Page 72 of 12 Days of Mistletoe

“Okay, find a partner,” Joanie, the weekday activity director, says. “We’re not creating self-portraits this time. We’re creating a picture of our partner today!”

Joanie is great at her job. The best part was when she decided the seniors needed weekend activity options but didn’t want to work the weekend. That’s when they hired me on.

“Gran, I’ll be your?—”

“No,” May moans. “You’re Bonnie’s partner, of course.”

“That’s right, One-thirty, I’ve already claimed May for a partner.”

I might be seeing things, but I’m pretty sure May’s pale cheeks go pink as Bill says the word “claim.”

“Okay,” Joanie says at the head of the activity room. “Sit across from your partner. Make sure you have a good view of them.”

I help Joanie set up table easels, paints, and brushes for each table, with Noel following me about the room. She loves the attention from the old folks. I settle across from Elliot, Noel lying down at my feet, only to see that Elliot has already begun.

“Hey!” I complain with a laugh. “How can you start? I’m not even here.”

“It’s just the outline of your face.”

I lift one brow.

“I’ve got the shape of your face memorized.” He gives me a half grin.

And while he’s joking, my stomach still fills with butterflies. “Well, I don’t,” I say, playing it cool. “So sit still for one second.” I take a pencil and sketch an outline of Elliot’s face shape—the same exact outline I’d probably have drawn for any other person in this room. There are no details yet. And I’m not an artist. Nope, it’s just an oval waiting for eyes, nose, and a mouth.

We’ve been working for twenty minutes—Bill’s already given May eyes and a nose. And while it’s far from professional, I can see that it’s May.

I’m still attempting to get Elliot’s tan skin coloring right. I add a little pink to his cheeks and Bill chuckles, his eyes on my painting.

“What?” I say, holding back my grin. He’s right. It doesn’t look good.

“Never knew One-thirty was the blush-wearing type, that’s all.”

“Blush?” Elliot’s brows pull together. “I do not wear blush.”

“No,” I say. “But you naturally have a little color in your?—”

Both men stare at me and I decide it’s time to quit talking.

“I’m painting over it, okay?”

I dip into my mixture of apricot and tan and paint over Elliot’s blushing cheeks. I peek up at him as he’s studying his work.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I can’t—” He peers up at me, then back at his painting.

“Oh, heavens,” May says, her eyes going wide as she peers over at Elliot’s work.

“What?” I scoff, scanning from Elliot to his grandmother and back again. “What is it?”

“It’s just so large. Isn’t it?” May looks at me, then back to Elliot’s canvas. “Why so large?”

“Let me see,” I say, sliding my chair out from beneath the table. With two fingers, I instinctively tap my nose. There is nothing overly large on my face. I grew into my nose!

“No way. Not yet. It’s not time.” Elliot lifts his canvas and holds it close to his chest—any closer and he will imprint my face right on his black T-shirt.

“Fine.” I nibble on my lip and repress a laugh. It’s not as if I’m expecting theMona Lisa. I’m definitely not giving it. Who cares if he gave me a giant yellow squash for a nose?

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