He laughed. “Okay, that’s a yes. No later than eleven since Igotta be at work at two. Are you okay with going out? I was thinking simple, like a deli or something.”
She hesitated, the familiar nervous feeling starting up like clockwork.
“Or we could get something and eat it at K&Bs. I’m sure I could sweet-talk Maude into letting us use the education room.”
“You could sweet-talk her into anything,” Britt said. But even though she was sure Maude and X wouldn’t mind, it was an imposition and a lot of trouble to go through when they could just eat at a restaurant. “Are you familiar with the 360 Deli? We could go there.”
“Sure,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Want me to pick you up?”
Britt could hear birds chirping and the faint hum of traffic in the background. “You have a car?”
“Nope, but I got an extra helmet.”
She spun side to side in her chair. “You’re determined to get me on that thing, aren’t you?”
“Don’t knock it, Britt. I’m a safe driver. You can trust me.”
No argument there. She trusted him, totally. Even now when she thought back to how she’d initially suspected he was a deceptive creep made her feel foolish. “I can pick you up.”
A pause, long enough to make her wonder if he was going to tell her no. “Okay. I’ll send you the address. I gotta run, but I’ll text you on break. Bye, Britt.”
“Bye.” She hung up and slid halfway down the chair. Finally, she understood all the hype about romance, and she could hardly believe she was in one. After they kissed, Hunter had taken her hand and led her to the table. “We need to work on our lesson,” he said, his tone serious.
How were they supposed to focus on their drawings after whathad just happened? At her confused look, he said, “I need a distraction. A big one, if you get what I mean.”
She didn’t—not totally. Just that he was right, they couldn’t keep kissing in the education room. Maude could walk in on them at any moment, and Britt would never hear the end of it. Besides, she didn’t want anyone to know what they’d done. Not because she was ashamed or embarrassed. She wasn’t. But being in Hunter’s arms, the feelings his kisses brought out in her—they were private, only to be shared between the two of them.
So they drew a football.
Hunter had laughed when she pulled it out of her bag. “You like sports,” she said, giving him her rationale for the unusual choice. “Footballs have lots of texture. This will be interesting to duplicate.”
He agreed, and they started on their lesson. Britt fought to pay attention to their work and not to Hunter. Or more specifically his mouth. Eventually, she succeeded.
By the time they’d perfected the outline of the ball, Maude had popped back in the room, and Britt and Hunter hung out with her and X for an hour after their lesson was over. When he left, Britt thought she was the only one who noticed the way he’d looked at her before he left, and how long he’d looked at her. But Maude immediately plied her with questions that Britt promptly brushed off. X put the feather duster in her hand and sent her to the back of the store as Britt was leaving.
She stared at the screen again. She needed to film the intro and outro for two more videos, but she didn’t feel like working today. However, there was something she’d been wanting to do, ever since she met Hunter.
Britt pulled out a drawing pad and plucked a charcoal pencilfrom the holder by her computer. She faced the blank sheet of paper, closed her eyes, and began to draw.
A few years ago, she’d read an article online about drawing with your eyes closed. The concept was to feel the object while you were drawing, which would lead to a more creative and less inhibited result. Right now, she couldn’t touch her subject... but she remembered.
She held out her hand as she thought of him, imagining she was touching his face. She already knew his hair was soft, had felt the roughness of his chin and upper lip from his perpetual five o’clock shadow. Her right hand sketched as her left thumb traced the imaginary line of his mouth, then moved over the slope of his nose, her fingertips lightly dancing over his long eyelashes. She continued to outline his face with her fingers, the charcoal making light brushing sounds as she whisked it over the paper.
When she was finished, she opened her eyes and looked at her work. Her initial reaction was to laugh—she’d never drawn a portrait so out of balance before. But as she studied it, she realized the abstraction held its own fascination. His hair wasn’t centered on his head but was just off to the side. His chin was bigger than his mouth, which wasn’t accurate in real life.
Then her gaze landed on his eyes. She paused and leaned forward. Eyes were her specialty, and she’d always been confident in drawing them. But what she’d sketched surprised her. The eye shape was spot on, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the emotions she saw in them, ones she didn’t associate with him. Uncertainty. Confusion. Vulnerability. Even a tiny bit of pain.
Britt frowned. Why had she drawn that? She’d only seen Hunter insecure about his art, and that made sense. He was justlearning how to draw. But she couldn’t remember ever noticing him confused or vulnerable. And the pain... She was clueless about that.
She turned from the picture, a little disturbed. She’d expected to create a drawing that was far from perfect, but one that would capture his charm, confidence, and beauty. Instead, she’d depicted the exact opposite.
Britt shut her sketchbook, put it back in her desk, and decided to do some work. By the time she finished the first intro, she felt better. It was just a drawing. An experiment, even. Next time she would draw him with her eyes open and depict him the way he truly was.
Because the picture she sketched wasn’t the Hunter she knew.
***
Amy ran the back of her hand over her forehead, wiping away the sweat pooling above her brow. Another day, another weed battle. Actually, it had been almost three weeks since she’d last tackled the weeds, and fortunately there weren’t that many left. Good thing because it was only ten thirty, and she was already dripping from the heat.
