Wet Paint

Chapter 1

IVY

“Happy birthday, Ivy!”

I smiled at Ruby, and watched as she skipped down the steps to come sit next to me in the lecture hall. Her red hair was pulled back into a slick ponytail, showing off her perfect face. Her freckles were darker than usual, because the sun had finally started shining after a dark and gloomy April.

“Thank you,” I replied, hugging her back as she wrapped her arms around me. “Where were you this morning?” I asked, wondering why I had been alone in our apartment earlier.

“I took an extra shift at the bakery because I wanted this weekend off,” she explained, then quickly changed the subject again. “I’d ask you what it feels like being twenty-one, but I already know: it sucks, and nothing changed.”

I laughed and looked at her, pursing my lips as I evaluated her words. “You’re right. It’s still the same. But it doesn’t suck that much. I can finally and officially buy my own drinks at the bar without having guys pay for me.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “I know you’re like super independent and all that, but I’d rather have men spend their money on me, than spending my own on things that won’t last. A hangover is more fun when you realize the next morning that you haven’t spent one dollar on drinks.”

She wasn’t wrong, but I also didn’t like the idea of continuously having men offer me drinks, which would mean I’d have to talk to them, which, again, wasn’t something I liked. Especially not lately.

“Besides, now that you’re twenty-one, and I’m twenty-one, we can totally hang out in that other bar we never got into. You know, the one on campus everyone keeps talking about.”

I looked at her and raised a brow. “You mean the bar that only students with an invite are allowed into?”

“Yeah, I’m sure we’ll get an invite sometime soon.”

“That bar sounds like a cult. I’ve heard women aren’t treated well in there. And only frat guys are welcome. And we—“

“Hate frat guys. Gosh, you’re right.” She sighed heavily and leaned back in her seat. “Never mind. But we’ll go out tonight. Good thing your birthday is on a Friday. Unless you want to hang out at home, order in, and watch movies.”

“We could do both. Go out, then go back home,” I suggested.

“Perfect. And who are we inviting?”

We spent the whole lesson whispering and planning for tonight without getting caught by our professor. After class ended, we headed to our next one and kept planning.

By lunch, which we went to grab at our favorite little diner right off campus, I had sent four other friends an invite to my little birthday get-together. They all replied within ten minutes. When we got back to campus, I said bye to Ruby and headed to my next class.

Normally, whenever I got to go home early from school, I took the free time and spent it in the art room where nobody else would be.

I grew up drawing and painting, so it made sense that I ended up spending more time with canvases than people growing up.

It changed when I started college and met Ruby, who my mother made me contact after telling me that her friend had a daughter who would also go to the same college as me.

We ended up texting, then FaceTiming, and finally, we decided on a pretty apartment ten minutes from campus. We became best friends immediately, and sometimes I wished our mothers would’ve got us to meet each other much earlier.

Instead of going straight back to the apartment and get ready for the night, I walked past the student center and down the quieter hallways that led to the art wing.

It always smelled like old books, paint thinner, and something vaguely metallic.

Probably from the rusted pipes above the sinks that never quite stopped dripping.

The walls were covered in half-finished student projects, some of them brilliant, others just loud. I liked that, though. The whole vibe this part of the college had. It was almost as if the faculty knew us artsy students needed messy.

I pushed open the heavy door to the art room, the hinges groaning like they always did, and stepped inside. The lights were already on, but I didn’t see anyone else inside. Maybe they just left, which was just as I’d hoped.

In the far corner, covered in a loose cotton sheet, was the painting I’d started weeks ago. I hadn’t touched it since mid-April, mostly because finals had crept up on me and I’d convinced myself it wasn’t a priority. But now, something about it felt like it was asking for my attention again.

I walked over and gently pulled back the cover, revealing the canvas underneath.

It wasn’t anything revolutionary. Just a dark underwater scene, with tall strands of kelp rising up against a dull, grayish-blue background.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I saw it again.

It looked unfinished, like it had been paused mid-thought.

Well, it probably had.

