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Jesus, she’s good. Like, she should be showing in galleries and not selling prints of her work online.
Tearing my eyes from the painting, I move around the room and look at the others propped against walls, on spare easels, and along the counter. Framed landscapes hang on the wall, and although they’re watercolors, I can tell they’re not her work. I can’t quite tell what the difference is, but I can tell she didn’t paint them.
Leaning in, I see the artist’s name is Steven Marshall. Most likely her father… she told me he was a painter.
A table at the back of the room holds pencil sketches of buildings scattered about. I flip through them until I come across the blue, grid-lined paper of architectural plans.
I take a quick peek, and as I expected, it’s the art studio she wants to build on her property. I have no clue what that exactly means, but I know she needs a driveway to it.
“How many eggs do you want?” Tillie calls out.
“Four,” I say as I study the proposed driveway. She could most definitely have her existing one cut across her lawn and through the wooded portion of her property to get to where the studio would be, but it would be messy. She’d lose most of her grassy yard area, and I imagine she doesn’t want traffic driving so close to her house.
Just like I don’t want it driving so close to my backyard.
Sighing, I turn from the table and look at more of her paintings stacked in a large plastic bin. These are oils, and while her skills are just as good, they don’t evoke feelings the way the watercolors do. It’s weird, because the landscapes are incredibly realistic, but they’re missing the whimsical quality that is inherently Tillie Marshall.
I return to the kitchen as Tillie scoops scrambled eggs on a plate already laden with bacon and toast. She smiles as she nods to a cupboard. “You can grab forks from that drawer.”
“Sure.” I slide it out and nab utensils. “Your art is incredible.”
“Oh, thank you,” she replies, almost bashfully. “No matter how many pieces I complete, I never really know if they’re any good. Maybe that’s an artist thing. My dad was like that with his paintings.”
I meet Tillie at the kitchen table, and we sit to eat. After a bite of bacon, I say, “I saw the plans for the art studio.”
I hadn’t realized how open her expression had been prior to me saying that, but it clouds over, and her gaze drops to her plate as she stabs at some eggs.
“What exactly will the art studio be?” I press. “Will it be a retail space for you to sell your art in lieu of selling online?”
Her face lifts, her expression oddly blank. “I don’t think we should talk about this because of the pending lawsuit.”
“You don’t?” I’m incredibly curious why she wouldn’t want to talk about it. Tillie isn’t the type to back down from something, and I’ve been half expecting her to use this new “friendship with benefits” relationship as a gateway to talk about the trees.
To at least try to compromise.
Not that I would, but I wouldn’t blame her for trying.
“I think,” she says, and I can tell she’s carefully choosing her words, “that whatever this is we have, there’s an expiration date.”
Well, damn… not sure how that makes me feel. “Is that so?”
“You know it is,” she says softly. “Our court date is set for August 10. We both want very different outcomes. One of us is going to win, and the other is going to be hurt in some fashion. It’s inevitable. My suggestion is that we simply acknowledge that truth and have fun over the next few weeks as consenting adults who recognize this for what it is.”
“And that is?”
“Sex,” she replies simply.
I cock an eyebrow at her.
“Okay, very good sex.”
I stare at her, not saying a word.
“Fine,” she grumbles. “Phenomenal sex. The best ever. But you and I both know it’s nothing more than that. You came here for peace and to get away. Those goals haven’t changed. I’m focused on my art studio, and that’s not going to change. So let’s be mature about it, ride this wave without talking about thetrees or the lawsuit, and when it comes time to part, we’ll do so without a backward glance.”
She’s fucking serious. I’m actually stunned she’s proposing this arrangement because Tillie is about as far from a sex-only-relationship type as anyone I’ve ever met. She’s sweet and kind, a dreamer to the core. Nothing about what we are now or what we will be in the coming weeks would make sense based on how she lives her orderly life. I’m a fucking wrecking ball swinging through her world, and she’s willing to get smashed to have a few weeks of fun.
It makes no sense to me at all, and frankly, it rubs me a little that I’m not the one establishing the ground rules for a sex-only relationship. I’m the one who should be reminding her that’s all I’ve got to offer, but she beat me to it.
