Page 10 of Muzzled

Except the urgency.

She needed to bring life to the images which swirled inside her. Holding back brought nightmares, as though her mind was punishing her for silencing it. So, she didn’t. She allowed herself the freedom to speak through pictures, and she was lucky enough to make a living doing so.

“All original, all from up here,” she stated, pushing her bangs aside and tapping her forehead as she gave Ryan the watered-down version of her style. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, and probably pumped out a good four thousand pieces during that time, so usually themes like that collection you picked up were assembled over the course of nine or ten years.”

Signaling the server for another round of drinks, he poked at his meal and watched a street performer on a unicycle.

Ryan was a remarkably good-looking guy, lean and muscled under layers of black. The two different colors of his eyes were arresting, unique enough to draw her attention and intense enough to hold it. Tall and blond aside, he had a presence about him, a magnetic quality she couldn’t quite identify, making her aware of his every movement.

Not that there were many.

Even in her audience, something about him drew her attention. She’d noticed how still he could be for long stretches among the bustling and jostling of the crowd. People bumped into him, only to bump off without a flinch from him while he observed her hands moving across the canvas. Loudspeaker calls from the street performers drew no reactions, but his eyes were quick to track the eruption of a small scuffle that had broken out beside the coffee shop.

His quiet stilled her racing mind, and she found herself not hating it.

“So you don’t do commissioned work?” he asked, pulling her concentration back into the moment.

“I’ve tried,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “But although people know what they like, they don’t know how to express it.” She opened her photo app on her phone and flipped back through a photo album. “The request for this one was a mermaid on a rock, heavy on the blue tones, watercolor. This is what I did.”

He looked it over, shaking his head with a low whistle. “Stunning.”

Swiping to the next photo, she sat back and crossed her arms. “And this is what I ended up adding to make the customer happy. I didn’t even sign it.”

Amusement danced across his face before he schooled his expression and enlarged the image to zoom in on the plethora of birds and shells peppering the updated piece. “It’s still good,” he said slowly, zooming out again. “I mean, it’s busy, but the talent shines through the number of dolphins jumping out of the water.”

“Kind of you.” She smirked, putting her phone aside. “But that’s why I don’t do commission work. Because it always ends up looking like a teacher told me to ‘add more detail’ to burn up the last of class time.” When he laughed, she was struck silent for a moment, the fleeting sight of him appearing relaxed and happy speaking to something deep inside her. Deciding she rather liked seeing him smile, she stuck her fork into her fries. “Enough shop talk. What do you do?”

*

Ryan slipped hiscredit card back into his wallet, waving off Logan’s repeated thanks after the young guy reassured Mike he’d be home once the bars closed.

Adjusting the hem of her skirt, she set her purse on the table. “Thanks for dinner. I hope it wasn’t too big a waste of your time with my vagueness on your questions.”

Laying down a tip for their server, he shook his head. “It was more enlightening than you know,” he replied, offering his arm to help her to her feet. “If you aren’t too worn from the day, I’d love your company while I check out some of the other artists.” Again. And again.

He started to straighten the collar of his shirt, freezing when she reached over and did it for him. Her fingers ghosted across his skin, sending a buzz through him, which heated his blood and warmed his mind. Clearing his throat as he extricated himself from her, he backed away and shoved his hands in his pockets to conceal the unexpected—and disorienting—affect her touch had on him. “You could tell me who’s good and who isn’t.”

She laughed and stepped aside to allow a family to cut between them. “I won’t bash anyone,” she warned. “But I’d love to walk around here as a guest instead of as a display.”

Following her lead off the patio, he stayed a few steps back until they hit the street, pausing every time someone stopped her to ask about when she’d be back to work in the morning, whether she would do a piece for them, or what kind of deal she was willing to swing on multiple selections.

He paused a lot.

Mike took the questions in stride, accepting the compliments with grace while brushing off requests with abstract answers and noncommittal hums.

She was taller than average, her bright-red hair and black lipstick striking against her pale skin and making her easily recognizable in the crowd. Her stained jeans were gone. A black dress that looked professionally shredded clung to her figure and provided intriguing peeks of her back and thighs. Traces of her profession slashed across her hands and arms, the colors dancing along her slim fingers, looking more like intentional extensions of the ornate rings she wore than missed markings from her paints and pastels.

From the limited time he’d already spent with her, he knew she had a wry sense of humor and a bit of a bite in her personality. But when Logan wasn’t paying attention, she was watching him, monitoring how much he was eating and sliding her extras onto his plate. She’d slipped their server an extra twenty-dollar tip when they left. And while she hadn’t given him the information he was seeking, her answers to his questions had been thoughtful and honest.

She was nothing like Persephone, who catered her personality to whomever she wanted to please or impress. Seph would die at the feet of Zeus before being seen with paint on her skin or a hair out of place. She reveled in being dainty and delicate, a fragile goddess who required a guardian, while Mike gave him the impression she would run a sword through anyone who dared insinuate she needed help or protection. Ever.

So where did the sudden urge to stand between her and the swarms of people crowding them suddenly come from?

“Left or right?” she called over her shoulder, rising onto her toes to look over the audiences assembling on the sidewalk.

“Right,” he replied, blocking a large group from separating them. “Do you know many of the performers and artists?”

Stepping in tight to him, she led the way across the street. “Not the ones who stay local. But I know most of the others who follow the circuit. Before I took Logan on, I bunked with a lot of them to save on the short-term rentals we need in each city.”

---