made earlier. He wasn’t sure how late Cassidy would stay, so he wandered the shelves, looking for something new to read.
“Hey.” Seb’s voice behind him was so unexpected that Martin yipped. He turned to find Seb with his hands in his pockets and a sly grin on his face.
Martin returned the smile. “You’re going to have to show me how you pop out of nowhere like that,” he said, as his racing heart slowed. “The first time I saw you back here I thought you were a ghost.”
Seb’s teeth flashed as his smile spread. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out at odd angles. The motion exposed the soft skin under his arm, just below the sleeve of his faded T-shirt. There was a freckle halfway to his elbow.
“Are you closing up?” he asked.
“Just locked the door.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
Martin paused his contemplation of that freckle. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. Or now, rather? The store’s closed. Sun’s going down, so it’s night, or evening at least. What are you doing now?”
The base of Seb’s neck started to go pink. The slow blush made Martin’s ears warm and his breath speed up.
“I was going to read a book.” He pulled a book at random off the closest shelf. When Seb laughed gently, Martin checked the title.The PMS Diet. He fumbled the book and slid it back in its place.
“Want to go out for dinner?”
Martin blinked. “Dinner?”
“Yeah.” Seb rubbed the back of his neck, and Martin suppressed a shiver. “Out. Not just takeout. I owe you a better experience than that godawful brunch with Kenneth last weekend and—”
“Oh.” Martin’s heart sank. “I can’t. Not tonight. Cassidy’s here. She’s working on her essay, and I think we’re getting somewhere with it, so I said she could stay.”
“Oh.” Seb’s smile went tight. “That’s good. Maybe tomorrow then?”
Something wasn’t being said. Asking if Seb’s dinner invitation was more than friendly was stupid, and anyway—“I can’t tomorrow either. I’m meeting Penny.”
“Penny?” Seb’s pale brows knitted together.
“She’s helping to plan the blues festival?” When Seb’s expression didn’t clear, Martin explained. “They’re hosting an event here. I’m the MC. I still think that’s a terrible idea, but they won’t let me back out. Penny’s coming by to help me practice my speech. I thought you knew about the event, though. You’re going to come, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Seb laughed, but Martin wasn’t sure what was funny. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll catch you some other time.” He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Martin to wonder what had just happened. He’d said the wrong thing somewhere, and he wasn’t totally sure how or what.
He was pretty sure, though, that Seb had tried to ask him out on a date.
