Page 92 of Painting Celia

He took a deep breath. This was going to be hard.

•••

Celia huddled behind the tree, wide-eyed at León’s hot-tempered dramatics once she sent the text.

How could she go in now?

Kelsey seemed to be quieting him, speaking with soothing hand gestures. Thank god. He was calming down.

She could go in if Kelsey was there.

Veering behind the pool house, Celia shivered as she slipped through shadows up to the side gate. She would at least come in her own front door.

Seventeen

The first thing Celia saw when she walked in was Kelsey slipping out the back door and heading for a patio chair. What, now she decided to give them privacy?

It was too late to retreat. She walked through the long dark entry hall, dread thick in her throat, memories seeping from each closed door she passed. Studio. Craft room. Bedroom.

León hovered just inside the bright kitchen, hands shoved deep into his front pockets. She saw his deep inhalation when she rounded the corner, then he lowered his shoulders and exhaled.

“Hey,” he said softly, his dark eyes grave as he looked her up and down.

Celia tried to reply, but nothing came out.

“You look scared,” León said, his voice low. “It’s okay. Please don’t be scared.”

Sharp relief coursed through her, and her face crumpled. She covered it with her hands before he could see, but León was there before she knew it, collecting her into a rough embrace, his face buried in her hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he crooned as she wept. “I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have joked about it.”

“Oh, León,” she finally got out. He just held her, stroking her back, until she began to calm down. His warm body was a familiar comfort, his voice a soft rumbling against her. “I’m sorry I ran,” she finally mewled.

“It’s okay. We can talk about it. Tomorrow or whenever.”

“Now,” she said, face tight against his shoulder. “I want to talk now. I’ll just worry until we do.”

“Okay. Okay. Let’s sit down.” He walked her to the couch, guiding her to the nearest spot, then securing himself tight against her side.

•••

León’s anger melted at her first sob. Was this what she kept so tensely guarded all the time? He hadn’t known his stupid words could do this to her. He hadn’t meant a one.

She let him hold her close on the couch, tucked inside his arms but aimed her gaze steadfastly across the room.

“I’m sorry I ran,” she repeated, her nose red, cheeks glossy with tears. “I know I’m supposed to be honest and talk, but I panicked.”

Thank you, Kelsey. “I panicked and took off once before, remember? But we’re okay now.”

She swallowed, face turning down. But León saw that sink in, felt some tension leave her shoulders under his arm. He brushed some damp hair off her cheek.

“I’ve been worried,” she finally gulped. “Cooking, posing, it’s not important. I like it, but I’m afraid I shouldn’t.”

He rubbed her arm gently. She hadn’t said she forgave him, but she would. “What you do is important,” he insisted quietly.

She wiped her cheeks. “It’s not art. It doesn’t take talent. I’m more than a…a caretaker.”

He drew little circles on her shoulder with his fingertips, leaning his head against hers. “I shouldn’t have laughed about it, reinita.”

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