Page 32 of Love Is an Art
I surreptitiously text a photo to Miranda in case she has any tips. A five-year-old would do a better job. I sigh. I should have never agreed to this.
What am I doing?Now, instead of having fun flirting on my date, I’m telling him to leave so I can paint. When my painting is not going to look like anything spectacular anyway. My goal today was to get Zeke to like me, but instead, I’m focusing on creating some masterpiece. I’m an overly competitive idiot who is trying to make a credible piece of art, even though that’s impossible.
And I’m supposed to be figuring out his relationship with Jurgen. But Zeke grins at me, and all thoughts of Scammer Guy and the mission disappear. It’s embarrassing.
Whatever. I finish mine up. It is much worse than I expected. I frantically wave at an employee to tell her I’m done. Hopefully, she can remove it before Zeke sees it. I still don’t see Scammer Guy anywhere. My phone beeps.
Iris:I can’t make it. We have a cybersecurity incident. I’m sure someone will bid on your painting. It’s for a good cause.
My stomach clenches.No.
An employee with a shirt announcing that she works for the Dumbo Arts Center comes by and takes it. “Do you want to do another? We don’t have that many participants, and we have a lot of extra canvases.”
“No.” I wave at my canvas. “I don’t think I should be allowed to do another.”
“It’s for a good cause.” She gives me a pleading look.
I hate when people do that to me.
“Okay.” I pay another twenty dollars as Zeke returns. He hands me my water.
I drink it quickly.
“You’re done?” He motions to my painting, now being held arms-length away by the auction assistant, as if it’s contaminated.
I nod. Time to switch to Plan B and show him that lawyers can be fun.
“We’re doing this one together.” I grab an extra smock from the empty easel behind mine. “C’mon. Let’s go pick out some more colors and dab some dots on the canvas. It’ll be fun.” I give him that pleading look that worked on me.
He looks at me and chuckles. “Okay.”
I add a whole rainbow of colors to my palette, as does Zeke, and we return to our canvas.
“You go first,” I say. “You can’t mess it up. Dab it on.”
Zeke puts a big, black dot in the middle of the canvas. I add a pink circle next to it. He paints a green stripe next to that. I start to paint a red stripe, but someone knocks into me. A huge, zigzag line cuts across the canvas, intersecting the black dot.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” the guy who bumped me says.
“No, it looks great,” I say.
Zeke snorts.
We each take turns adding dots of paint.
“It looks like a Dalmatian gone wild,” I say.
Zeke laughs. “Should we name it that?”
“Yes. We should try a splatter technique,” I say. “Let’s see what happens when we shake the brush at it.”
Zeke shakes his brush. Nothing comes off it onto the canvas.
“Harder,” I say and demonstrate. Paint splatters the canvas and my smock. “It looks cool.”
This one is coming out so much better than my solo.
“You have paint on your nose,” he says. I look up at him. He reaches out with a napkin to wipe it away. I stand still. His touch is gentle, and he’s biting his lip as if he’s concentrating hard. He smells of soap. My heart flutters. He has such long lashes for a guy.
