Painting Kisses

by Melanie Jacobson

  It all came, the wind and the sky and the smell of the soil, the hint of pine, the sense of being a tiny speck on a huge thing, the ageless mountain that showed me my insignificance and yet connected me to something so vast it anchored me as nothing had for years. Roots. Possibility. Perspective.

  I worked for hours, and when colors I didn’t expect appeared—crimson and cobalt and a bright, true yellow—I paused. I’d painted the way it felt when Aidan stood next to me without touching me, and I’d found the color of yearning and put it in there too because, for me, Aidan was now bound up with the mountain.

  Pain laced my right shoulder, and my neck muscles strained as I worked on the top section of the canvas, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t until I had to stretch a cramp in my forearm that I paused again, setting my brush down so I could work out the forming knot. The painting was far from done, but anyone could see me in it if they understood what to look for. That possibility terrified me at the same time it thrilled me.

  “You’re amazing.”

  I whirled to find Griff standing in the open garage door, his hands in his pockets as usual.

  “Hi. Have you been here long?”

  “Long enough,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw the light on when I got home, and I wanted to come say hello, but I couldn’t make myself interrupt you.”

  I set my brush down and grabbed a rag to wipe the paint from my fingers. “It’s fine. I zone out sometimes when I work. Sorry I didn’t see you.”

  He shook his head. “That didn’t seem like zoning out. You looked like I feel when I’m the first person on the slopes on a perfect powder day.”

  He understood. I grinned, letting out the sheer joy of having my work spill out into being so fast and freely. He smiled back, and it was good to see it and not the ironic lip quirk I got from Aidan sometimes. Griff drew his hands from his pockets and spread them, and before I could think too hard about whether it was a good idea, I flew into his arms, returning the hug and laughing because I couldn’t not laugh, because even with everything flowing out of me in paint, there was still more inside, and it came out as laughter.

  His arms closed around me, and his chest vibrated under my cheek with his return laughter, and I stood there giggling like that for almost a full minute before I settled down to feel what being there was like, standing wrapped up in him. It was good, and I quieted. His chest stilled too, leaving only the steady thump of his heartbeat.

  I kept my head against his chest but tilted my face up to look at his, and his gaze met mine, his eyes still crinkled in the corners. But then the twinkle in them faded or maybe darkened. Aidan’s eyes had darkened before he kissed me the first time, becoming a deeper blue in the moment before his lips touched mine.

  Griff made no move to kiss me. A faint tickle of disappointment skittered in my stomach. Why couldn’t I take the kiss I wanted like Aidan had taken two from me? I stretched up on my toes at the same time I slid one arm up to encircle his neck, and his eyes flashed again as I closed mine and pressed my mouth to his.

  A tiny second passed where he did nothing, but he caught up quickly, returning the kiss and dropping his arms around my waist to pull me closer.

  Heat didn’t sweep up from my soles like it had the first time Aidan had kissed me. And the hairs didn’t prickle at the base of my neck like they had the second time he’d kissed me. And my face didn’t flush the way it had when Aidan had come too close in the storage room.

  Kissing Griff felt . . . fine.

  Almost as if he sensed the lack of connection at the same moment, his arms loosened at my waist, and I stepped back. His hands went back into his front pockets, and he bounced on the balls of his feet once, then settled into rocking on his heels. I was watching nervous energy trying to leave his body. It wasn’t the kind of hungry, spiky energy that had come off of Aidan either. If I had to paint Griff right at that moment, he would be a human-shaped puddle of black and white static.

  “Sorry,” I said when the silence had grown so thick I could break it off in large, greasy chunks.

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  Awkwardness feathered down over the silence, sticking to it and illuminating how in a single moment I’d managed to trash the space between us so badly that nothing could clean it up. I was too afraid of saying the wrong thing to say anything.

  He shifted his weight and stopped bouncing, but he didn’t look any more comfortable. “I . . . think I might have sent the wrong signals,” he said, sounding like he wished he could snatch back each word as he said it.

  I wanted to scoop them up and put them all back in his mouth, pinching his lips together like I did Chloe’s when she was talking too much.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Why did you suggest a date if you aren’t interested?”

  “I didn’t mean ‘hang out’ like a date. I thought about it at first when I met you last summer, but you never seemed interested. And then suddenly we were talking, and I thought that was pretty cool. But, and please don’t hate me for saying this, I was kind of . . .” He swallowed like he didn’t want to finish this sentence.

  I couldn’t decide if it would kill me deader if he did or didn’t. “You were kind of what?”

  “Digging Dani.” Something about the expression on my face made him rush on. “But she wasn’t vibing my way at all, so don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” Actually, when I could think of this whole mess without wanting to die, I’d probably want to explore that nugget further. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, needing to shut out his embarrassed face for a moment. “I’m worried about why you kissed me back if you like my sister.”

  “Because you’re hot.”

  That got my hands down.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I know it’s kind of sexist, but you are.”

  “Not hot enough,” I grumbled, my embarrassment shrinking with his matter-of-fact handling of all of this. “Not Dani hot.” He reddened again, and I almost felt bad for him. Almost. Mostly, I felt bad for myself.

