Painting Kisses

by Melanie Jacobson

  “Lia? You here?” Tom snapped his fingers, and I blinked. “You keep doing that—disappearing. I realize this isn’t the most intellectually stimulating job you could be doing, but you still gotta use at least half your brain for it.”

  I winced. “Sorry. I’ll focus.”

  “You better, or I’m not putting extra bacon in your lunch scramble.”

  I widened my eyes. “That’s distressing. Beyond distressing.”

  “Then pay attention.”

  I scooped up a plate of hash browns and hot cakes for Flannel Guy, who had earned his name by wearing the same red shirt every Tuesday and Thursday when he stopped in. It always looked clean, so I didn’t want to judge, but every time he came in, I had to fight the urge to ask him if it was his only red flannel or if he’d bought a bunch of the same one. My dad used to do that with shirts he liked. He’d buy one of every color, but maybe Flannel Guy was taking it to the next level.

  The diner’s door opened to admit a scruffy snowboarder. Even in the off-season, you could almost always peg them by their shaggy hair. He stood blinking at everyone inside like we were a Rubik’s Cube he’d been handed but didn’t know what came next. I stopped short when I saw the brown paper package tied with twine in his hand. “Is that for me?”

  “You Lia?”

  “Yeah.”

  He thrust it at me and turned back toward the door.

  “Wait. Who asked you to bring me this?”

  “Some mom lady said she’d give me ten bucks if I walked it in here.”

  “Do you know her name or anything?”

  “Nah. It didn’t look like it could be anything too illegal so I took the ten bucks, and she drove off.”

  “Thanks.” I let him go without any more questions. I doubted he could tell me anything that would dig up clues about who was behind the gifts, but from the feel of the contents through the paper, I didn’t need any. It had to be Griff.

  “Well, open it up,” Mr. Benny said, his voice gruff. “Might as well get it over with so you can go back to pouring coffee.”

  I narrowed my eyes, but Tom waved his spatula at me in warning, and I walked back to the grill to join him.

  “What is it this time?” he asked.

  I untied the string, answering before I even had the paper off. “Paintbrushes.” Sure enough, the fibers were sable, the best watercolor brushes on the market.

  “Well?” Mr. Benny demanded through the pass-through. “What was it?”

  “Paintbrushes.” I set them down and walked back out with a fresh pot of coffee.

  “Paintbrushes? No wonder you don’t sound too excited,” he said as he eyed his cup and watched it fill. “Who sent them to you?”

  “There’s no note,” Tom said. “Our Lia here has a secret admirer.”

  My cheeks heated as a few catcalls sounded from the other diners. “Shut up, all of you.”

  They didn’t. Of course.

  “What kind of admirer is that?” Mr. Benny demanded. “Everyone knows you’re supposed to send flowers.”

  “He kind of did,” I said under my breath, thinking about the flower guide Chloe had taken over. She’d made Dani promise to buy her the seeds for at least ten different varieties so far. But all that got lost in the weirdness of thinking about Mr. Benny even being on the ball enough to think about sending flowers to a lady. I eyed his wedding ring and wondered not for the first time who had gotten stuck with its match.

  “Why would someone send you paintbrushes?” Tom asked. “Is it a clue? Are you supposed to add up all the stuff you get and come up with some kind of message or something? What’s a flower book plus paintbrushes mean?”

  “Isn’t there a flower called a paintbrush?” Red Hat asked. “Maybe it’s got something to do with them.”

  “Those are Indian paintbrushes, and no, that’s not it,” I said.

  Mr. Benny snorted. “Idiots. She’s a painter.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “How’d you know that?”

  Tom looked at me in surprise. “You are? Yeah, Mr. Benny. How’d you know that?”

  “She smells like linseed oil, and she’s got paint under her fingernails.”

  He was right. I’d gotten up early to mess with the canvas I’d bought the night before. I’d only meant to position it, but I’d snatched up a tube of burnt sienna before I thought too hard about it, and suddenly, an hour later, I’d been late for work and rubbing at my hands like crazy with baby oil, then soap and water to get the paint off of them. I stared down at the spots I’d missed in my rush and wondered how he knew what linseed oil smelled like.

