Page 37 of The Version You Hide

I worked most of the day at the tavern, but other than Harper dropping in to say a quick hello, my shift had been uneventful. Dylan was meant to work too, but he hadn’t been there. In fact, I haven’t seen him since that weird encounter with his parents on Tuesday. I assume he must be taking on those extra afternoon shifts he mentioned on the dive boat.

I’m noticing more often when he isn’t around and that’s weird for me. It’s almost like work is better when he’s there. I’m not familiar with this feeling. Of depending on someone else to make my day better.

“That’s beautiful.”

I’m startled, suddenly aware of the presence on the bench next to me. I swivel my head in the direction of the voice, stunned to see who it has come from. It’s the woman that watched me from the pier the day I went for my morning jog. The same one from the windows of the tavern yesterday. The woman from my sketch.

“The drawing. It’s beautiful,” she repeats.

The fact that she’s suddenly sitting beside me should freak me out. Her behaviour seems stalkerish if anything, but I suppose it could be pure coincidence that I’ve now seen her multiple times.

I contemplate confronting her about it, asking her what her deal is and whether she’s been following me, but there’s something about her demeanour that stops me. Just like the first time I saw her on the pier, I sense a sadness surrounding this woman. An air of longing.

Being so distrustful of every person I meet is a quality I’m beginning to like less and less about myself. I don’t want to be so quick to judge this woman. God knows I know what it feels like to be taken at face value.

So instead of throwing out some sarcastic snide comment I choose to appreciate her compliment.

“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t normally use colour, so I didn’t know if it was going to work out.”

She smiles, her light eyes twinkling in the golden glow of the sunset. “It’s very good. Especially if that’s your first attempt. Do you paint too?”

“Not really,” I answer, but then I think of the supplies that Pamela had offered me. They’re still sitting untouched in the corner of my room but after experimenting with coloured pencils, I suddenly can’t wait to dip into the paints. “I’m going to give it a try though.”

“You should. I bet you have a natural talent.” I’m not sure where she’s gathered this assumption from. She shifts closer to me on the bench and begins pointing to various parts of my drawing. “If you add some shadow to the sides of the water here, it will really emphasise the light reflecting from the sunset here in the middle.”

I tilt my head on an angle, contemplating her suggestion. She’s right, I realise. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“And if you deepen the hue of the storm clouds over here, the oranges and yellows in the middle will really pop.”

I turn my head, watching as she examines my drawing, fascinated by her observation. This woman clearly knows what she’s talking about. “Are you an artist?”

“I am,” she nods, lifting her blue eyes to mine. “I run art classes from a studio a few towns over. In Seabright Cove.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” I say.

Her smile radiates a certain warmth, and I can’t help but think about how comfortable I am in her presence, despite the strange circumstances under which we’ve met.

“You should come down and check it out,” she offers. “We do all kinds of things there.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, not sure whether I should entertain this idea. “I don’t know if I’d be able to.”

“Oh,” she says. A veil of disappointment falls over her for a moment before she straightens herself, a glint of hope entering her gaze. “The first two lessons are free. It’s a promotion that I’m running at the moment.”

For whatever reason, she’s being awfully persistent.

“Oh, okay. I guess I could think about it.”

I say this only to be polite. I don’t have any intention of taking up her classes, but I don’t want to break what seems to be an already fragile spirit.

She nods, looking ahead to the waves. “Sure. Well, it’s on Palmwood Drive if you decide you’d like to come. It’s called the Abstract Palette. Here’s one of our cards.”

She holds out a pink and yellow business card to me and I take it, flipping it over in my palm. “Cool name.”

“Thanks,” she says, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Well, it was lovely talking to you.”

Before I can say anything else, she’s standing up, smoothing her dress with the palms of her hands, and readying herself to walk away.

I pluck out the indigo pencil and begin adding depth to edges of the water as she had recommended. The conversation between us replays in my mind. I keep seeing the gutted look of rejection she’d given me when I’d turned down her offer to come to her studio. I try to remember if I’d been harsh in my answer, but I can’t think of any particular reason that she should be offended. I’m sure I hadn’t been rude.

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