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Late-afternoon sunlight fell across the children in sheets of gold, catching their worn clothes, their dusty shoes, and the joy on their faces. The smallest chased the other two with both arms pumping. The boy in the middle looked back at him, laughing, while the girl in front ran with her arms spread wide, as if the field belonged to her and she meant to take the sky with it.

Drew stood in front of the painting without saying anything. Nicole lasted about ten seconds. “That one still needs work. The perspective on the buildings is off, and the boy’s left arm looks strange if you stare at it too long. I was going to change the color of his shirt, but then I thought—I don’t know.”

“I don’t know shit about painting,” Drew said, “but I can’t stop looking at this one.”

That shut her up.

“Who are they?”

“Nobody. I made them up.”

“Reminds me of home,” Drew said. “When I was a kid.”

Nicole looked at him, but his attention had gone back to the children.

“They look like they’re flying,” he said.

“They’re running.”

“Nah.” He glanced at her before looking back at the painting. “Look at them.”

Nicole did. She knew every brushstroke, every mistake she had covered, and every one she’d finally given up on and left. Standing beside Drew, though, she could almost see the painting without taking it apart.

“I can’t afford to buy this yet. But when I’m rolling in millions, I’m paying top dollar for every painting I buy from you. That’s how fucking talented you are.”

She studied his face, wondering whether he’d even noticed what he was saying, but his eyes stayed on the children.

“There’s no fucking way that chair person sees your paintings and doesn’t let you into the program.”

Nicole smiled, stepped into him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you. For believing in me.”

Drew’s arms closed around her. “Your shit is dope. Believe that.”

She stayed against him while he kissed her forehead. When she finally pulled back, Drew was eyeing her worktable in a way she didn’t trust.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Drew.”

He reached past her and picked up a fat tube of blue paint.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she warned.

“Too late.” His eyes went to her bare legs under his T-shirt, and he twisted off the cap. “Get naked.”

Nicole stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I need a canvas.”

“You have an entire room full of them.”

“None of them are you.”

The way he was looking at her had her pressing her thighs together, but it did nothing to make her trust him with an open tube of paint. “Put that down.”

“What?” Drew stepped closer. “I’m trying to make art.”