“Oh shit, maybe we can do this with balloons filled with paint next time!” Shiloh exclaims.
“It’s messier, believe it or not, but almost anything can become art,” Bell says happily.
Glancing at Winter, I watch her lip purse as she thinks about that. I hope she takes that to heart, because he’s not wrong. In fact, the back of our house can’t be seen from the street. I bet a pretty mural would brighten our yard right up.
I’ll do anything to enjoy their happiness. An hour later, the first yawn begins, and funny enough, it belongs to Cassidy.
“Oh my god, that’s embarrassing,” she groans.
“I could nap,” Winter says, shrugging.
“Go ahead, we’ll clean up,” I say with a laugh.
“I need some water, so I’ll walk you up,” Ansel says easily. I don’t miss the worry in his eyes, nor the fact that it’s because we haven’t cleared the rest of the house of possible intruders.
Fuck my life, if I could go back and kill Clara again, I would. She definitely didn’t have an easy end though. Death by sewage isn’t for the faint of heart.
Once they’re gone, I sigh.
“When is Patricia supposed to come in? We’ve pretty much rescheduled her indefinitely because of everything happening,” I admit.
“I want to go back over her background with a fine tooth comb,” Shiloh grumbles. “We’ll clean the house ourselves if necessary. Though, I think we may need a new couch. Ansel wrecked it, and Patricia couldn’t get the stain out.”
Stifling a snort of amusement, I wince as I hurt myself. Shiloh can’t help but laugh as we clean up our mess, and I have to admit that the canvases are kind of pretty.
“I wonder if Bellamy can turn this into something,” I muse. “We can leave the canvases here, and ask him about it tomorrow.”
Talking together as we leave the basement and walk through the house, we find Bellamy rooting around in the cabinets in the kitchen.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“Saltines,” he grumbles. “Are we out? It’s always better if Winter has some nearby.”
“I hid a stash and haven’t moved it to the cabinets,” Shiloh says, finding them in the pantry and handing him the box.
“That’s smart,” he says with relief.
“I have a question. Do you think you could make our paintball paintings into something we can hang up in the house?” I ask.
“Oh yeah,” he says with a grin. “I’ll have to start tomorrow so it doesn’t dry too much, but I definitely can.”
“Awesome. I think they’d be fun to hang up on our walls once you're done,” I explain.
“For sure. That’s a great idea,” Bellamy says. “Winter has gotten very odd about her art, and I don’t know how to get her out of her funk.”
“I noticed that too,” I admit. “She mentioned not wanting to monetize it, which I respect, but it’s still a part of her.”
“I want to see if she’d be interested in painting sets for a play, but I’m not sure if her energy levels will allow that,” hesays. “She’s definitely good enough of an artist to crush it. With all of the different types of plays and performances happening in Savannah, someone has to need the help.”
“You’re not wrong. We just need to get through her first trimester,” Shiloh says. “I’m hoping she’ll feel better then. And if not, we’ll figure it out together.”
Bellamy nods, his crackers in a little bowl now, and he waves two fingers at us as he leaves.
“The weather says we’re good for tonight,” Shiloh says, checking his phone. “Let’s get started outside. Ansel may end up getting into bed with them and never leaving.”
“Lucky bastard,” I sigh, walking to the back door and unlocking it.
Shiloh grabs a towel and a huge white sheet for our movie screen, ensuring we’ll be able to set up together.
