Page 114 of Painting Celia

She grinned. “Then yes, of course. Is it still the chair painting?” The colors across his hands, gold and orange, were usually a reliable indicator.

“Yes.” He went behind her to wash his hands, then stepped up to put his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder to look at the golden batter she was stirring.

“That’s not beef stew.”

“I’m making cornbread, too.”

“Are there feet in it?”

“No. The feet are in the stew.”

He chuckled and nuzzled his mouth to her ear. “It’s nice to have you home today.”

A shiver ran through her as his breath tickled. When things were good, they were very, very good. She almost couldn’t bear the happiness that suffused her. He made her feel safe, alive…loved?

Could this be the right time to tell him? He was relaxed.

“How long has it been since we swam in the pool?” he asked. “We could get in tonight after everyone leaves. Or just you, if you want. You’ve been so busy.”

She leaned her head against his briefly. “I’d like to swim with you.”

“That’s a date, then.” He gave her a squeeze and a quick kiss on the cheek.

She watched him amble back down the hall to his room. His pulled-back hair had orange paint in it.

She loved that. She loved him.

•••

At the firepit, Celia held court, explaining the details of her plan. Having everyone focused on her, listening to her, wasn’t as uncomfortable now that she had things to tell. She’d gotten a lot of practice talking to people lately.

“The kids can live there for free, at least at first. I want rents to be a last resort. I’m trying to think of revenue streams, something more stable than selling art.”

“What are you going to call it, Celia?” Trevor asked.

“Well. It’s an artist colony, really, if a commercial one. But I keep thinking about an incubator. A place where little ones can develop safely. León says it would be incubadora in Spanish.”

Andrew paused before pushing a square of cornbread into his mouth. “Why Spanish?”

“The neighborhood. I want to fit in, to be welcoming. And, I’m half Filipino. Spanish could be more a part of my life.” She looked toward León fondly. “I’ve had help with the translation of my literature. Incubadora de Artistas, what do you think?”

“It’s a mouthful.” Kelsey stretched her feet to the fire, resting her hands over her slightly rounded belly. “You could do eggs in the logo.”

Celia grinned. “No eggs! I’ve got a company ready to work on a logo once I decide on the name. I need to get moving.”

“Get moving?” Andrew asked incredulously. “Has it even been a month since you started? And you already have construction going?”

“Not until next week. But I’ve bought a lot of beds and work tables.”

Kelsey looked at Andrew. “Are you really going to teach there? What about the college?”

“I can do both for a while, but Celia will let me set my own curriculum and schedule. Can’t get that from a college. I could fit in more classes each week.”

“So, teaching is your focus now?” Trevor asked. “What about your own pieces? I always thought the classes were just temporary. You’re falling into that trap, working instead of creating.”

“Teaching isn’t easy, Trev. It’s a skill like any other, and I’m good at it. I like it. Why not show these kids how to work clay and see what they can make? I still do pieces and can sell them in Celia’s gallery. It’s sort of perfect for me.”

“And me,” Celia said. “I hope we can find more teachers.”

---