  “I know it makes me a creep, but when you kissed me, I thought I’d better figure out if I’d been looking at the wrong sister.” Now I wanted to kick him, and he read it plain as day on my face. He backed up a step. “I know it; it was a jerk move, and as soon as my brain kicked in, I backed off.”

  It was true. That kiss hadn’t gone long at all. Maybe Aidan’s hadn’t either, but there was something about those that made time stop. I didn’t want to think about that. Or I wanted to think about it all the time, and that was worse.

  Remembering them only shone a light on how there had been nothing like that happening when I kissed Griff.

  “I should go,” he said, but he didn’t look like he wanted to.

  “You got something else on your mind?”

  He swallowed. “You’re a cool girl. Did I make everything weird with us because I’m lame?”

  “You’re not lame.”

  “I’m super lame. I like chilling with you and Chloe, but I can stay inside when you’re out from now on or something as punishment for stupidity. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself. I’m the dumb one.”

  “No. I wish that kiss would have—”

  “Stop! Nothing you can say next is going to go well for either of us.”

  He nodded. “You’re right. The longer we talk, the stupider I’m getting. I’ll shut up now. But are we cool?”

  I hugged myself and rubbed my palms up and down my arms, even though the temperature was actually perfect. “If we’re not, it’s on me, not you. Don’t feel like you need to hide.”

  “If I hide it’s only because I’d be afraid of you throwing something at me, which would kinda be exactly what I deserve.”

  “Then I’d deserve having some sense slapped into me, and I don’t really want to be slapped, so I guess we’ll call it even.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “A
ll right. You’re going to have to go away now so I can get back to this painting and see whether you completely crushed my creative spirit or not.”

  Guilt flashed across his face again, but I raised an eyebrow at him, and a grin slowly won out. “I’m going to pay for this for a while, aren’t I?” he asked.

  “Most definitely. And the more you reference this whole disaster directly, the longer you’re going to pay.”

  “Disaster? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Smart guy.”

  “Sure . . . now.”

  I shooed him. “Go away.”

  “I’ll go, but I sort of have a favor to ask. Could you not mention this to Dani? I know that’s asking a lot because if you’re like my sisters, you guys probably tell each other everything, but my side of the railing would be a much more chill place to be if she never knew I was digging her. I don’t want her to feel weird about that or anything.”

  “You mean like I feel weird?”

  “Yeah. Does it make you feel better that I realize it’s a jerk thing to ask for, but I’m hoping one of us can come out of this unscathed, and I’m hoping it’s Dani?”

  “I won’t say anything. You were going to go away?” I shooed him again, and with a smile and a wave, he left.

  I turned to face the canvas, but I needed sleep more than I needed to paint. I had more I wanted to get out, but hitting another groove would take me into the early morning hours, and I couldn’t spare the energy. I cleaned the brushes and set them aside, thinking about the revelation that Griff had been eyeing Dani. He’d been so quiet with his interest that I hadn’t noticed it, but it wasn’t a surprise that she’d caught his attention. On her best days, she was a Klimt, a soft glow around her, vibrant with color. Even on her most exhausted days, she was still a Modigliani, muted and beautiful. Guys checked her out no matter what.

  But Dani could handle herself. She’d been on her guard ever since Chloe’s dad had ghosted out of town for a job with an oil company in North Dakota. He sent checks, but that was it, and that was only to keep the courts off his back. He didn’t call or ask to see his daughter, ever. And good riddance. It meant I got to be dad, kind of.

  At some point, though, Dani would find someone, and I would lose my job as Parent Number Two. As long as he was a good guy, I’d be okay with it, because Dani and Chloe both deserved someone special. And Griff was a good guy. The more I thought about it—the wistfulness that we got to go to dinner at Leifson’s, Dani’s irritation when we’d thought it was Griff sending the gifts—the more sure I was that Dani wasn’t indifferent to him. But his shyness had gotten in the way. It would take some serious convincing for Dani to even think about dating someone, and Griff playing it so laid back wasn’t going to do the trick.

  Maybe that was okay. I needed to decide if I wanted to do anything about it, whether this was right for Dani and Chloe, but right now, with my ego in shreds around my ankles, was not the time to figure it out.

  Chapter 15

  Showing up for a date with one bum cheek stinging was not the ideal way to start, but Chloe had decided to express her approval of my outfit by spanking me hard. And the fifteen-minute drive to the restaurant hadn’t been enough for the sting to fade. I’d opted for a vintage lace sheath I used to wear to cocktail parties with Donovan. It was a warm vanilla color, and I paired it with ballet flats to keep it nice enough for Rosetti’s without being too dressy. I rubbed my behind, took a deep breath, and pushed through the mahogany door to find Aidan already waiting for me.

  “You look amazing,” he said, dropping a kiss on my cheek European-style.