  I topped off his coffee and moved on to the other customers, ignoring some ribbing from a few of the guys.

  “How come you don’t look happy about your presents?” one of them asked. “Are you a diamonds-and-fur kind of girl?”

  Tom scoffed loudly from the back. “No. Mind your business.”

  I was glad he said it since my tongue had frozen. The customer grinned and went back to his biscuits and gravy.

  I wasn’t happy about the brushes at all. They were incredibly expensive for someone already trying to swing a mortgage on a pricey resort-adjacent condo like Griff’s. I had no idea how much money he made; managing a nice restaurant had bought him nice skis but only an older SUV to put them on. And if I was wrong and he could afford an impulse buy like the brushes, he still shouldn’t have dropped this kind of cash on me, especially since I was switching to oils and needed different brushes. It doubled my guilt that I couldn’t even put them to good use. I’d take one of his private concerts over this any day.

  And yet . . . there was something sweet about the idea of Griff walking into McGill’s and asking for the best paintbrushes they had. It was incredibly thoughtful. I wished I were more certain on the protocol for showing my appreciation. If he didn’t want me to know it was him, how was I supposed to thank him? Or did he want me to guess it was him?

  I’d have to ask Dani. Somewhere in her dating past, there must have been a shy guy or two she could use to explain to me how to handle Griff. Leaving a “thank you” unspoken kept the words sitting heavy on my tongue, but I didn’t want to scare him away either. I didn’t know when I had begun looking forward to hearing his glass door slide open, but it was becoming the best part of my day when it happened. There was an easiness about him, about being around him, and I didn’t want to mess it up.

  By the time I got home and tag-teamed Dani on her way out the door, I’d decided to thank Griff without actual words, an actions-speak-louder kind of strategy. I scooped Chloe up into a hug, and after negotiating which princess dress she would wear, we headed to the grocery store for supplies. Two hours later, we had sugar cookies in star and daisy shapes, and Chloe was outside traumatizing them with food glitter while I studied the watercolor I’d done at Pine Peak.

  Griff’s door slid open, and I looked up and smiled, glad he was actually home so we wouldn’t have to leave the cookies on his deck with a note.

  “We make you cookies, Gwiff!” Chloe said before I could say hi.

  His eyes brightened. “I love cookies.”

  “I make them sparkle kind,” she said, holding a star up by the corner. It broke and fell to the ground. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled off her chair to pick it up and dust it off. After peering at it closely, she plucked off a stray piece of grass and bit that part out before handing the rest of it to Griff. “I eat the dirty part.”

  I snagged it before he could take it and try to figure out what to do with it. “It’s okay. We have plenty of others.”

  He looked worried. “But are those the sparkle kind too? Because those are the best ones.”

  Chloe grabbed two more glitter disasters and brought them to him. “No bites,” she said. “I not drop them.”

  He accepted them. “Still warm? This is how it’s going to be in heaven.” And he ate the first cookie in ten seconds flat. “Delicious. It tasted as good as it looked. Chloe, you think you could come cook a
t the restaurant for me? The chef doesn’t make cookies.”

  Chloe tilted her head as if the decision weighed on her so heavily she couldn’t keep her head upright. “No,” she said. “I’m not a grown-up. Maybe Aunt Wia will go.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “Aunt Lia? You going to come bake cookies at the lodge?”

  I shook my head. “So sorry. Without Chloe’s glitter magic, these are regular old Pillsbury knock-offs.”

  “Bye!” Chloe said before clambering down the steps to the yard.

  “Butterfly?” he asked.

  “Butterfly,” I agreed as I watched her jump and dive.

  “So what did I do to deserve cookies?” he asked, and a faint knowing flickered through his eyes before he schooled his face into an inquisitive expression.

  “Oh, you know.” I would see where that got us. An admission, maybe? It would be much easier to take a cue from that.

  “Why don’t you tell me?”

