Page 112 of Painting Celia

“It feels so good to know someone appreciates the work,” he replied, smiling again. “I hate losing the painting, but that’s why I do it, so they can go out and be seen.” He buried his face in her shoulder. “Thank god, this is going to work.”

“The first of many,” she said, holding him tight.

He pulled away to look at her. “You’ll help me make more? I know you’re busy now, but I still need you.”

“Of course I will.”

He could stand still no longer and released her so he could jump just a little, laughing. “I’m a successful west coast painter! How do you like me now?”

“As much as I liked you yesterday.”

He returned her grin.

•••

Cash could speak loudly. Celia’s financial agent liquefied millions as they made the offer to buy the warehouse. It cost six million, much less than she’d feared. She asked for two million more in a renovation account and set about choosing a contractor.

The current gallery would vacate in two weeks after its final exhibition ended. The title would take two more weeks, a month to process, but her contract let her begin applying for permits. That would save so much time.

She pored over the provided blueprints, measuring and planning. The most work would be putting in two kitchens, a large one on the second floor and a smaller one directly above it, for herself. They would go near the large windows at the front. Bathrooms and showers at the back wall would also be work but not as costly. An old dumbwaiter, shown on the blueprints, could be replaced and made useful. As construction went, it wasn’t a heavy lift.

She lined up an architect and contractor. Her calendar filled, listing the earliest deadlines she could prepare for. She wasn’t in a rush and would make sure everything was done with appropriate care, but Celia lived to organize. She hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in years.

She hummed as she cooked, danced as she cleaned. The color-coded folders aligned neatly in holders on the dining room table filled her with a lovely warmth. She indulged in a bouquet of flowers, delivered to herself, and set them behind her laptop where she could see them.

“Celia, it’s four!”

León’s voice carried faintly through the kitchen from his studio. They spent more time in different rooms now.

“Coming,” she yelled, scrambling to add a few more numbers to her master spreadsheet. The projected costs weren’t ballooning as she’d feared, even with plenty built in for unexpected setbacks. She might even spring for a grant writer early, starting the search for possible funding. That cost would go into this column—

“Celia!”

She jumped. “Sorry!” Reluctantly she saved her work and pushed back from the table. She’d been on a real roll this afternoon.

She tried to banish the plans and figures from her mind as she went to León’s room. Sitting took a different focus, and she hadn’t been as present as she could have been the last few times.

Surprised, she saw that one of her overstuffed armchairs was in the studio, ready to be posed on.

“When did you move that in?”

León’s glance at her was impassive as he poked through paint tubes. “Around noon. You really didn’t hear me moving it? I could see you through the kitchen.”

She shook her head. “I missed it. I’ll be comfortable posing, huh?”

He smiled, finally meeting her eyes. “Maybe. I hope so.”

Relief spread warmly through her chest at his smile. She began pulling off her clothes.

His blank canvas told her this was a new painting. He directed her to lounge insolently, sprawling with her arms across the back of the chair, one leg crooked over the arm.

“What are you going for?” she asked.

“Wanton, defiant, a little weary. I want eye contact in this one, please. The focus will be on your expression.”

She rolled her shoulders, getting into the right frame of mind, as he returned to his easel. He snapped a few photos on his phone before picking up the palette. He’d been doing that now that she couldn’t always sit right when he needed her.

“Okay, look at me and think about the night you painted me,” he grinned. “That’s the energy, that predatory aggression.”

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