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Clay looks at the kid-sized chair.
“Yeah, never mind,” I tell him.
I step on the chair instead, so we’re eye level. He holds out a hand for the paints, and I set them in his palm. Then I go to work, outlining my design.
“I see you traded painting canvas for kids this week,” he comments.
“Only for today. I’m taking over Harlan’s garage. This gallery in New York that was interested in offering me a show after I did the Kodiaks mural last year had a cancellation and said they could fit me in for a solo show before Christmas.”
“That’s big.”
“It is.” I shift on my feet, excitement bubbling up. “I thought I already had most of what I’d need for the show, but the past couple of days have been super productive so now I’m going to have to pick favorites. Harlan’s going to have to sell a car just so I have room to store the canvases.”
Clay turns it over. “You could rent a space.”
It never occurred to me to have a dedicated space outside of a house. “That’s a good idea. But…”
“I know you can afford it.”
“You’re right.” Sometimes it still feels strange to have money in my bank account from the Kodiaks mural and the handful of jobs since. I can take care of myself and have more options than ever.
“I’ll help you look, if you want. Have you thought about finding an art agent while you’re at it? It sounds like you’re busy enough you could use someone to field offers,” he says.
I nod. “I’ve gotten a few inquiries, but I’ve been too nervous to accept them. Work is steady right now, but who’s to say that will continue?”
“It’ll continue, Pink. Once someone gets a taste of you, they can never get enough.”
My skin tingles from his words.
He’s quiet for a minute, the sounds of kids hollering and water splashing and music filling the space between us.
“You’re being very patient,” I observe as I work.
“Good things are worth waiting for.”
I brace my hand against his skin as I paint, the simple skin-to-skin contact making my pulse scramble.
I’m painting a bear on his face. One with beautiful detail and blue eyes.
It keeps my brain occupied while I try not to lose myself in his closeness, his words.
“How does it feel to be playing again?” I ask.
“I’m trying not to expect too much from it. Just putting in the work. Trying to prove it’s going to be different this time around.” He shifts on his feet. “I also scheduled an appointment with my therapist.”
I inhale sharply. “That’s great! I know talking to Kat’s helped, but—”
“How’d you know I talked to Kat about basketball?”
Caught out, I go back to my palette for more color. “Um. Because you’re siblings. You talk.”
“You told her to check on me after you left,” he accuses.
“I didn’t tell her, I mentioned that maybe you could use company for your ring ceremony.” I turn back to him, squaring my shoulders. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Or thinking about you.”
His nostrils flare as the words sink in. “Guess it’s hard to be mad about that.”
Once I’m finished, I hold up a mirror for him. “Do you like it?”
