Page 92 of Sack

Although she still didn’t want to talk about it—that would make her breakup with Colt feel real—she knew it was something she had to do to have any hope of getting over him. And starting that process was this week’s goal—if she ate any more ice cream, she wouldn’t fit into her jeans.

The Pacific Northwest College of Arts was only two blocks from her house, and since the weather was nice, Ivy walked. Having never taken an art class that didn’t involve a computer, she’d started with the basics, enrolling in a techniques and applications course. And even though they hadn’t done much yet but study terms, learn about the care and use of supplies, and experiment with their paints to get a feel for how the acrylic applies, blends, and dries, so far, she was loving it.

She jogged up the stairs to the third floor and entered room three-o-two. The canvases they’d prepared were set up on easels in three rows of five. Ivy found her spot, tossed her messenger bag to the floor, and took a seat on the stool in front of her blank canvas. Her homework assignment from the previous class had been to think about what she wanted to paint.

That had proved harder than she thought it would.

But after a week of internet browsing and Pinterest searches, she kept circling back to the same thing. A deserted football field in the dark of night, the bright stadium lights shining on the turf.

She didn’t know why.

Well, she knew why she chose the subject, but she could only guess as to why she wanted to paint the field deserted.

Oh, she was sure some psychologist or therapist would have a field day—no pun intended—supplying her with that answer, but her layman’s theory would have to suffice. An empty field meant no football.

Who would have thought painting could be so therapeutic?

Cassie, one of her classmates, took a seat at the easel next to hers. Blond, blue-eyed, and bubbly, she was the perfect foil to Ivy’s bleak mood.

“I’m so excited we get to start painting today.” Cassie shifted through her supplies.

Unlike Ivy who only planned to take a few classes to supplement her hobby, Cassie was there to get her degree. She wanted to be an artist. A real one. With paintings in a gallery and the whole nine yards.

Cassie reached into her bag and pulled out a pencil case. “Do you know what you’re going to paint?”

The subject matter too personal, Ivy didn’t want to share. “I’m not one-hundred percent sure yet,” she hedged. “I thought I’d play it by ear.”

Cassie nodded. “Let inspiration guide you. I like it.”

“Do you know what you’re painting?”

Ivy half-listened as Cassie rattled on about a meadow full of flowers and all the different colors she wanted to use, filling the time until their teacher arrived.

All heads turned when Mr. Anderson walked into the room. And not just because he arrived. If Ivy wasn’t still hung up on Colt, she’d be as googly-eyed as the rest of the women in the room, too. Longish, brown, shaggy hair that curled at the ends, lanky build but with defined muscles, and chiseled features with big, brown eyes, he was the epitome of a sexy, starving artist. He smiled at the class and Ivy didn’t think she was imagining the collective sigh she heard from all the women—and quite possibly a few of the men.

“Good morning. Is everyone ready to start drawing?”

There were a few yeses and yeahs. Some guy in the back shouted,no, which caused a round of laughter.

“Well, if everyone’s ready, except Mr. Fairbanks,” that had everyone laughing again, “let’s get started.”

Ivy leaned down and nabbed her bag from the floor then scrounged around the bottom for a pencil. She didn’t have a handy case like Cassie and decided the art supply store would be her first stop after class.

She stared at the seemingly endless stretch of white canvas, not sure where to start. She discreetly eyed her neighbor as Cassie used broad strokes, outlining the basics. Ivy would start with that.

She drew the field and the stands and was working on the intricate workings of the large, overhead lights when she felt a presence at her back.

“You’re adding too many details and that will make it hard to fill in when it comes time to paint.” Mr. Anderson’s head came alongside hers. “You don’t want it to look like a paint-by-numbers.” He smiled to take away the sting of his words.

If she wasn’t still hurting, she’d think he had a nice smile. She also got a whiff of minty freshness when he talked. Ivy gave him a close-lipped smile in return. She was ninety-nine percent sure she had coffee breath.

“Pencil in a suggestion of the picture and use your imagination for the rest. Leave room for the paint to give you your shadows. Understand?”

At her nod, he gave her another really nice smile and made his way back to the front of the class. “Every sketch needs to be signed off by me before you start painting. I don’t want to see any of you reaching for your acrylics until then… That goes for you too, Mr. Lopez.” There were a few titters and the room went silent again.

The hour flew by. Ivy got her sketch finished and approved. She was excited to start painting it, but that would need to wait until the next class.

“I’ll see you next week.” Cassie jumped up from her seat and hurried for the door.

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