Page 149 of Painting Celia

“Cielito, reina, my Celia,” he repeated against her skin, words cascading like the rain that battered the world outside. Electricity hummed between them, his eyes squeezed shut against a painful radiance, the thrum of their joint heartbeats echoing through his bones.

“León!” she gasped, and he withdrew by inches, eager to see her face—

Jesus!

The loft had burst into color and life. Light blossomed around them into the fathomless dark, the rain outside reduced to rushing by the swells of music. Every jeweled hue glowed, rich red brick warmly surrounding pools of blue, flares of goldenrod, lush shocks of green.

“The power!” she squealed.

Overwhelmed by the boundless spectrum, León closed his eyes. The chaos of color and form he wanted was already cradled against his chest. He couldn’t help the joyful, relieved amusement that bubbled up, though, and it sent her into giddy peals, arms twining around his neck.

He couldn’t stand still, lifting Celia by her waist and spinning her around, their laughter rippling through the melody surrounding them.

Thirty One

Incubadora officially opened its doors in the damp gray morning. Waiting on the sidewalk, bundled up and chatting, were Dolores and Hector’s abuela. Hector stood behind them, thin arms wrapped around a stuffed duffel. He bounced when Celia opened the door, welcoming them into the warmth. Hector’s abuela handed her a covered plate of food as she entered, and Dolores removed her wrap to reveal a festive white blouse with turquoise embroidery. The little signs of celebration put a happy lump in Celia’s throat.

“I’m taking Hector upstairs,” León said to her, coming close. His glance took in her fidgety excitement, then he reached for her hand and leaned his shoulder against hers. She leaned back with a deep breath. “Tranquila,” he murmured, and she squeezed his hand. He let go with a beaming smile and headed for the stairs, Hector and his abuela following.

Dolores was left standing, her eyebrows as high as they could go. She looked pointedly to León’s retreating back, then to Celia’s face. Feeling the heat on her cheeks, Celia shrugged with a smile, and Dolores clucked to herself as she headed up to her office.

Celia stayed to bask in her newly opened haven.

Rich red brick climbed to the lofty ceiling strung with multi-colored flags. Tall silvery windows fogged by the cool weather diffused the morning’s gentle gray light. Polished concrete floors reflected long tables laden with literature and platters of bright finger food. Easels stood ready, paints and oil crayons awaiting their first use. Low mariachi music filled the room, Deja Que Salga la Luna playing quietly. The faint earthy smell of fresh clay trailed from Andrew’s classroom.

Now, to fill her space with people.

Trevor’s car passed outside, so Celia went out to meet him. Traversing the block, she stopped to view Incubadora from this angle. No rain fell, but the wet sidewalks reflected the golden light inside. She didn’t know about her new neighbors, but to her it was the most inviting thing she’d ever seen.

Andrew waved at her as he exited Trevor’s car, parked in her alley. She watched as Trevor opened his trunk and loaded bag after bag of gear onto both of their shoulders. Today, Trevor would photograph the entire opening, and Kelsey would post the best online. Celia saw Trevor steal a kiss before he and Andrew met her.

“How was the fishing trip?” she asked. She caught them blushing as they went through the front door she held open.

“We stayed in the hotel for most of it,” Andrew said. “It rained like crazy.” He set down some bags.

Trevor put an arm around his waist. “He did better than expected, sitting outside and doing nothing.”

“I’ll give anything a chance,” Andrew grinned. He looked eagerly toward the food table, and swiped a pastry on his way into his classroom. Anyone who came in today could create clay masterpieces with a free teacher at their disposal.

Kelsey fluttered in, wearing her version of an artsy caftan and littering the front desk with her purse, phone, and tablet.

“You’re wearing the blue dress,” she said with a grin. “You gonna make León regret what he’s missing?”

Celia looked down at the thin turquoise knit, warmth spreading through her at his name. “He’s not missing anything.”

“He’s blind, then.”

Catching Trevor’s eye, Kelsey moved off to where he was getting shots of the awaiting easels. They were instantly heads-down over screens again.

The first members of the public filtered in. They looked around, tried some food, then wandered back out. Well, the next ones might ask questions.

León trouped back down with his group, and Hector agreed to paint something at the easel by the window. Trevor crouched down to take photos, making sure to include Hector’s abuela watching in the background.

Celia savored the sight of an artist in her front window, finally! León hovered avidly, watching Hector set up.

Look at him.

He stood on his toes and ran eager fingers through his dark hair when Hector’s first color went on the canvas. It was no surprise when he turned his head, eyes wide with longing, seeking her out. When he realized she was already watching him, his smile outshone every light in the room.

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