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Ethan had a terrible upbringing, and art had changed his life. It took him years to harness his emotions in a positive way, and now he’d become a brilliant artist…even if he didn’t think so.
“I’m just too angry and upset to verbalize how I feel…and we’re all out of flour.” Baking had been my release since my parents died. It was the only thing that brought me peace, and it helped me feel closer to Mom. She was a wonderful cook.
“Damn,” Ethan grumbled. “I was craving some chocolate chip cookies.”
My lips twitched. “Don’t make me laugh. I need to stay focused while I slaughter this canvas.”
“See…” Ethan placed his beer on the table beside us, amongst the paints, brushes, and jars of murky water. “That’s your problem. You see the canvas as your enemy, but it’s merely a tool to tell your story.” He took the ruined canvas off the easel and replaced it with another, much larger than the last. “Sometimes, big feelings require big art.”
I stood firmly before the stark-white space like I was preparing for war. “Ok, where do I start?”
Ethan’s chest pressed against my back as his huge hand enveloped mine. “You need to acknowledge how you feel before you release it.” His words were drenched with passion. “Then start at the beginning and let the tension build.”
Ethan guided my brush from paint to water to canvas and back again, like a puppeteer. I closed my eyes to relish the warmth of his bare skin against my well-worn beach dress, and my stomach somersaulted when his breath glided over my shoulder.
“The background represents who you were before him,” he said as we filled it with a muted blue.
As the brush swayed from side to side, I thought back to my life before Vance. Before I started college. Before my parents were taken away.When I was in love with someone else.
“Now, choose a color that represents how you felt when he came into your life.”
I lifted my eyes to meet Ethan’s. So earnest. So passionate. So…green.
Vance evaporated from my mind as I drank in his beautiful hues, fighting the urge to dip my gaze to his tongue tracing his bottom lip.
When Ethan drew a short, shaky breath, I flickered my eyelashes over to the table of paint beside us. “Um…okay.” I pulled my hand from his to rummage through the tubes. “What do you suggest?”
“Follow your heart.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his swim shorts. “What color speaks to you?”
I gazed into his eyes again, unable to hear any other.Fuck.Without giving it another thought, I picked up a vibrant jade and squeezed it onto the palette.
“I thought you would’ve gone for pink, but okay.”
“Why? Because I’m a girl?”
“No…” He chuckled. “Because Vance is a pussy.”
Nervous laughter fell from my lips. I’d clearly forgotten the purpose of the painting.
“But, whatever. It’s your choice.” Ethan unraveled a case of painting tools. “Now, paint how he made you feel.” He handed over a new brush, a different shape to the last.
My nose scrunched up. “Like, when we met?”
Ethan nodded. “Think about why you got together. What, um…”—he cleared his throat—“attracted you to him.”
I lowered my eyes. I couldn’t remember anything from back then but sorrow. After my parents died, Ethan ran off to Europe while my brother threw himself into his multi-million-dollar business idea, leaving me completely alone. I baked for an entire year before I built up(with the help of my therapist)enough courage to go to college.
That was where I met Vance. Older, mature, ambitious…everything the boy who plagued my dreams wasn’t. The boy who unknowingly broke my heart over and over with his nasty words and ran away when I needed him most. The boy who was now standing in front of me, watching my every move…as a man.
Desperate to sever the tension building in my body, I turned back to the canvas. I hated Ethan as much as I loved him. He was my foster brother. My nemesis.My everything.And he had no fucking idea how I felt about him.
Before I knew it, the canvas was covered with brilliant green splashes.
“Wow.” Ethan chuckled. “I’ve never seen you let loose before.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped back, equally surprised.
“You’re always so…controlled.”