  It startled me, not because it was weird—I’d gotten used to that doing the gallery rounds in SoHo—but because it was so natural for him, as if him slipping on nicer clothes for the high-end restaurant had come with a new suit of manners too. I liked both. He was as comfortable with himself here as he’d been at my diner table, and he looked beyond hot in his black jacket and open-collar shirt. “Thanks. You clean up nicely too.”

  “Thanks.” He nodded at the hostess, who led us straight to a quiet booth. “I have a thing for booths.”

  “I’ve noticed. Not sure why you’d ever haunt mine with a place like this around.” I inhaled the scent of garlic and baked bread. I could get high off of that.

  “Tom is as good at what he does as Rosetti’s is with pasta. I happen to like your booth.”

  “Wow. You said that without it even sounding like it had a double meaning.”

  “I can behave when I want to. You just make me not want to.”

  I was flattered for a second before annoyance at being made responsible for his feelings crept in. A retort leaped to my tongue, but he held up a hand.

  “Believe me, I understand how that sounds. Me caveman,” he said with a thump on his chest. I couldn’t fight a smile. “I also want to behave myself so you’ll keep coming out with me.”

  My gaze swept the room. Impressive. It was on par with many of the places Donovan had liked to go to be seen. “This isn’t hanging out.”

  He grinned. “Shoot. You picked up on that, huh?”

  I shot him a warning look and picked up my menu. “What do you recommend?” And he had suggestions. How did he know the menu so well? He wasn’t the foreman at Pine Peaks if he was eating here regularly. He couldn’t afford it. I revised my assumption upward. He was the contractor, at least. “Sully isn’t your boss, is he?” I asked.

  He looked startled for a second at the change of subject before he caught up and shook his head. “No.”

  “You’re his boss?”

  “Indirectly. Does it matter?”

  “No. Except I keep realizing I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

  “You’re pretty smart. I think it would be hard to underestimate you.”

  “Thank you.” The unvarnished simplicity of the compliment gave me that locked-out-of-my-house-in-my-underwear feeling again. I retreated to my menu, relieved to have something to hide behind. We talked over the options until the server came to take our orders, but after she left, silence fell. I crossed my arms and leaned back.

  “Uh-oh. There’s a challenge written all over your face. What’s up?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just wondering what you have to talk about when you’re being you and not the pickup king.”

  “Challenge accepted. Read any good books lately?”

  It was that easy. I loved to read, but it turned out that he did too, and it was hard not to swoon when he named some of his favorites. It was one of the most interesting conversations I’d had in a long time. “You have a good mind for analysis,” I said. “What are you majoring in?”

  Confusion crossed his face. “Majoring in?”

  “You said school barely got out?” But as soon as I said the words, I realized I’d made another false assumption. He’d been discussing literature like someone who was trained to do it.

  His face grew thoughtful like now I was under analysis, and he ran his finger around the rim of his glass while he considered me. “I’m not working on a degree. I already have a couple. I teach at the community college.”

  “Really? Like construction management?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “I think maybe I’ve made a lot of wrong guesses about you.”

  “Probably.”

  “So what do you teach there?”

  “Let me ask you a question instead. Why does it matter? What if it’s prelaw? Or freshman English? Or art?”

  “It doesn’t matter, except it’s interesting. I feel kind of like I do when I’m trying to do a still life. There’s what I see, and there’s what it is. Half of what I like about doing them is thinking about what they really are.”

  He searched my face, but I didn’t know what he was looking for. A few seconds ticked by, and his shoulders relaxed. “You mean that. It doesn’t matter what my background is.”

  “Not so much, no.”

  “Okay. There’s stuff I sho
uld tell you,” he said with a small smile.

  “But we’re not at the tell-me-all-your-secrets phase, and since I’m opposed to relationships in theory and practice, we won’t ever be.”

  “Shut up,” he said, smiling bigger, and I grinned back. “This isn’t a secret. Haven’t you Googled me?”

  There it was, the bravado. Irritation crept in. “No.”

  “Why not? Isn’t that kind of a standard practice now, to Google someone you’re dating?”

  “We’re not dating. We’re on a date. One. And I guess I meant to Google you, but I forgot. And also, I don’t know your last name.”

  “Even if you had it, I wouldn’t have come up unless you knew exactly what to look for.”

  The server returned with our food, and the aroma drifting off of it made my mouth water. “This looks incredible.”

  “I haven’t been disappointed by anything here yet,” he said, scooping a piece of bruschetta.

  Yet? That sounded like he’d eaten here many times, and it brought me to the question of who and what he really was. Rosetti’s was not a regular habit for guys even on a superintendent’s salary. “These are my top five guesses for when I Google you: you’re a CIA spy, you’ve had a sex-change operation, you’re on the FBI’s most-wanted list, you’re under witness protection, you’re an undercover cop investigating the black market for liver.” I pulled out my cell phone and tapped the browser. “What’s your full name?”

  He sighed. “Knowing may or may not change things. But if it’s going to, I kind of want to enjoy this for what it is at the moment. So how about instead of you Googling to find what I promise is not any of your guesses, which were both funny and psychotic, I’ll take you on a drive and show you what you’re going to find out anyway?”