Chapter Thirteen Ruby
Chapter Thirteen
Ruby
“Everyone, you have five minutes before we show our partners what we’ve been working on. Five minutes,” the instructor reminded us.
Brow furrowed as I studied what was in front of me, I paused to select a new brush, then dipped it into the white paint for some extra shading. When I glanced up over the top of my canvas, I had to dig my teeth into my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Griffin was frowning at his painting, muttering something under his breath. The woman wandering around the room stopped behind him to set her hand on his shoulder and give him some encouragement.
“Maybe you could try some of that,” she said. “Fill in some of the negative space around her head.”
He fixed his dubious facial expression on the canvas, then on me. “Do you think that will help?”
Her pause was telling, and I lost my battle, laughing into the back of my hand.
Griffin looked up, eyes locked on me, and he arched an eyebrow slowly. “What are you laughing at, birdy? For all I know, you’re just as bad at this as I am.”
“You’re right, I might be,” I said lightly, ducking in to sweep the skinny brush along the edge of his face. Then I picked up a damp sponge to create the texture I wanted. He watched me warily, then glanced back at his artwork with a sigh.
“I can’t believe you roped me into this,” he muttered.
Confidence building, as it turned out, was forcing the big athlete to do a craft with me and another thirty people from town.
We’d transformed the inside of the library into a painting studio with long tables set up parallel to each other, every attendee supplied with an easel and a canvas, a stack of brushes in various shapes and sizes, and a palette of acrylic paint.
After seeing some videos on social media, Lauren had the brilliant idea to set up an evening at the library—Paint Your Partner Night.
The assignment was simple: to paint the likeness of the person sitting across from you, be it friend or significant other, and once you were both done, show your paintings off for all to see.
We’d brought in Melanie, an art teacher from Fort Collins, who agreed to help out, and the library charged a set fee to cover our costs for the supplies and allow for some small fundraising to help us replace some of the items in the children’s playroom.
Griffin had been recognized by one couple, but they did nothing more than wave excitedly when they saw him from across the room, and he gave a friendly nod in return.
So far, no one had asked for his picture or autograph, and it made me wonder how much longer that would be the case when news got out that he’d signed with Denver.
Celebrity was a strange thing, and it was hard for me to picture him in that role, even knowing what I knew now.
Again tonight, he was dressed simply—a light-blue long-sleeve T-shirt, pushed up to expose his muscular forearms, and dark jeans that hugged his tree-trunk thighs.
After work, I’d changed, knowing what we’d be doing.
When he saw my shirt, he smirked—an ornate logo with the words Pemberley why would I want to distract you?”
“Because you want to do better than me.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” I dunked a brush into my cup of water and let it rest, finding a smaller brush to work on the shape of his eyes with.
“You paint a lot in your spare time?” he asked.
“No.” The options I had to make his eye color were lacking, but adding another dab of yellow ochre helped make the brown a bit warmer.
“I dabbled a little after college. I was sick for a while and needed a lot of rest. Even when you love reading, you need to find new hobbies that allow you to sit for long periods.”
“Painting, huh?”
I nodded. “I liked painting birds and landscapes. Never practiced much with people, so for all you know, this might be terrible.”
“God, I hope so.” He tucked his tongue between his teeth while he dabbed a few colors together, blue and white and black, until they formed a silvery bluish gray. “There. I think I got the color right,” he said, looking at my eyes once more.
“Too much blue,” I replied lightly after glancing at the color he’d created.
His brows dipped into a V. “No it’s not.” He pointed his paintbrush at me. “See? You’re trying to mess me up. Knock it off.”
Eventually, he relaxed, and we talked a little bit about where his parents were—they’d retired to Arizona shortly before his brother took his coaching job.
He skirted conversation about Barrett, and even though I found myself curious about what had happened there, I respected the fact that we were still in public, and he may not want to talk about it in a place where there was a risk of being overheard.
