Painting had a similar effect on my soul that riding did. Sometimes I needed one or the other, or both. With what a train wreck the last couple days since Sunday had been, I needed both.
I was so lost in my work that I almost didn’t hear the jiggle of the lock. Almost.
Every muscle in my body froze, and even though it didn’t make a difference, I aimed my gaze toward the front door. Whothe hell was here? Maybe Mr. Decker to check on the place? But he never came here. It’s why I’d picked this place to keep my things after they’d moved in.
Muffled curses and general struggling sounded on the other side of the door for another moment and then it swung open hard enough to slam against the opposing wall, shaking the windows and making a loud bang, followed by a familiar, feminine voice. “Stupid suitcase.What’s the—” A grunt as something scraped across the floor “—point of havingwheels…” A heavy exhale “...if you. Don’t. Fucking. Work?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Quinn?”
Chaos ensued then. She shrieked, and more curses flew, as well as a loud crash as something smacked against the floor. Rusty barked from the back room.
“Holy fucking God! Oh…” The way she dragged out the last word made it sound like she was blowing out a long breath. “Oh my God, you scared me.” Another breath. “Hux, what are you doing here?”
I felt Rusty’s presence settle at my side.
“Hi, Rusty,” Quinn said softly, and his tail smacked against the floor happily in response.
I opened my mouth to respond to her question, wondering the very same thing about her, but her breathy, light voice filled the room. “Are—are you painting?”
The door shut, much quieter than a moment ago, and then her soft footsteps echoed against the hardwood. Her lemongrass and vanilla scent filled my nose, and every nerve ending in my body zinged to life. My fingers twitched at my sides as I fought the urge to draw her into my arms.
I shrugged. “That’s debatable. A toddler could probably do better.”
The air shifted as she moved, my senses going haywire at her closeness. Which fucking sucked. I didn’t want to be around her—I mean, I did. Which was the entire damn problem. I’d never been great at self control. If I didn’t stop this, sooner or later we’d end up with our clothes off, or with one of us leaving upset.
None of which helped this situation. But I couldn’t find the willpower within me to move. It’s like my feet had been covered in cement and I was stuck where I stood.
Quinn’s huff of laughter was full of disbelief. “I highly doubt that. Let me see. What am I looking at?”
I quirked a brow, her question only reaffirming my thoughts. “Told ya. It’s shit.”
She let out an indignant hmph. “Oh, stop. Just give me a second.” Her light touch on my shoulder should have startled me, but I don’t know if it was just a coincidence or simply the calming magic of Quinn, but I didn’t react quite the same as when Travis smacked me on the shoulder. Probably had something to do with how soft and tentative she was.
My mind and my senses were still reeling from her touch and the closeness of her so that I almost missed what she said next. “Wait…I see it now, I think. It’s—it’s a landscape. The greens and yellows and golds in the foreground are grass and hills, maybe? And I think the dark green and black smudges are supposed to be shrubs or possibly trees?” A slight pause and then, “But the background is definitely a sunrise or sunset. Though, from how soft the colors are, I’m guessing sunrise?” The last word rose up an octave, like she wasn’t quite sure.
I huffed. I could see the image in my mind clear as day, so when I painted, that’s what my fingers tried to capture. But no one had seen my paintings, let alone reaffirmed for me if what I painted actually was anything other than smudges.
But the cynical, sarcastic side of me couldn’t let an opportunity go unmissed. “It’s, uh, supposed to be a horse.”
“Oh,” she said, her voice falling in disappointment.
Shit. I guess maybe I was a bit too sarcastic. “I’m kidding, Quinn. You nailed it right on the head,” I replied quickly.
“Really?” she murmured, that sense of wonder returning to her voice.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Are the random patches of blue in the green parts—”
“Blue bonnets,” I finished for her. “They grow wild in the pastures back home.”
“This is your home?” Her tone was warm and held a hint of surprise. Almost like she hadn’t expected for me to drop that little revelation.
I nodded, a wistful longing filling my chest. God, when’s the last time I’d gone home? I think Christmas. Or was it Thanksgiving? Either way, a long, fucking time.
Quinn’s scent was intoxicating with how close she was, her voice a siren song I was unable to ignore as she said, “This is amazing, Hux. How did you…?” Her words trailed off, whether it was because she didn’t know how to finish her sentence or was still trying to figure out what to say, I didn’t know, so I saved her the trouble.
“I drew a bit growing up. I mean, I don’t think I was the next Picasso or whatever, really, but I was okay. One of the therapies they put me in was art therapy when I was at the rehabilitation center…to help with regaining dexterity and fine motor skills, or something like that.” I could have stopped there, Ishouldhave stopped there, but I found myself wanting to tell her the whole reason. Which was dumb, but it’s like my heart and my brain just stopped speaking the same language. “But—well, also for my anger and depression.”
