Page 79 of Jewel of the Sea

“Don’t be. But now that you’re out here, are you hungry?” She motioned to the food set out on a piece of cloth on the floor and grinned sheepishly. “I attempted to cook fish again, and I didn’t burn it this time.”

Give her a broken arm, and she could set it with her eyes closed. Give her a piece of meat to cook, and she’d somehow reduce it to a lump of charcoal almost every time. It seemed such a simple skill to master, but competence in the kitchen had always eluded Aymee. Her mother had tried to teach her on many occasions, but those attempts always ended with Jeanette shooing Aymee out of the kitchen before the whole house went up in flames.

Aymee had ruined the first fish Arkon caught for them. By the time she was through, the outside of the meat was a charred, blackened mess, while the inside remained raw. Regardless, he’d eaten it with a smile and thanked her when he’d finished.

She’d loved him a little more at that moment.

“I am hungry, yes.” He released her and eased down beside the cloth, plucking up a piece of fish and slipping it into his mouth.

She returned to her spot on the floor, placing her back against the rail, and ate with him. When they finished the food, Arkon reached behind him with a tentacle and grabbed what he’d been carrying — one of the many sturdy plastic bins they’d found scattered throughout the base.

Aymee leaned forward, bracing herself on her hands. “What’s in there?”

“I wanted to make up for the time I have spent in that room,” he said. “Would you like to paint with me?” He tipped the bin toward her, revealing the brushes and jars of paint she’d given him.

She leapt up and threw her arms around him. He swayed with the force of her sudden embrace, and the jars rattled softly. She’d forgotten he had brought them. Aymee had never gone so long without an outlet for her creativity. “Yes!”

“I hoped you would sayyes, but I underestimated the enthusiasm you’d show.” He turned his face into her neck and kissed her.

Aymee laughed. “If we have to stare at these walls, we might as well make them easier on the eyes.” She pulled away, placed the jars on the floor, and carried the now-empty bin to the lower platform. “Where do you want to begin?” she called, leaning down to fill the bin with water.

“You are the artist, Aymee. I trust your judgment in the choice of canvas.”

She climbed the stairs slowly, doing her best not to slosh water everywhere, and set the bin down in front of the wall near the hallway. There’d been no murals painted here — it was a blank canvas, limited only by their imaginations.

“Bring those closer, please,” she said.

Using both hands and tentacles, he gathered up all the paint jars and brushes and carried them to her. She helped him arrange them on the floor.

“Have you used them yet?” she asked as she opened the lids.

“No. I wasn’t sure how. I would’ve asked you during one of our meetings...but obviously, other events did not allow that.”

“Here.” She held up a brush.

He accepted it, taking it awkwardly between forefinger and thumb.

“I hold it like this,” she said, reaching forward to adjust his grip on the brush. Heat stirred between her legs when her fingertip ran over one of the claws he’d bitten away. His pupils expanded as though he knew where her thoughts had gone. She cleared her throat. “If it’s not comfortable or the rest of your hand gets in the way, adjust your grip to whatever feels right.”

Arkon nodded. On the lower edge of Aymee’s vision, his tentacles shifted restlessly over the floor, narrowly avoiding the open paints. His eyes remained fixed on her, like she was all that existed for him.

Aymee smiled, closed the space between them, and kissed him. When she drew away, he nearly followed; he stopped himself by shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“We’ll have plenty of time for that later, Arkon.” Tempted as she was to toss the brushes aside and have his hands on her again, she hadn’t painted in days, and this was another first for him she could share in. Another lifelong memory to create.

“Let’s keep it simple for now,” she continued. “I know you have a talent for patterns, so we can work with that.” She gestured down at the paints. “There’s no wrong way. Just experiment.”

His eyes slid from side to side as he looked over the paints, and she could almost see the possibilities forming in his mind. He looked at her. “You are painting too, are you not?”

“Yes.” Picking up a brush, she dipped it into the green paint and turned to the wall. She began a simple base — a long stem with sprouting leaves. At the edge of her vision, Arkon jabbed his brush into one of the jars.

She laughed as he raised his hand; paint dripped from the tips of his fingers and covered most of the brush’s handle. “I guess I should’ve told you to only dip the bristles. You can rinse it all off in the water.”

His skin tinged violet while he moved to the bin, plunged his hand in, and scrubbed. The water clouded red.

“Can we say I was slightly over enthusiastic and forget this mishap?” He lifted his hand from the bin and shook off the excess water.

“Forget what?”

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