He asked how I’d gotten into my own job, and I talked a bit about college, how my parents had encouraged me to follow library science.
His time in school was so different from mine; he’d spent years at the very center of the college experience, revered by thousands for his athletic ability, with his schoolwork coming in a distant second.
But even so, he never laughed at me. Never teased when I told him that I’d never lived in the dorms. Never attended a college party. He simply listened, assuring me that I’d probably saved myself from the inevitable pain of many hangovers as a result of my choices.
He was good at that, I realized. At taking me for exactly who I was. Not once had Griffin ever made me feel embarrassed for whatever life experiences I’d had—or not had, as the case was.
The time moved quickly, and no part of it felt like either one of us were forced to be there, and not for the first time, I wondered why I couldn’t feel this kind of ease with someone else.
It didn’t hurt, of course, that he was so attractive. For the better part of an hour, in the midst of fairly surface conversation, it was my job to study the details of his face, just like he was doing in return.
There was no lingering eye contact or anything like that, but I focused on the line of his nose, the curve of his lips, the sharp cut of his jaw, trying to get the shading of the stubble just right. Griffin perpetually looked like he needed to shave.
My hands shook slightly when I thought about what it would feel like scratching against the skin on my palm.
“Do you have to shave every day?” I found myself asking.
Griffin let out a small grunt of concession. “Pain in the ass, but yes. Two days is about all I can stretch it before I get annoyed.”
“Why not just grow a full beard? You could pull it off.”
His eyes sparkled at the unintentional compliment. “Well, if my lady wishes it, maybe I’ll try.”
“Oh, stop it,” I said smoothly, even though my heart thudded painfully at my lady.
Occasionally, Melanie would come around and give us tips, laughing easily with different couples as they bemoaned their lack of artistic skill.
When the time ran down on the clock, she clapped her hands.
“All right, everyone! Let’s take a minute to clean up our stations and prepare to show our partners what we’ve been working on.
Kenny, one of our friendly librarians, will be filming some of the reveals, so please raise your hand if you’re comfortable being shown on the library’s social media channel. ”
Griffin and I locked eyes but kept our hands down. He winked, and my stomach swooped dangerously.
“You’re going down, birdy,” he said as couples to our right and left showed their artwork to each other, dissolving into hysterics at what the other person had painted.
Suddenly, I felt a bright burst of shyness. “What if we . . . don’t show it now?”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t want everyone to see,” I told him. “Maybe we could wait until they’re gone or . . . do it out in the parking lot or something.”
Griffin nodded, eyes serious. “I see. You’re embarrassed because I’m about to kick your ass in a painting competition.”
“Yup, that’s it,” I replied lightly, then set my canvas to the side, making sure he wasn’t looking at it. Griffin held my gaze and did the same with his.
Without being asked, Griffin helped Kenny, Melanie, and me clean up as people filtered out of the library. Almost all of them asked for a repeat of the event, and I promised we’d do our best.
“Come back for the fair this weekend,” I told the sweet elderly couple who had just finished cleaning up their mess. “We’re holding it in the high school parking lot; it should be a ton of fun.”
The couple smiled. “We will. Our grandkids have been talking about it all month.”
Griffin was carrying a stack of chairs under his arm, twice the amount Kenny was struggling with. “You’re doing a fair?”
I nodded, tossing the palettes and disposable tablecloths into a large trash bag. “Fundraiser for the library.”
“Maybe I should come,” he said. “You could practice fluttering your eyelashes and being very impressed while I lose all my money on the games trying to get you a stuffed animal bigger than your dog. Men love that shit.”
“Fluttering eyelashes and fake enthusiasm? If that’s what you’re teaching me, I’m screwed.”
“You have no idea, birdy.” He flashed me a quick grin. “Still sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not that big of a deal.” My cheeks were warm, imagining him there in the swarms of people. “Besides, I know you’re trying to keep a low profile.”