Page 90 of Painting Celia

A lone airplane appeared over the palm trees, its lights silently gliding over the basin. It flew steadily, despite the wind.

Celia raised her arms out to each side. What if she flew away too?

No. No! That was still just running.

Think! She could only go down or back to try again. She didn’t want to give up, but what could she do?

A low gust sent the pool behind her to lapping, the sound washing wide behind her.

I could tell people about it—I’ve been practicing. Kelsey. Andrew, when he’s not being flippant. Trevor.

León.

His name rang in her like a bell.

That infuriating intoxicating man, with his grand honesty and fancy art! He said he’d be nothing if he didn’t paint, but she was different. She’d find something else!

The cold faded, and her heart knocked harder.

He’d made her feel these things, the bastard. Incessantly! His surprising questions in bed at dawn. The honeyed harmony when their wondering eyes met. The electricity of his hands on her, gentle and tender or fierce and wild.

Warmth flooded up her skin. So, her body didn’t care about his treacherous jokes?

Look at me, feeling.

I will find my own way.

She stepped back, down, planting her feet on the flagstones.

A noise at the house made her jump, then melt into the shadow of a palm tree.

Kelsey and León came in the side gate and went in the back door. She could see everything inside, the white wall of windows like a movie screen. León stalked through the house, looking in doorways, then sat on the dimly lit couch, beaten. Celia’s heart melted as always, but she stayed where she was.

How could she explain this to him?

She was going to make some changes.

•••

León stared at his hands, stomach twisting. Was there anything to do but wait?

“I’ve sent her a lot of texts,” Kelsey said. “She knows we’re worried about her if she’s checking her phone.”

Who knew what kind of driver was in that car? She just jumped in! There was no record in any app about who she was or where. Would someone take advantage of that?

“León, she’s probably fine,” Kelsey consoled. “She probably decided to not come here yet because she knew we would.”

He hung his head, leaning forward. “Was what I said so bad?”

“I wasn’t there, I don’t know. Trevor said you made her sound like a slutty maid.”

“I didn’t!” León said. “I mean, technically, it could sound that way, but…she knows how grateful I am for what she does! Yeah, I could have kept my mouth shut about her painting. But she knows—”

“Hey, don’t keep telling me what she knows.” Kelsey sat on the other end of the couch.

León clenched his teeth, looking away. Celia’s kitchen island sat bare and tomblike. He’d never been in here without her being just a shout away.

He took a deep breath. “I respect what she does. I respect her. How could she not know that?”

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