Page 8 of Protected By the Surly Carpenter

My hand reaches out to squeeze his knee, and I love the way the corner of his lips turns up at the gesture. “Cool! I’ve read about those. They sound like a lot of fun.”

“But what if you can’t paint?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow at me. “Aren’t you just going to feel uncomfortable?”

“The point isn’t necessarily to turn out a fantastic painting, it’s to try something different.” We turn a corner, and a beautiful restaurant with lanterns all around the huge, covered patiocomes into view. “Nobody is really good at anything the very first time. It’s about figuring out if you enjoy the process, right?”

Clark shrugs. “I guess so.” He parks right in front, then comes around to help me out of the truck. I’m sure he knows I could manage by myself, but it feels like he wants to use every excuse to put his hands around my waist and hold me close, and honestly, I’m totally okay with that. “Think about what you’re hungry for. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Oh, I know what I’m hungry for.

He snaps down the back of the truck bed and leaps up with surprising grace. In just a few moments, he has the dozen or so easels unwrapped and leaning against the side of the building.

“Did you by chance build this patio? It’s even bigger than Jim’s.”

There’s a twinkle in his eye as he not-so-accidentally brushes his hand across my hip on his way back to the truck. “You recognize my workmanship, or the corner finials?”

“Both.”

He folds up the blankets, then closes up the truck. I wander over to the front window of the bistro, where there’s a bright pink poster describing the painting night. When I turn to Clark, he’s already right beside me. “It looks like all of the supplies are provided, and there’s even snacks. Why don’t we just eat here?”

His face is completely unreadable.

“Unless you had your heart set on something else,” I add hastily. “If you were thinking something fancier, or maybe you’re really hungry and are craving steak. Honestly, I’m fine with whatever?—”

His finger lands on my lips, quickly replaced by his thumb as he strokes gently across my skin, sending deep shivers through my entire body. “Elena, as long as you feel sufficiently fed, I’m fine with anything. I was just thinking that you wouldn’t want to get paint all over that pretty top. But we can fix that.”

He goes back to the truck to grab my purse for me and snags a light blue button-down shirt from the back seat while he’s at it. “Will this do for one of those…you know…bib things?”

I giggle. “You mean a painter’s smock?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” I love that now that the ice is broken between us, he laughs much more easily.

Betty is a brash rockabilly type lady, sporting bright makeup and her hair up in a fancy twist with a leopard print ribbon. She’s thrilled that we’re joining them and sets us up in the back corner with a platter of appetizers. We take a good look at the sample photograph. It’s of a long swath of forest, a cottage tucked into the woods, and a field of wildflowers in front. It’s a great choice, since it can be done as detailed or as impressionistic as you like.

We pick our main colors and get our workspaces organized. I love how meticulous Clark is, making sure we have plenty of water buckets, and the right kind of brushes. I pull on his shirt, which is practically a dress on me.

“One sec.” He stares deep into my eyes as he fastens the top two buttons for me. There’s a naughty gleam in his eyes, then his lips brush my ear. “Am I a bad man to want these gorgeous curves covered up when we’re around anyone else?”

A deep shudder goes through me. It feels like Clark wants…well, a lot more than a few dates and a “let’s see what happens.” It feels like he already knows we belong together or something. It’s more than just lust, although that is definitely surging through my veins.

It’s too fast. Too much. But I love it.

“Maybe.”

He kisses the tip of my nose to break the tension, then rolls up the shirt sleeves for me, his hands so gentle every time he touches me. I revel in this sexy, almost shimmery feeling that comes over me whenever we’re so close together. I wonder…does he feel it too?

We angle our easels back-to-back so that we can’t see each other’s work. Then we chat about everything under the sun for over an hour and a half, really getting to know each other.

At first, Clark peppers me with questions, wanting to know every single detail of who I am and what I do. Eventually he starts answering questions as well, sharing that he’s fascinated with architecture, but never got into it. Apparently he knows all the local lumberjacks and foresters, so he can get the best wood for his projects. It sounds like a borderline obsession with him, finding the right wood textures for the right pieces.

It also sounds like Clark goes above and beyond for his customers. They can select a piece from his website, but he will come into their home and measure if they need it customized. He delivers almost every piece himself. And everything is guaranteed for fifteen years.

The more he opens up, the more I like him. He’s steady. There’s a stillness in him that runs deep. I’ve always dreamed of having a quiet life someday, when I get the current disaster of my circumstances sorted out. Am I the kind of girl who falls hopelessly for the first man she dates?

Apparently so.

At the end of the night, everyone walks around and looks at each other’s paintings. Clark finds something complimentary to say about every single person’s work, whether it’s the use of color, or the mood they’ve captured.

Finally, we stand in front of my canvas. I chose to focus on the garden part of the sample photo, using multiple swirls and dots of paint through the flowers to make it soft and abstract.

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