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Mythroat tightens. “That’sreally nice of you,Devon.”Andit is.It’sincredibly thoughtful of him to bring me here.AndIshoulddo some painting whileI’minLA.Afterall,I’mhere, at least partially, to reset and work to get my spark back.Butthat doesn’t take away my anxiety over failing again.Overthe possibility that regardless of whereIgo or whatIdo, that spark has gone for good.
Devongrabs my hand and squeezes it, maybe to soothe me or just to get me moving again. “Wecan buy the stuff today, and then it’ll be there when you get the urge.Okay?”
Isqueeze back and give him a smile. “Okay, that sounds good.”
Asmuch asI’dlike to keep clinging to his hand,Ilet it go and push the door of the store open.Abell tinkles, letting whoever's manning the place know they have a customer.
Thedisembodied voice of a woman calls from somewhere on the other side of the shop. “Morning!Justputting some stock away.Letme know if you need a hand.”
Igrin atDevon, then call out a reply. “Thankyou!”
It’sa small shop, butI’mnot looking for a huge range of supplies right now.Justthe basics will do.AcheapA-frame easel, maybe a couple of canvases, a palette, and some mid-range oil paints and brushes.Thatwill be fine for trying to get back into the spirit of things.
“I’llfollow you,”Devonsays, and he does, trailing behind me asIwander, picking out the thingsI’llneed.Itdoesn’t take me long to make my way through the entire store.BeforeIknow it, the older woman behind the counter, who was obviously the one who called out to us before, is ringing up my purchases while humming happily to herself.ExceptbeforeIhave a chance to get money out of my purse,Devon’shanding over his card.
“Devon, you’re not paying for this,”Iexclaim, trying to pull his arm back.
Heeasily evades my grip. “Yeah,Iam.”
“I’mnot broke.Ican afford it, you know.”
Hesmiles down at me. “Youcan, but you shouldn’t have to.Youhave supplies back home.Youwouldn’t have to buy new stuff if you weren’t inLA.Andyou’re inLAbecauseIinvited you.Plus,I’mthe one who brought you here today.IfItake you somewhere,Ipay.”
Thewoman behind the counter is smiling sweetly at us. “He’sone of the good ones, honey.Ican tell.Don’tlet him go.”
“Ohno,”Isay, my eyes wide at her misunderstanding. “We’rejust friends.”
Shewatches me for a moment, head tilted in consideration, then moves her attention toDevon. “Isthat so?Well, he’s a good friend then.Whichmeans the same thing applies.”
“Shecouldn’t get rid of me if she tried.”Hehooks his arm around my shoulders and hauls me into his side.
Thewoman laughs and hands him back his card.Luckily, it doesn’t look like she recognizes him.NotthatIthink she’d have acted any differently if she had.Shedoesn’t seem the type to fawn over someone because of their celebrity status.
Ithank her, and thenDevonpicks up the easel in one hand and one of my bags with his other, whileItake the remaining bag and follow him out of the store.
Hestashes my stuff carefully in the back of his car, and then we head home.AndIadmit, there’s a part of me that’s itching to paint as soon as we get back.Asmuch asI’vebeen doubting my talent lately,Istill love that moment whenIsee a blank canvas and imagine all its possibilities.
“Hangon,”Isay, sitting a little straighter and studying our surroundings. “Didn’twe come from the opposite direction?”
Devontaps his fingers on the steering wheel, a slight smile on his face. “Yeah, butIwant to show you something before we go home.”
“Okay.”Thistime,Idon’t question him, content to enjoy his presence whileImentally flip through ideas of whatImight paint onceIget my supplies set up.
Wedrive for another twenty minutes, mostly in comfortable silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts.Thenwe turn off the road we’ve been on and make our way uphill.
“Whereare we?”Iask, studying our surroundings once again at the change in direction.
“SantaClarita,” he says.
Whatcould we possibly be going to see inSantaClarita?
Heslows a little, then points out his window. “Lookover there.”
Ilean forward and let out a little gasp.Notbecause whatI’mlooking at is that shocking, or even that impressive, but because it’s so unexpected.
Aroad with a security boom gate leads off the one we’re on, and next to it is a large semi-circle of concrete with plants growing out of the top.CaliforniaInstituteof theArtsis written on it in blue letters.
Weslow down as we pass it, andItake in every detail.Whena car approaches from behind,Devonaccelerates again.
