Page 57 of Painting Celia

“And you’re always glaring at me like I’m doing something wrong!” She put her hands on her hips, leaning forward at him. “I can learn if you ask questions nicely like you did at first. You’re not the boss of every conversation. You want me to pose? Then stop being so…so inconsiderate!”

She stomped out, trying to slam the sliding glass door, but it caught in the frame as she hauled too hard. With an exasperated huff she left it open and stalked away.

León stared in shock, then burst out laughing. She was expressing herself now!

He held his stomach, howling as she climbed the grassy slope, those swaying pink underwear a perfect punchline. She failed to slam the slider to her house too, and her indignant squeak doubled him over. A moment later, as he convulsed, a door slammed from inside, loud enough that he could hear it. She’d found one that made noise!

He wiped his eyes, gasping. Jesus, he’d needed that laugh.

He sighed deeply. It actually wasn’t funny at all. Just the sight of her trying to slam the door in her underwear, it had been too much. All the emotional ups and downs and lack of sleep had to come out somehow. He shook his head, kicking at her sweatpants on his floor, then walked over to his painting. He was going to have to apologize much better this time. He sort of wanted to paint her mad, though.

Okay. Okay, Tranquilo. Think.

She wasn’t wrong. He’d been acting high-handed. He liked that she wasn’t going to let him push her around. He hadn’t intended to test her limits, but if he was being honest, he’d done it anyway.

And as long as he was being honest with himself—which he clearly needed to do—he had to face something else. This wasn’t just about painting, and he wasn’t glad she was with Andrew. That was straight bullshit.

When he saw her swimming last night, he’d been thinking of a painting, but not this morning. Today, he’d been irritated because what he wanted was to join her on those damn blankets.

That, he’d be keeping to himself.

He couldn’t paint more until tonight, so filled the crawling time with fantastic plans for the ‘Celia’ series in his head. He’d already started her in blues. An angry depiction in reds seemed inevitable now. The obvious continuation was a rainbow of paintings. Yellow submission, her face turned up to him like a sunflower. A blithely nude Celia dancing in a field of green grass, maybe. Celia in orange, reclining in dawn light with that gleaming stripe down her leg. Purple, Celia draped in shadowed and moody shades of dusk. The stories would reveal themselves as they painted.

By sunset, his eagerness was unbearable. He paced the pool house, thumbs tapping against his thighs, but Celia didn’t come out. She didn’t answer his texts either. This apology would have to be stepped up.

He dressed in his nicest clothes, realizing again that he needed some actual nice clothes. He picked flowers from her yard and knocked on her sliding glass door.

She came into view, dressed again in gray. She looked at him blankly, then turned to walk back into her bedroom.

Fine.

He pulled up a chair next to the glass, sat down, and waited.

Eleven

Celia was done talking to that infuriating man. At least for today. Maybe tomorrow too.

His appearance at her back door, dressed in his blazer and carrying flowers, was preposterous. How many apologies must she accept in one day?

She retreated to her room to read. When León knocked again after a few pages, she started a loud playlist on her phone.

He’d give up. Not talking was her damn specialty.

The chapter’s end blindly reached, she peeked to make sure he’d left. Still there! He’d turned the chair to watch the dying sunset, the bright lights of her living room illuminating his dark hair, curling up at the ends against his shoulders.

He wasn’t getting the message. Celia marched over to knock on the glass. The quick turn of his head sent his hair flying.

“What are you doing?” she asked through the glass.

“I’m here to apologize.” He held up the flowers.

“You did that this morning. I’m not talking to you again today.”

He raised his chin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She turned on her heel and returned to her room, heart pounding.

He could sit there all night if he wanted. She had her book and her phone. She’d fall asleep comfortably, and he could sit and think about what an ass he’d been. It was nothing to her.

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