Page 152 of Painting Celia

Palm fronds whispered above them as León squeezed her hand. “It’s beautiful,” he agreed. “But you’re looking at it from a distance. I like our place, down in the heart of it. It’s more exciting, hearing the sirens and crowds and traffic.”

“Says the New Yorker,” Andrew said from his folding chair.

They joined their friends around the fire, León handing her a full paper plate before sitting too. Celia’s gaze roamed around the circle, a gentle warmth spreading through her as she observed each of her friends lit by the flickering light. Kelsey sprawled low in her chair, her yellow sundress brushing the grass below, rounded belly like a beach ball filling her lap. Trevor sat at ease, an ankle crossed over his knee, eating slowly as the fire reflected off his dark-rimmed glasses. Andrew leaned forward, elbows on his knees, beer bottle in one hand and a slice of pizza folded in the other, disappearing quickly in large bites.

And next to her, León, with hair pulled back from his gold-washed face, eyes black in the firelight. Her heart fluttered at his attention, looking up through his lashes, his bouncing knee nearly dumping his plate on the ground. She reached out, steadying his plate with a reassuring smile, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. As she relaxed, so did he, his shoulders easing as he picked up his pizza slice with paint-smudged hands.

Sitting in her old backyard, gutted and changing, brought up more feelings than she’d expected. Celia retired back into her chair, letting the fireside chatter wash over her as she used to.

This house had been an uneasy sanctuary, a place to hide. She’d needed a place to be small and alone.

The past would always be a part of her; Mom was still out there, and Dad’s choices, and her tendency toward spiraling anxiety.

But she couldn’t be small anymore. There were too many new people, too many changes, even in her friends.

She watched Andrew’s sensitive hands slipping around the curves of the beer bottle as he turned it. As he glanced sideways at Trevor, she recalled the charming glee on his face when he told her they were moving in together. She wasn’t the only one with a new home.

Kelsey’s yellow dress fluttered as she poked at Andrew with a bare foot, and Celia thought of her voice last week, talking sweetly at her round stomach. “Stop kicking, Ruth. Soon you can come out and meet me and Grandma and Tía Celia.”

Her family was growing. Through the fire, she saw Trevor taking off his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt. He’d been so pleased to announce a new addition. “I hired an assistant, finally,” he’d said, pride bright in his smile. “A queer kid new to LA. Boy, does he need help getting around.”

León reached absently to take Celia’s hand, holding it low between their chairs, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. She looked fondly at his profile, glowing in the firelight as he listened to Andrew and Kelsey tease each other. She could see again León’s red cheeks when they’d surprised him with a dinner at the gin bar on the first night of his new show. Six paintings in a Hollywood gallery, running much longer than the last exhibition. His career was coming alive on his new coast.

The fire blazed in gold, the sky deepening to dark blue. León felt her gaze and met it, squeezing her hand. If she could paint, he would be a golden light to her aqua waters, the sun to her sea.

It’s okay to move on to something new, Celia Rose.

“Hey! Celia, snap out of it!” Andrew was suddenly standing over her, holding out an open hand. “We’re getting in the pool.”

“We’re what?”

Kelsey trilled a laugh. “Didn’t you hear a thing we said?”

Celia inhaled deeply, watching them all stand one by one. León dropped her hand to stand too, unzipping his hoodie. Andrew was already stripping off his shirt. “There aren’t any towels,” she said, struggling to come back to the present. “The pool house is empty.”

“It’s warm tonight,” Trevor said, kicking his shoes off under his chair. “We’ll dry by the fire.”

Celia watched wide-eyed as clothes were shed, a laugh tickling up inside her, warmth spreading from her belly to the tips of her fingers. Andrew was the first undressed, his white briefs gleaming against his dark brown skin in the firelight. Kelsey lay her sundress over the folding chair, one graceful hand supporting her unwieldy belly, the other adjusting a bra strap as it slipped low. Trevor folded his clothes carefully, setting his glasses atop them as Andrew vaulted up the two steps to the pool surround, his muscles flexing with the motion. He cannonballed into the pool before the rest made it onto the flagstones, the lights under the water shattering into a riotous chaos, the roaring splash echoing through the backyard.

Celia turned to León, pulse quickening as he straightened from pulling his jeans low, his dark boxer briefs familiar but somehow new by the fire. He raised playful eyebrows at her as Trevor jumped into the deep end, and Kelsey shrieked as she stepped down the stairs into the cold water, her laughter ringing clear and joyous. Celia grinned and pulled off her sweater.

There was no room for diving, no still surface to disturb. León held her hand, his grip reassuring and warm, and together they leapt into the splashing and laughter.

The shock of chilly water faded quickly, and León stroked along by her through the deep end, following her to the side of the pool where they’d spent so many nights hanging on the edge, looking at the city.

The familiar yip-yip of coyotes sounded below in the chaparral, but the sparkling city lay distant and silent. León was right; this perch of a house wasn’t for her any longer. The city streets below called to her, cradling her Incubadora, full of art, where they lived in the heart of it.

A tickle along her cheekbone surprised her—León, tracing a finger down her skin, his touch as gentle as moonlight on water. She turned to him. His brown eyes held that focused heat that turned her insides to fire. His wet hair streamed back to his shoulders, one black curl plastered against his neck. That had always done electric things to her too.

“Aqua green with turquoise,” he murmured. His finger trailed across the bridge of her nose. “A highlight here in cerulean with titanium white.” He traced along her jaw, then down her neck. “Bronze and burnt sienna for your shadows. And—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Tranquilo,” she said.

He tucked a wet lock of her hair behind her ear, a content smile curling his lips, his wet body drawing closer to hers. “Eres tú, mi amor.”

It’s you.

“Eres tú,” she replied gently.

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