Page 52 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

“Which one do you want to do?”

I frown at him, but he just motions to the paintings on the walls.

“I don’t-”

“I rented out the studio.” Is that pink tingeing his cheeks?

I’m so focused on the fact that he’s blushing that it takes me a moment to realize what he said. I can barely get out a sound. My mouth opens and closes. Then opens and closes again. When it’s clear I’m unable to form a coherent thought, Brody speaks.

“I wanted to-” he breaks off, muttering something I can’t understand while rubbing the back of his neck and looking down.

“Brody, this is sweet.” NowI’mblushing. Fuck.

His eyes flick to mine, searching my face for any sign of sarcasm or ridicule.

“It’s ok?” he croaks.

“It’s sweet.” I nod and grin. “Let’s have some fun.”

A smile spreads across his face and he motions toward the desk so that I can lead the way.

“Good evening, Mr. Torrence,” says the short redhead behind the counter. Her eyes move from my very tall companion to me and her smile remains warm.

“I’m Sophie.”

“Welcome to Paint and Pinot. My name is Tilly. What can I get you to drink?”

“Yeah, you’re definitely not a painter,” Brody snickers, glancing over as I finish the last stroke on my painting. Hues of blue bring a lake to life, surrounded by a rainbow-colored meadow.

I nudge him with my elbow.

“You’re one to talk.” I nod at his painting with raised eyebrows. “Are those trees or some kind of monster?”

“Hey, I thought this was pretty good!”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” I laugh. “Just a little, er-” I grimace.

Brody’s eyes are sparkling while he watches me drop the brush into the cup of very dirty water.

“You’ll be able to pick these up tomorrow,” Tilly says. She takes the paintings and sets them on a cart next to the counter where she poured our wine. “They need time to dry.”

“Thank you so much.” I stand and head to the sink at the back to wash my hands before undoing my apron.

Brody imitates me and we hang our aprons on the wall.

“Thanks again, Tilly,” he says with a grin. “I’ll be back for the paintings tomorrow.”

“Are you going to hold mine hostage until I see you again?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe.” He shrugs and opens the door for me. “Are you up for some dinner?” The door closes behind us and we’re out in the LA heat. The sun is still well above the horizon, so there won’t be a break from it for a couple more hours.

“I could be convinced.”

“There’s a little cafe just down the street. It’s nothing special, but it’s good.”

“Lead the way.”

We walk without touching intentionally, but his fingers brush mine on occasion. Those sparks return, shooting up my arm and down to my core, with every graze.

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