Page 20 of My End
Boone meant formality. Boone meant expectation. Boone meant… I had to leave this room.
“Think I could convince him to eat at a reasonable hour?” I muttered. “Like six-thirty?”
Adam shot me a sympathetic smile. “I’m all for fighting the power, but he signs my paychecks. You’re stuck with seven.”
I groaned. “Fine.”
Adam gave one last glance at the painting. “I’m telling you now that one’s going to sell for big bucks.”
I shook my head. “It’s not for sale.”
That stopped him. “What?”
“I said… it’s not for sale.”
Adam looked at me like I’d grown horns. “You’veneversaid that. Ever. You even sold that weird octopus-fireworks hybrid you painted last year.”
“That wasinterpretive.”
“That washorrifying.”
I smiled faintly and turned back to the painting. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Adam didn’t press. He just nodded slowly. “I guess there is.” He stepped back toward the door. “Holler if you need anything. Otherwise, your butt better be in the dining room at seven.”
I offered him a lazy salute and sipped from the coffee cup he’d brought me. “I’ll be there,” I mumbled.
I waited until the door clicked shut before I turned back to the canvas.
Boone being home always changed the house. The air felt heavier. Like everything had to be sharper, straighter, and more serious. Less color. Less joy.
The last time he’d brought a campaign strategist to dinner, she asked me to remove two of my paintings from the dining room because they were “visually disruptive.”
I remembered saying,Isn’t that the point?And she didn’t laugh.
But here in the studio?
This space stayed mine. This space stayed loud but soft and bold yet safe.
I moved back toward the painting and trailed my fingers lightly along the edge of the canvas. The eyes weren’t quite done yet. They needed another layer. More copper. More weight.
Jake’s face was still burned in my mind clearer than most of the portraits I’d spent weeks preparing.
I should’ve been concerned by how often I thought of him.
But honestly?
I wasn’t ready to face it.
And if that meant keeping my head down and painting like the rest of the world didn’t exist?
So be it.
I grabbed my brush and went back in.
Chapter Nine
Stretch
