Page 40 of Painting Celia

“We weren’t arguing,” Celia said through tight lips.

“We were, too,” León replied. “Be honest.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

León exited the car as soon as it stopped at Celia’s, gave Trevor a wave that potentially meant thank you, then slammed the car door and stalked into the backyard.

As he closed the side gate, he heard Trevor, faint but clear. “Are you okay? Is this not going well?”

León stopped. What would she answer?

“I made him mad somehow,” she said. “I’m not learning fast enough, I think.”

“You don’t have to let him stay,” Trevor said. “He can always go back to Andrew.”

Oh no, he couldn’t! León reopened the gate, then froze.

Celia was out of the car, bending down to talk through the window. That knit dress hugged the backs of her thighs, and all he could see for a moment was that lovely line down her back, hugging the lush curve of her backside, then sneaking back low under her leg. It begged to be drawn.

His breath caught in his throat.

He turned at once, heart pounding, and stomped to the pool house before they saw him. Okay. Okay, maybe he had some inspiration going here.

Hell. He might want to paint Celia.

Eight

The firepit crackled and spit behind her, Celia’s shadow falling across the food table. Andrew, Trevor, and Kelsey chatted in their chairs, still eating. Andrew had refused to let her cook for her own birthday, bringing tamales from a place he knew. Kelsey brought cake. Trevor brought beer. Cooking was usually all she contributed. What was there to do now?

She fussed with napkins in the dark, then looked across the glowing pool to the pool house. Light shone dimly behind the lowered shades, but no shadows moved inside.

In her cardigan pocket, her phone dinged. The group chat. She pulled it out to read a text from Andrew telling León to come out. Okay.

“Celia, come sit down,” Kelsey called from behind her.

León had locked himself down after their fight. He’d pulled the shades and left the towel hanging on the pool house door, which was perfectly fine with her. Let him sulk. Celia hoped he was very happy, working on his art without the strain of trying to teach her.

She turned and drifted back to her friends. Kelsey had insisted she take the best chair, looking over the fire at the city view. She couldn’t lean back into the shadows in this one. Pulling her sweater cuffs down over her hands, she sat, exposed.

“What kind of music do you want, Celia?” Trevor was selecting a playlist on his phone. She shrugged.

“Relax, girl,” Andrew said, reaching to hand her a beer and a wrapped tamale. She held them in her lap, hoping the smile she gave him looked more genuine than it felt.

“I’m okay,” she said. She was! It was just harder to cram everything down lately. Dumb painter and his dumb lessons.

Kelsey slouched in her chair, curling her bare toes over the edge of the firepit brick, concentrating on balancing her ginger ale on her stomach. Trevor’s music started.

Celia almost missed the sound of the pool house door sliding open. Almost. Stock still, she looked covertly sideways to see.

León’s dark figure approached, briefly lit by the aqua pool lights as he passed it, then flaring into gilt as he came into the circle around the fire. He was in his smudged painting clothes, hair loose. His eyes raked Celia, then turned to Andrew.

“Hey,” he said. “I can’t stay.”

“Aw, come on, man,” Andrew complained. “I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“At least have some cake,” Kelsey said.

León’s brow knotted, and he turned to look at the food table. The decorated cake drew him closer. Then, bending to read the writing on it in the firelight, he snorted.

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