Page 22 of Painted

That feeling was especially acute when they found Rhys exactly where they’d thought he would be. Just the feeling that they knew Rhys well enough to guess where he’d be sitting—on the stone bench right under his studio window, looking out across the brook and the hill beyond—only increased their feeling that today was a very good day.

“Early.” Rhys noticed them with a slight start before they could say anything.

They didn’t know what it was, something in the light or something in their gut, but they slowed down and walked the last few yards to the bench with what they hoped was seductive grace. Once they reached the bench, they sat playfully by Rhys’s side, nudging him with their hip.

Something was definitely inside out with the world if they were feeling flirty and actually doing something about it.

“You okay?” they asked, trying on a coquettish look as they tilted their head slightly and looked at Rhys with a warm smile.

There was no mistaking the quick intake of breath or the way Rhys’s large, masculine body tensed. Early didn’t think there was any possible way to misinterpret the way Rhys subconsciously nudged their knee with his own either.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, letting his stiff posture go and smiling at Early. “I just don’t like Flint is all.”

“Really,” Early said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t tell.”

Rhys huffed a laugh, then shook his head. “I’m not going to let anyone disrespect you in any way,” he said.

Flutters filled Early’s inside. “I know,” they said. “And you have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Daringly, they slipped a hand toward Rhys’s, grasping his much larger hand and twining their fingers together.

“You’re my rock, Rhys Hawthorne,” they said, keeping their voice low and sultry.

Well, what passed for sultry when they had no idea what they were actually doing.

Rhys’s smile grew, then he burst into gentle laughter. It made Early feel good, strong, instead of like they were being made fun of.

“You’re something else,” he said, also in a way that made Early feel good instead of bad.

That was taking things far enough, though. Early knew when to quit.

At least, they thought they did.

“Come on,” they said, standing and pulling Rhys up with them. “It’s time for class. Don’t you want to see me nakedagain?” They lowered their head a bit and glanced up at Rhys through their lashes.

Rhys breathed in, his eyes smoldering for a moment and color rising up his neck to his face before he blew the breath out.

“I guess I am,” he said, laughing again. That time, it felt forced, like he was trying to talk himself out of feeling other things.

Early didn’t push it as they walked around the house and headed inside, then down the hall to the painting studio. They liked the buzz of flirting, and as high on their own confidence as they felt, they didn’t want to mess things up.

Besides, they had the best weapon to flirt with built into the live model class.

“Alright, everyone, today we’re going to continue on where we left off with our work in the last class,” Rhys was in the middle of saying as Early stepped quietly out of the closet in nothing but a robe. “I’ll give you about twenty minutes to work on your initial sketches, then I’ll do a demonstration of how to do the underpainting for a nude model. If you just want to?—”

Rhys stopped mid-sentence as Early walked to the block in the middle of the circle of easels and let their robe drop. The lack of words from Rhys was as loud as if he’d catcalled, but Early fought to ignore it, to pretend they were ignoring Rhys entirely, as they retook the pose they’d settled in at the end of the last class so that everyone could resume their work.

“What’s this about what you want to do?” Violet asked with a cheeky wink for Early.

Rhys cleared his throat, turning pink again the way they had when they were outside. “You can go ahead and get started,” he recovered, though his voice was a bit hoarse. “I’m going to work on a sketch myself so that I can demonstrate for the rest of you, but if you need me for something, just let me know and I’ll come. Er, come over.”

A few of the other older ladies snorted. They weren’t fooled by any of it.

For some utterly astounding reason, Early didn’t mind. More than that, as they shook their head slightly so their hair fell down their back and around their shoulders like it had for the first class, they reveled in the sly jokes. For a change, the jokes weren’t cruel. They lifted them up, painted them as an object of desire. They liked that.

Posing for the second time was infinitely easier than the first class had been. It wasn’t a surprise, and they knew the class wouldn’t make fun of them or judge them. Better still, Rhys set up one of the spare easels directly in their line of sight, then sat down with his serious artist face and started sketching across the canvas fastened to the easel.

Rhys working meant Rhys looking at them. Intensely, intimately. Looking at all of them. Instead of feeling exposed and vulnerable, Early felt prouder than ever. They were having such a good day. They’d stood up to their father, been gracious with someone who disliked them on principle, and flirted with Rhys in a way that wasn’t embarrassing.

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