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“That’s so neat. Can I see what you made?”
She looked thrilled that I’d asked. “Sure.”
I looked around nervously for Rush as I followed her up to the roof. She led me to a canvas painting that was leaning up against the wall in the corner.
She held it up to show me. “It’s not exactly perfect, but I’m happy with how it came out.”
With blends of orange, purple and yellow, she had beautifully captured the stunning colors of the evening sunset over the beach. Smudges of paint accurately portrayed the clouds in the sky. I couldn’t begin to fathom how she’d made the ocean so realistic with a mix of green, blue, and white tones. It somehow looked like the water was moving across the canvas, coming into shore. My favorite part of the whole painting was a single and elaborately detailed seashell with brown and white lines drawn throughout. It was just laid out on the sand, which she’d meticulously painted in beige hues. Even though the shell was small, it seemed to be the focus to which all else served as the backdrop.
“This is so beautiful. I am seriously in awe that you have the ability to sit down and casually paint something so amazing on a whim. How long did it take you?”
She placed the painting on the ground, leaning it against the table leg. “About an hour-and-a-half. But you know, it’s not always that easy for me. Maybe you go through this with your writing, but some days you’re just on, right? You can feel the creativity oozing from your veins, and you just need to drop everything and take advantage while it’s there. That’s why I needed to come to the beach tonight.” Her eyes were filled with passion as she spoke about her art.
This woman is amazing.
“I so get what you’re saying, Melody,” I said. “I used to feel like that from time to time when I first got the idea for this book I’m writing. The first three chapters just poured out of me, very organically like that. And then once I started to apply pressure on myself after I landed the publishing deal, nothing has been happening.”
“Rush said that you write in the romance genre?”
Once again, I was surprised he’d gone into that much detail with her.
“Yes. Contemporary. Well, if I can ever get going again, yeah.”
“Nothing like pressure to hinder creativity. I can relate. A few of my pieces have been commissioned in the past. There’s definitely a difference between creating something out of your own free will versus obligation.”
“Exactly.”
“You’ll find your way—your inspiration, Gia. It will happen.”
Can I keep her?
“Thank you. I hope so.”
We stood there just staring at each other momentarily. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she really liked me, too. I wasn’t ready to let her go. Melody Rushmore fascinated me.
The words just fell out of me. “I would love to see more of your paintings sometime.” I hoped I wasn’t being too forward as I anticipated her response.
“Well, you’re welcome down to my house whenever you like. I have a studio there filled with art.”
“Honestly? I would really love that.”
Rush came up behind me. “What’s this, now?”
He reeked of smoke. My pulse raced. I couldn’t gauge his reaction to my hanging out with his mom. But I played it cool.
“You’re taking me to see your mom’s studio. I want to see her paintings—all of them.”
His brow lifted as if to challenge that. “Is that right?”
I crossed my arms. “Yup.”
“If I’d known you two were conferring, I would’ve hurried my ass up,” he said.
His mother was grinning at him. “Gia and I have a lot in common.”
“Yeah, you’re both pains in my ass,” he teased, winking at Melody.
She must have been used to his sarcasm because she didn’t react to that statement. I was relieved that he didn’t seem too mad anymore.
“Are you heading back home tonight?” I asked her.
“No, I’m staying for a couple of nights.”
“We go to her favorite pancake breakfast place every year when she comes out for her birthday weekend,” Rush said.
I turned to her. “Tomorrow is your birthday?”
“It’s today, actually.”
“Oh my gosh. Happy birthday!”
“Thank you. Rush had the chef make a special dinner for me. Salmon Oscar. It was very yummy.”
It warmed my heart how protective and sweet he was being toward his mom. I really loved this side of Rush. If only he wasn’t an insensitive prick the other half of the time.
He reached into his pocket and handed his mother a key. “Here. Take this and let yourself in.”
She asked him, “Are you coming home tonight?”
Apparently, she knew her son enough to know that there was a chance he wouldn’t be coming home. Probably figured he’d be staying at some skank’s apartment.
“Yeah. I’m just gonna finish up some things here. I’ll meet you back at the house. You can leave your art stuff here. I’ll pack it all into my car and take it home.”
