Thankfully.
When I got home, Breanna had one of my canvases under her arm.
“Where are you going with that?” I asked.
She stopped midway through the kitchen. “You’ve had your easel in the breakfast nook for two days and haven’t painted a thing. I was doing you a favor.”
“I was mixing colors,” I explained. “I couldn’t get the proper hue.”
She looked at the palette. “Jesus, how long does it take to find the right green?”
“I think I can manage now,” I said. “In fact, the color is pretty much ingrained in my mind.”
Breanna pursed her lips. “So you saw her again?”
Busted. “How do you know?”
“Because you have fifteen greens on this palette, and you made it a point to mention yesterday how green her eyes were. You have no subtlety.”
I walked up to her and grabbed the canvas out of her hands. “I did see her again.”
“A traditional date, or . . .”
“Well, we met at a park yesterday.”
Breanna wrinkled her brow. “Public flogging?”
“Forget it—” I started.
“Hey,” she interrupted, “I’m teasing. Remember, I’m entitled to tease you. Everyone has a pervy uncle, right?”
I growled at her and she feigned fear. “I’m just self-conscious.”
“I just don’t think I like these kinds of girls for you.”
“Here we go again.”
She helped me put my canvas back on my easel. “No, really. They’re mean-spirited.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I do,” she replied. “I know they have an inclination to beat up guys. And, to me, that just sounds like trouble.”
I began mixing the correct green on the palette I had covered in plastic wrap earlier in the day. “I can take care of myself.”
“Oh really? Then why are you holed up like a hermit every time you meet with one?”
I looked over my shoulder suspiciously. “Is Steven home yet?”
“He’s on his way. And I don’t mind saying this in front of him.”
“I mind. Your husband is more conservative with his opinions.”
She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t mind. He just doesn’t get it.”
I sneered. “He doesn’t have to. It’s my life.”
“Look,” she said, heading up the stairs, “just be cautious. I want to see you happy.”
I called up after her. “Cerise is different. I can feel it.”
I heard a muffled “Uh-huh” from the top stair.
Just feeling her name on my tongue had an effect on me.
Cerise.
I swirled the paintbrush between several of yesterday’s failures. I could never hope to reproduce that green, I had thought, but now that I’d looked into her eyes again, I knew nothing was impossible.