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Not sleeping, that’s for sure.
Kiel said nothing as he took the painting back from Ciara. He couldn’t wait to hang this in his room. Even when he got back home, he’d hang it. Even if they didn’t work out, he’d always remember the moment he saw this painting.
“She’s very talented,” Ciara said.
“She’s astounding.”
“You like her a lot already?”
He nodded.
“Just don’t hurt her. I like it here and want to come back.”
It was Kiel’s turn to roll his eyes, but then his expression turned serious. “I’m worried she’s going to end up being the one to hurt me. Thing is, feeling this way doesn’t make me want to stop seeing her.” He let his words linger in the air for a moment. “She’s going to destroy me,” he said as he left the room.
eleven
Eloise stood in her doorway, watching Kiel leave. He backed out of the driveway slowly, waved, and then sped off. Before she could go back into her apartment, her aunt stepped out onto the back deck and leaned against the column, holding a cup of what Eloise assumed was coffee. She was certain her aunt smirked at her.
“Shit,” she muttered to herself. Eloise walked barefoot through the dewy grass and up the back steps. Her aunt smiled. Even if it was meant to be reassuring, Eloise had an inkling she was about to have an early morning lecture. “Morning.”
“Is it?” Margaux's eyebrow rose in question. Eloise nodded. She wouldn't give anything away unless her aunt asked. And even then, she might not be very forthcoming. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” She followed her aunt into the house and into the kitchen. Eloise helped herself to coffee and took a muffin off the counter. “Did you get these at that British shop down the street?”
“I did. She makes the best pastries in town.”
“What about Pa's? Do they still do apple fritters?”
Margaux nodded. “Yep, I suppose those are the best as well.” She sat down at the table and looked at Eloise expectantly.
Eloise sat and avoided eye contact. She had nothing to be ashamed for, except for maybe her loud screaming. If she was going to have Kiel over, she should probably keep the door shut and maybe not have sex on her deck.
“So . . .”
Was this it? Was this going to be the don't bring strange men to my home talk?
“So . . .”
Margaux lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. “How's the portfolio coming?”
She was going to drag this out.
“It's good. Sometimes I get confused about what I should and shouldn't add. Each school is different. Why can't they be uniform?”
“Because each school wants different things. Have you decided where to apply?”
Eloise shook her head. “I don't know. The thought of going back to school scares the crap out of me. I hated it over there. I know schools here are different, but still the same. People are always judging whether or not you're good at what you love. It's unnerving.”
“I know what you mean.” She took another sip. “And the man? He’s the one you added to your painting? The tourist?”
“Yeah . . .” Eloise sighed. “I like him. I know I shouldn’t, but . . .”
“He’s leaving at the end of summer?” It wasn’t a question but more of a statement.
But it was there. The intent behind her aunt’s words. Locals rarely dated tourists, unless you were using them for a good time.
“Yeah.” Eloise sighed and took a sip of her coffee. She didn't chance a look at her aunt because she didn't want to see the disapproval on her face. The old Eloise—the one that grew up in Seaport—probably wouldn't give guys like Kiel the time of day. But this Eloise—the one who spent the past three years or so in Europe—would.
