“Already?”
“Jean.”
She trailed the brush lower. “So you didn’t stumble onto a gang of thieves.”
“Snake smugglers would be more likely,” he pointed out.
“Is that a thing?”
“I’m afraid so. A man once transported three Burmese pythons across the border in his pants.”
Jean’s hand stilled. “On a plane?”
“A bus.”
“That’s messed up. On so many levels.”
“I think geckos would be more uncomfortable. Because of the legs.”
“Like if you had to rank what kind of reptiles you’d least want in your pants, that would be the top one?”
“No, a Gila monster would be worse.”
“I’ll try to remember that next time I’m packing for a trip.” She waited until the vibrations of his laughter settled to add teal spots to the peacock’s tail.
“I told my friend about you.”
Jean ignored the rush of pleasure. “Did you?” The plan was toleave it at that—cool and neutral—but curiosity got the better of her. “What kind of friend?”
“An old friend. Since I was a kid. She’s a woman.”
The brush swished in the glass, further muddying the water. “But notyourwoman?”
“No.” He huffed at that, the sound muffled by the pillow under his cheek. “The other way around, maybe. Mugsy definitely thinks she’s the boss of me. Probably because she used to be my babysitter.”
“Ah.” Once the initial relief passed, Jean replayed the rest of his statement. “So was this ‘Mugsy’ your sexual awakening?”
“No.” His face went up in flames. “But I thought her girlfriend was pretty cute.” His shoulders twitched, followed by a guilty sideways glance. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to move.”
“It’s okay. I’ll add a bolt of lightning to cover the crack. You were saying?”
“I think Mugsy’s group tolerated me because she made them, even though I was a few years younger. I didn’t really have many friends of my own.”
“Nothing wrong with being selective.”
“When I say I didn’t have many friends, I really mean any. Except Mugsy. And my parents paid her to hang out with me.”
It almost sounded like a joke, but Jean could hear him frowning. Setting down her brush, she walked around the bed and crouched in front of him until they were at eye level.
“That sounds difficult,” she said, patting his forearm. “And I know childhood wounds can cast a long shadow. But there’s something important I want you to remember.”
“What’s that?”
She lowered her voice to a tender whisper. “We were talking aboutmy art, Charlie. Way to hijack the conversation.”
Jean watched him go from startled to amused. After kissingthe last trace of worry from between his brows, she returned to her spot on the bed and picked up her brush.
“I assume they’re not still paying her?” Although a lot of grown men would probably benefit from hiring a professional sitter, instead of outsourcing those tasks to their wives or girlfriends.
