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By Saturday, I have decided three separate times that inviting Clint was a mistake. Then Don shows up and makes every other mistake seem smaller.

“Where have you been?” I ask as he sweeps through the patio door wearing a kaftan and sunglasses too large for his face. “I thought you were trafficked.”

He sighs happily. “Even better. I hooked up with a Canadian.”

I sit up in my patio chair. “You did not.”

“But I did.” He drops into the chair across from me and fans himself with one hand. “I finally got my Canadian goose.”

I laugh so hard I nearly spill my coffee.

Don beams like he’s healed something in himself.

I lean back and look out at the pool, the late-afternoon sky clear and warm above it.

Don studies me over the top of his sunglasses. “You look unusually at ease.”

I smile before I can stop myself.

“I’m painting again.”

His face softens. “I knew you’d find it.”

I look away because kindness from Don is most dangerous when quiet.

“Where’s Slurring Beauty?”

“Will you stop that? He had a little too much. We’ve all been there.”

“I’ve only been there with pants on.”

“I doubt that.”

Don pushes his glasses up his nose, then reaches for the coffee. “Separate corners still?”

“Mostly. I’ve been in the studio. He’s been in his room a lot.”

“Nice.”

I don’t mention the fresh canvases drying behind a locked door. Clint’s foot, shoulder, mouth, the line of his thigh remembered in color. Or the moments when we’re not in separate corners, when our eyes meet unexpectedly, when I look at him and find him already looking at me. How the silence speaks volumes, even though I know it’s making things up.

The sliding glass door opens behind us.

Clint steps onto the patio and pauses like he’s waiting to be inspected.

“This good?”

He’s wearing a flowy floral shirt in blue and green, only buttoned halfway, and cut-off jean shorts that look like they were cut from actual jeans. Legs long and bare and impossible not to notice.

I try very hard to look like I’m not noticing.

“Looks good,” I say.

“Respectable?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

His mouth tips to that small, almost-smile that keeps showing up when I least expect it.