  Was that a dare? Or was he trying to figure out if his cover was blown? I wanted to say, “For the book and the brushes,” but only the thought that it might not be him stopped me. That would be supremely embarrassing. I decided on the safe route. “We’re giving them to you on account of general awesomeness.”

  “I accept. But now I should earn them. I got something for Chloe. You mind if I give these to her?” He held up a packet of seeds. “She was showing me a picture of bluebells in the flower book the other day. I thought she might like them.”

  Seriously? Was there no limit to this guy’s thoughtfulness?

  “She’ll love them.” I called her over and laughed as she danced in excitement when Griff explained that she could grow her own flowers. Looked like a trip to the garden department would be in our near future. I watched Griff and Chloe, Chloe having climbed onto a deck chair so they could discuss the seeds over the rail. I cleared my throat. “Griff? Would you like to come over here? You could actually pull up a chair while you guys plan how to pull up my yard.”

  He looked surprised for a moment, then grinned. “Sounds good.” He vaulted himself over and landed lightly on our side. His grace surprised me. All in all, it was an oddly sexy move.

  What? Dear self, engage the brakes.

  One hot guy kisses me, and suddenly the whole world is full of sexy men? No, absolutely not. Not going there. I liked the idea of Griff, but a week ago, he was just some guy next door. Yes, he’d shown a thoughtfulness that charmed me, but I hadn’t decided how I felt about that yet. For right now, I could handle making a new friend. And if it drifted into something else, okay. But only drifting, not barreling headlong down some crazy attraction roller coaster like the one Aidan was trying to drag me down.

  Chloe ran in to fetch the flower guide, and I looked back at Griff. “You’re patient with her. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ve got nieces. I’m used to them.”

  “I can spring you if you want out. Hop back over, and I’ll tell her you had to do some grown-up errand or something.”

  “I’m fine. Unless I’m bothering you,” he said, half rising from his chair as if he’d realized I might be hinting.

  “No! It’s fine. Stay. Will I bother you if I work?” I asked, gesturing at my easel.

  “Not unless it bothers you if I watch.”

  “Nope.” In fact, I wanted him to so he could see me using the brushes he’d given me. I turned to my painting and experimented with some purple, seeing what it did to carve out the face of the mountain. I heard Chloe come back out, but she and Griff had their heads bent over the flower book pages, so I focused on getting my picture right. It was almost there, but I wasn’t happy with it.

  I didn’t realize how quiet it had gotten until I heard a happy shriek from the yard and glanced up to find Chloe sitting in the grass and waving a worm at me.

  I turned to catch Griff staring at my painting with a small smile playing around his lips. I set my brush down where he would be sure to see it and smiled back.

  “Sorry. Didn’t realize you guys were done with flowers. How long have I been boring you?”

  “Not long,” he said, then flushed. “I mean, you’re not boring me. It’s interesting to watch you paint.”

  “There should be a ‘watching paint dry’ joke in there somewhere.”

  “No jokes,” he said. “This is cool to watch, period.”

  “Thanks.” I gathered my supplies, ready to put caps back on tubes and rinse the brushes.

  “Oh, sorry,” he said, shooting to his feet. “I must be cramping your style.”

  “You’re not. I promise. They’re the problem,” I said, stabbing a paintbrush at the horizon. He stared at me blankly. “The mountains,” I clarified. “They’re not cooperating. I think I’m going to have to paint on-site again.”

  “Not an outdoors kind of person?” he asked.

  I realized how annoyed I must have sounded. “Definitely an outdoors person. It’s not an ideal circumstance, that’s all.” That had more to do with Aidan being around than the painting though. “Plus, I wish I had this right already. I’m almost there, almost have the answer. But it’s not coming to me yet.”

  “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like. And that’s amazing.”

  “Don’t lie,” I said, grinning. “You’re picturing my mountainside covered with snow so you can ski it.”

  He laughed. “I’m not. I promise.”

