Page 32 of The Echo of Regret

I laugh, and Gabi grins. Rusty is a great guy. I think he and my sister work well together. He’s not much of a joiner, though, so I can only imagine what my sister did to get him to agree to this.

Okay, scratch that. That’s the last thing I want to imagine.

Over the next fifteen minutes, I help with the setup as I’m physically able to, and we get the tables lined up and covered and the easels ready with a canvas on each one. The instructor sets out plates of paint at each station and cups filled with paint brushes, and then she puts up the image we’re going to be painting tonight as a demonstration.

A lake in the mountains at sunset.

I twist my lips and glance at Gabi, trying to hold back my smile.

“Are you fucking serious,” she grumbles, letting out a huff of laughter. Then she glares at me. “You think it’s funny, but you can kiss my help goodbye.”

Her threat has no heat, and I eat it up.

“You’re going to refuse to help someone with an injury?” I gasp. “How insensitive of you, Gabi, really.”

I can see that she wants to laugh. It’s written all over her face, and no amount of glaring can convince me otherwise.

“Sorry we’re late!” Abby calls out as she, Jackson, and my older sister Briar walk in. “Someone said we should stop to pick up more alcohol.”

“Don’t say someone like I did something wrong,” Jackson replies, holding up two more six-packs. “I plan to drink heavily while we do this.”

“Good man,” Rusty calls out, taking one of the cardboard containers then shaking Jackson’s hand. He glances at me. “Now there’s enough alcohol.”

“And then we got lost trying to find the annex. When did they build this?” Abby asks. “I don’t remember it being here when I was in school.”

“It was here,” Bellamy and Gabi say at the same time.

“You just probably didn’t come back here because it was only for the emo art kids,” I say, pretending to hide the fact that I’m pointing at Gabi.

She swats me in the arm, but I can see the smile in her eyes.

It takes a few minutes to get everyone settled, then the instructor jumps in, giving us directions for our supplies and how we’re going to go about the evening. I grab the large paint brush with my right hand and hold it awkwardly, watching Gabi next to me as she dips hers into the water, dabs it on her paper towel, and swipes it through the purple we’re using for the sky. My first movements are clumsy, but eventually I figure out how to hold it with my non-dominant hand in a way that doesn’t look completely ridiculous or make a mess.

“How am I doing?” I ask Gabi after we’ve been at it for a few minutes. Her eyes glance at my canvas. “Am I wowing you with my incredible talent? Or reminding you of all the reasons why you’re unimpressed with me?”

“It actually looks pretty good. Especially considering you’re using your right hand.”

My chest puffs up a little bit.

“Any tips?”

Her head angles to the side, and she glances at the way I’m holding my brush.

“Try not to hold it so stiffly. Think about how you hold a pen or a fork. You don’t grip it like a knife you want to stab into the canvas. You hold it loosely. Let it relax in your hand.”

She reaches out and takes my hand, adjusting the brush so it relaxes more, but I can barely focus on what she’s saying as she guides my hand back up to the canvas. All I can register is the warmth of her skin gently touching mine, the smell of her shampoo, and the subtle layer of perfume she’s wearing. I breathe her in as she speaks, the scent of Gabi Ventura like a warm blanket wrapping around something I didn’t realize had gone cold in my chest.

“Are you listening?” she asks, her eyebrow rising.

I grin, trying to downplay how lost I got for a second. “Sorry. Got distracted.”

Gabi nibbles on the inside of her cheek, her eyes narrowing. “Did you hear anything I said?”

Not even trying to pretend, I shake my head.

“If you hold it like this,” she says, making it clear that she’s repeating herself, “you’ll have a better distribution of your paint, and you won’t end up with thick smears like on the bottom right.”

“Got it.”

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