He chuckled, shook his head, and turned back to face the canvas.
Although Evander was the one in control here, he felt as if Miss Finch was testing him. No doubt she was nervous, just as she was curious about this sudden request. But she also knew how hard it was for Evander to be vulnerable, just as she must have known that his paintings were a way for him to be vulnerable without having to admit it.
Kissing her was one thing, but this is something else entirely…
He started to paint her.
It was done on instinct. Every few moments, he glanced back and took a closer look at Miss Finch, wanting to capture her raw beauty and presence. But mostly, he painted with his memory and the feelings that she evoked from him.
Evander felt her eyes on him. He felt her watching, assessing, wondering about what was going on in his mind. It was a little unsettling, and the longer that he painted for, the longer that the silence stretched, the more intense and intimate the moment became.
“Tell me about yourself,” Evander spoke after some time, just as he finished his initial outline of her face.
“About myself?” she asked carefully. “What do you —”
“I can’t help but recall that the last time we spoke, I was the one who did all the talking. It is time that you return the favor.”
“Is this not me returning the favor?” she fired back. “I don’t let just anybody paint me.”
“Think of it as part of your employment contract.”
“Another rule?”
“No,” he said. “But I can make it one, if you need me to.”
She laughed softly. “Very well. What would you like to know?”
“Your past,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
“I wasn’t born into poverty,” she began warily. “Even if it might look as if I was. I told you about my father and his gambling addiction…”
“You did,” he said without turning back. But his heart started to race, sensing the importance of this moment.
“That does not mean I did not love my father,” she continued. “While we were poor in the most general sense, we were rich in love.” She laughed. “A silly thing to say, but it is the truth.”
“You miss him?”
“I do,” she said without pause. “And I hate that his memory is tarnished by the effect his later actions have had on my life. I want to remember him for how he was, not what he became. Henry, too, I want him to know that his father… that what has happened to us was not done on purpose.”
Evander nodded along as he started to paint his outline.
He found that his hand shook, and he was unable to look back at Miss Finch again. As personal as this painting was, Miss Finch’s willingness to speak about her past was even more so.
I should not care so much about her past. I should not care about anything more than what she can do for my son…
But he did care. Gone was the false belief that Evander was detached, cruel, and uncaring. Perhaps he never really was? Perhaps, all he needed was someone in his life with whom he wanted to be himself… a version of himself that he did not know existed, until it did.
And as for his true feelings about Miss Finch? No doubt they would be revealed by whatever it was he painted.
“I guess that is part of the reason that I work so hard,” she continued, her voice turning soft. “Henry is so young, he still has so much of his life ahead of him. And if I can make that life… if I can give him more than I have had these past few years, then maybe he won’t have cause to hate our father.”
“I hope you do,” he said. “Both of you. You both deserve everything.”
She laughed. “Maybe not everything. But a little bit more will do for now.”
“And what of your mother?”
Her voice turned warmer immediately. “Oh, well, she was another matter entirely…”