  We stayed outside for another hour, goofing off as the light faded toward evening. I was laughing at a ridiculous story he was telling me about narrowly escaping an avalanche he’d caused when the door opened and Dani stepped out to join us.

  She wore her tiredness like a veil. It muted her features and dimmed the sparkle in her eyes, but as soon as she spotted Griff, it lifted, and she found a smile somewhere to paste on. “Hi, Griff.”

  “Hi.”

  Silence fell.

  “Uh, I thought you weren’t coming home until nine,” I said.

  “Professor didn’t show. I love it when that happens.”

  “Cool. Chloe will be excited.” I shouted for her, and as soon as she saw her mom, she gave a happy shout and came tearing toward the deck. I moved out of the way so she could throw herself at Dani, who grabbed her up in a huge hug.

  “I’m so glad I get to put you to bed tonight, baby girl,” she said. “You ready for a bath?”

  “Yes!”

  “Tell everyone good night.”

  I got a tight squeeze, and Griff got a pat on the arm before Dani shepherded her daughter back into the house. The tiredness settled back into the tiny grooves around her eyes as she turned away from us. I frowned.

  “I better go,” Griff said, standing and stretching.

  “You don’t have to. Chloe’s room is in the front of the house so our talking won’t bother her.”

  “Yeah, but if I overstay my welcome, you won’t invite me back.” He pretended to do a runner’s stretch. “Gotta limber up for my trip back over the rail.” He flashed me a smile and vaulted back to his side, then ducked into his place with a small wave.

  Awesome.

  Chapter 10

  I parked by the construction trailer and poked my head in. The guy in the office radioed Sully to let him know I was there and gave me the okay to set up behind the lodge again. I wondered if Aidan would hear the call go out and come find me. I hoped . . . not?

  No, I absolutely hoped not. He hadn’t shown up at the diner this morning, and I was sorry but only because I’d rather have seen him there for the first time post-kiss than here. There I could have acted like everything was normal, taken his order, given him some attitude, and plunked his plate down. Boom, done. Back on our same footing just like that.

  But here the rules were different. It was his turf, and I’d have to fight to stand my ground—literally, if he tried kissing me again, being as my knees had buckled when he did it before. But there would be no kissing and no weak knees this time. If I even saw him. Which I didn’t want to.

/>   I set up my easel and paints, not sure what I was trying to accomplish, wishing I could work with my oils out here, but it was impractical. Capturing the sense of the place in watercolor was a step up from pencil, at least. My palette stared at me, unblinking, and I stifled a sigh that no one was there to hear. A creeping sense of futility wafted toward me like tendrils of B-movie fog the longer I stared out at the horizon. The fog was boxing me into the same corner the first painting I’d done up here had. It might have been technically good, but I’d get it home and lose the feeling I needed, which was the whole point of the commission.

  An hour later, out of sheer frustration, I knocked the easel down and glared at it. It gave me the same petty satisfaction as slowing my car to a crawl for a tailgater.

  “Whoa!”

  I whirled at the sound of the shout and could make out Aidan’s and Chief’s silhouettes on the slope behind me.

  Great. I didn’t look at all insane.

  Aidan picked up his pace and jogged down. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. The wind blew it over.”

  “Hate it when that happens,” he said, and I awarded him points for not pointing out the total lack of wind. He leaned down and picked the easel up, setting the still-blank watercolor paper on it. “What’s the painter’s version of writer’s block called?”

  “Futility. The formal name is ‘an exercise in futility.’ I quit.”

  He did a if-that’s-what-you-want face and touched the paints. “Is this usually fun?”

  Fun? No. “It’s more like scratching an itch. Except it’s the itchiest itch and the best scratch ever.” I wrinkled my nose. “That was a terrible analogy. I guess I have writer’s block too.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he looked like he was waiting for more. I sighed and tried again. “It’s not fun like a picnic or hiking or anything. It’s more like making something inside of you quiet for once. Have you ever felt really restless? I don’t mean for a few minutes until you get comfortable on your sofa. I mean restlessness that goes on for days. Longer, maybe.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up, and I lost my train of thought for a second.