Page 115 of Painting Celia

“You’ll sell your pieces there too, right, León?” Andrew asked.

“Probably. I actually sold one at the exhibition.”

“Hey! Congratulations!”

“Celia, how will you get the word out to artists that they can live in your place?”

She heard León’s sigh, but he slouched down in his chair, chin on his chest as he stared at the fire, and she answered Kelsey instead.

•••

The brisk, lapping pool was refreshing after an evening by the fire. Downslope, León heard the sing-song yips of coyotes. The waning moon peeked from behind a palm tree.

He hung against the wall, supposedly looking down over the city lights but repeatedly catching himself viewing Celia over his shoulder. She floated in the center, aqua light wavering on her skin. Her chest rose and fell, serene and weary, her vulnerable edge gone.

He had inherited her edge. She was busy, now!. How could he delve into her on a schedule? She was still posing nearly every day, but what if that changed?

Dammit, I need my muse.

She turned in the water, opening her eyes to find him looking at her. Her smile radiated satisfaction. What a sight, her hair slicked back wet, droplets running off her shoulders. His chest ached. Why couldn’t he be with her like this all the time?

She stroked over to hang on the wall with him. “This was a good idea. Thank you.”

“You should take more breaks.”

“So should you.”

He scooted along the wall until their shoulders touched. For a long moment, they both just looked out at the lights.

He wasn’t a selfish prick for wanting her to spend more time with him. He was in love with her, that was all. If he told her, would that be selfish?

“León,” she said next to him, still looking out. “I’ve been wanting to say something.”

His heart launched into his throat.

Her shoulders were tense, her jaw tight. Nervous! Could she…?

“I’m so proud of you,” she said, gazing outward. “Selling a painting. But when you say you can afford to stay here longer….”

Oh. Well, damn.

“I know you’ll sell more,” she hurried, “but even if you didn’t, I don’t want you to go back to New York. You can stay here no matter what happens.”

He swallowed. He wanted that too, but he couldn’t fail. He simply couldn’t.

At his silence, she continued gingerly. “I just want you to know there aren’t any conditions. I want you to stay. That’s all.”

His sweet girl. She was taking a chance. Not as big as he’d hoped, but maybe he had to be the one to say it first. Assuming she’d say it second.

“I want to stay, cielito. I can’t fail, though.” When her eyes fell, he reached under the water to put his arm through hers. “I’m not saying I’ll go if I can’t sell more. I just have to succeed, is all. There isn’t anything else.”

She controlled her face—the way he hated. “There’s us.”

His eyebrows lowered. “I’m going to have both. My muse and my career, I’m going to have everything. Just like you’re going to have your Incubadora. And that’s the end of it.” He softened the words with a wry smile.

She struggled to return it. “I’ll help. I just wanted you to know.”

“I do know.” He squeezed her arm against him, opening his mouth to reassure her with the thing he wanted to say. Then he shut it again. It was surprisingly hard to say aloud. Instead, he turned to pull her close for a kiss. He’d show her for now.

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