Page 76 of Painting Celia

She smiled weakly.

“We’re taking that name back,” he said.

It was too early for that, too. She shied away, taking his hand and stepping out of his embrace.

“We could use the other room for painting,” she said, leading him further down the hallway to a door near the entry. Inside was a bare room, completely empty, a twin to the craft room.

His mouth fell open at the sight. “I thought this was a closet! You have rooms you never even open?”

She clutched at the doorknob, chest tight. “Some people have too much house.”

He walked in, turning around to gauge the space. An identical skylight illuminated it brightly, the sun falling on one wall. The pale caramel wood floor stretched bare, bouncing and warming the light.

“We can work in here? You don’t mind? Paint will get on the floors, guaranteed. No amount of drop cloths ever stop it all.”

She nodded. “If it’ll work for you. It’s just sitting here.” She looked down, cheeks starting to heat. “Does paint come off of wooden floors? Could I clean the other room?”

“Depends on the paint and the floors. Paint does get into seams in the wood. It might have to be refinished.”

She filed that away for later. But, right now—her train of thought was broken by sounds from both of their phones.

“Oh,” she said, reminded as she checked the notification.

León’s brows furrowed in annoyance as he read his. “I forgot they were all coming tonight.”

“If you need to work, we can put them off.”

“Well,” he said, “It’s up to you. I know you can only sit for a few hours, anyway. I can always pick it up after they leave.”

As Celia texted the group, he turned in a quick circle, looking at the room again.

“Can I bring my gear in?”

“I’ll help.”

It didn’t take long, the pool house quickly emptying. Celia caught him eyeing her surreptitiously as his possessions filled her empty room. Did he see the implication too? Neither said anything.

While he got ready to start, Celia made tea and sandwiches. He looked at her gratefully when she brought them in.

“Look at you. All I have to do is paint.”

“And teach.”

“If I can finish these in time, I could make a sale.” He grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I can see each one if I close my eyes, Celia. This’ll be worth it, you’ll see. Everyone will see.”

She handed him his teacup. “It’s worth it even if the paintings are no good.”

He set the cup down on the chair without looking and pulled her into his arms, brushing his cheek against hers, moving in for a kiss. Her heart pounded. It was still so new.

The momentary silence was sweet.

“This means so much, Celia,” he finally murmured. “I’ll show you. I’ll earn every meal you make for me. Your talents will be part of this, you’ll see.”

Talents? Making sandwiches? She enjoyed feeding people, but it was hardly art. But posing, supporting an artist’s work, maybe that was closer?

León started a purple painting. He wanted her in that long-balanced pose from the night before when she turned off the lamp. “While the memory is fresh,” he grinned.

The pose was uncomfortable, but she could hold it for five-minute stretches. An oscillating fan kept her cool even as white sun through the skylight inched closer. The smell of paint wafted to her every time the fan turned.

---