Page 52 of Painting Celia

Still. Andrew really ought to be past tense by now. They’d been lazy about it.

“Yeah,” she said. “Hey, about that.”

He raised his eyebrows, then tilted his head and sighed. He knew her well.

“I think it’s time to pull the plug on this, Andrew. I like it!” she hastened to say as he opened his mouth to speak. “I just think we’re not moving onto new things because we’re okay with the old ones.”

He sat down at the island, not arguing. He’d looked more surprised when she agreed last night. “You have a new thing in mind?” he asked.

“Not really. Not yet. But I will one day.”

He pushed around the salt and pepper shakers, pouting a little.

She reached out to touch the photo from Trevor, still sitting on the counter. “I think you do, though.”

“I do?” He looked up and noticed her hand on the frame. His eyes got serious very quickly. “Oh.”

“Maybe you two…?”

He fiddled with the salt, not looking at her. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to find out if you can stay here when you’re lonely.”

His mouth quirked into a crooked smile. “Oh, I can do both.”

She smiled back. “I can’t.”

“So, there is someone?” he asked.

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“León?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Just because he’s staying out there?”

“His face just now,” Andrew asserted. “When he gets all poker-faced, he’s hiding something. He hasn’t made any moves?”

She instantly flashed back on León last night, one fingertip tracing her skin, murmuring ‘beautiful.’ She felt her face flame.

“He did!” Andrew said. “I didn’t know. He told me last night he wasn’t interested in you. I wouldn’t have asked to stay if he’d said otherwise.”

Celia looked at him, stricken. “I’m posing for him, that’s all.”

“We’ll see.” He sighed. “I figured this was coming, but not because of León.” He touched his sculpture, then looked back at Celia. “I’ll skip breakfast if that’s okay with you. But I’m going to check with León on the way out. Make sure we’re cool.”

“Don’t say anything, please,” she urged. “About me, I mean.”

“I’ll just check that he and I are good,” he said. “I’ll leave anything else to you.”

He went to put his shirt on, wrapped his sculpture carefully, and hefted his bag. Then, with one last kiss, a little wistful, he was out.

•••

“Hey,” Andrew called as he opened the pool house door.

León huffed quietly. He stood near the southern windows, frowning at a canvas but not painting. Andrew came to look too. The paint was wet and incomplete, but base layers of blues and greens and purples showed the direction it would take. A bold black line curled up, across the colors.

Andrew looked carefully. “You’ve seen her doing her night swimming thing.”

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