Page 30 of Painting Celia

“I will have a great time. Goodbye!”

Celia ended the call, breathing hard, then turned wild eyes back to him.

“What are you feeling right now?” he asked, elated for her.

She scanned the room, round eyes searching as she ignored his question.

Maybe now wasn’t the time. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were on the phone. I just got excited.”

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, her hands clenching tight. Her face drained of expression, going wooden.

Ah, that was too bad.

“I should get some cleaning done,” she said.

He nodded, seeing the familiar blankness solidify its hold on her.

“I’ve got laundry, I think,” she said. Her eyes were shuttered, shoulders as tense as he’d ever seen. “Do you have any clothes you’d like washed?”

Really? One distracting phone call and she was back to her poker face? Teaching her to paint was going to be a slog, worse than he thought. He didn’t have time to break through all that armor.

“No, I’m good,” he said. “See you in a few days, I guess.”

He left her standing where she was.

Six

She was cooking again.

León tried to avoid watching Celia across the backyard but often forgot. The pool house was dimly lit compared to that blazing white house of hers, his little glass box dwarfed by the wall of windows across her space. His eyes were naturally drawn there. At night, he could see her walking about, rarely still. She spent hours standing at that stove, chopping and stirring.

She was in pale sweats and a T-shirt tonight, her hair pulled back. Maybe she was getting more comfortable about him being out here. It was probably weird to have him in line of sight. Not that he was looking!

He was thinking about a painting. Yes. A satin nocturne in night-washed greens, tropical shapes lurking, the leaves backlit by a jewel box of brilliant…gleaming…nope. This wasn’t true inspiration. He was just looking up at the house instead of his canvas, avoiding work.

He’d holed up in the pool house for three days straight, painting yet another storyless mess of colors. At this rate, he’d have exactly zero good paintings for the exhibit. Way to start a career on a new coast, showing work you don’t believe in!

He was going to have to emerge for food soon. Andrew and the rest were coming tomorrow night, but León had finished the last of his cold pizza this morning.

Maybe it would save time if he went up to the house real quick? She’d offered food before. What was Celia cooking?

“Want some squash curry?” she asked when he knocked on the back door. He wasn’t sure until the fragrance hit him.

“Oh my god!” The whole house smelled of roasted spices and tangy sweetness. “I absolutely want some.”

Her shy smile as she ladled him a small bowl was nice to see, though she kept her face down. She’d been cleaning, he saw now. The knees of her sweats were dirty. How? There wasn’t a smudge in the whole place, let alone actual dirt.

He offered to take the food back to the pool house, but she served him at the kitchen island and began asking questions as though he were a guest. Did he need towels? Should she turn off the pool lighting at dusk? Was he warm enough?

He agreed to take more bedding after admitting the mornings could be chilly. He scraped up the last of his curry, spicy and sweet and savory, as she went to collect blankets. Jumping down and following partway, he stopped at the hallway entrance, glancing into the dim craft room.

Hey, she’d been practicing.

Quite a few canvas boards sat in the shadows, all with a red vertical line in the middle. Celia, with varied colors coalescing around her. What feelings had she been trying to paint? There was a lot of yellow.

A few had a solid black shape at the top, a horizontal line, an arch above, and bars connecting them. A bridge. Looked like someone had an idea!

She emerged into the bright hall again, nearly hidden behind an armful of striped blankets, then stopped as she saw him looking into the craft room. He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

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