I sat down on the stool in front of it and stared for a while, letting the silence surrounding me. In that moment, it was just me and this frozen version of whatever I’d been feeling when I last held a brush.

Eventually, I pulled out my sketchbook and flipped through a few pages until I found the notes I’d made about this piece.

The palette. The shapes I still wanted to add.

The texture I hadn’t quite nailed. I didn’t plan on painting today, I just needed to be here.

Needed to remember that not everything in my life had to be loud or fast or shared, like they would be tonight. Some things could just be mine.

But the universe had other plans. It didn’t want for me to be alone in that moment.

The door behind me made that same creepy sound, and I turned around to look who it was.

The shivers running down my spine and all the hairs on my arms standing up was not the reaction I intended to have, but it always happened when he came into a room.

My art teacher, Mr. Novak. Or, Will. Because he wanted us students to call him by his first name. Not many did, though.

He didn’t like being referred to as a professor, simply because he wasn’t one.

He was an artist. One who many in the States knew.

His paintings are displayed in a couple of museums, and I know of many people who own his art at home.

He was at this college to teach art, which he was exceptionally good at, and maybe he was one of the reasons why I chose this college.

“Hi,” I said, smiling at him as he just stood there.

“Hey.” He eyed me for a moment before his gaze moved to my unfinished painting.

“I figured that was yours,” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly.

The sleeves of his dark green sweater were pulled up to his elbows, and his black jeans hung perfectly from his hips.

Will was a handsome man. No doubt about that.

And that’s why I had been crushing on him since my freshman year.

Though, it wasn’t just his looks that kept my eyes turn into hearts whenever he was around, it was his character.

Truly. Will was kind, caring, and funny.

And what pulled me toward him the most was his calmness.

He was extremely pleasant to be around, and every time we were close, he reminded me of slow, rainy Sundays, where you would just wrap yourself in a cozy blanket and watch Netflix all day. Come to think of it…that’s exactly what I’d want to do with him.

But it wasn’t possible. He was my teacher, and as his student, I knew better not to get too close. Even if it was very tempting.

I pursed my lips and turned back to my painting. “I couldn’t finish it, but I hope I can get back to it soon.”

He stepped closer, his gray eyes taking in the painting again, while I took in his face. The stubble covering his jaw was thicker than usual, and his light brown, wavy hair looked like he had been running his hands through it all morning.

“Do you not have time now?” he asked.

“No, sadly. I have plans tonight, and I have to prepare a couple of things. It’s my birthday.”

“Yeah?” He smiled at me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Happy birthday, Ivy.”

“Thanks.” His touch sent another shiver down my spine, and I wished I could’ve leaned into him more. But I didn’t, and he pulled away.

“Going out, then?” he wondered, taking a few steps aside to grab three clean brushes from a table.

“Yes, with a few friends. But first we watch a movie and order pizza or something,” I told him, smiling. “You? Any plans for the night? It’s Friday, after all.”

“I have a painting to finish, so I’ll be here.” That meant, he’d be here all night. Maybe even until the morning.

“What are you working on?” I asked, turning toward him, and tilting my head to the side.

I watched as he walked over to a bigger canvas that was covered, and before he pulled the cotton sheet off of it, he said, “It’s a piece I’m doing for the hospital. They requested it February, and I told them I would finish it by May. So, I better hurry.”

My eyes locked on the painting. A serene landscape in different shades of green, a flower field in the distance, and also a lake. The sky wasn’t painted yet, but without having to ask, I knew exactly what color it would end up being.

“Oh my…” I stood up and walked closer to him, taking in every little detail. “This is beautiful, Will.”

He didn’t reply right away. He knew how talented he was, and what kind of emotions his paintings could spark in people.

He just watched the painting, the smallest smile on his lips.

“It’s a memory,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“From when I lived in Montana. I was only a kid, but I remember sitting right there, looking straight ahead until the sun went down behind the lake. They told me it didn’t matter what kind of landscape I painted, as long as it put a smile on people’s faces. ”

I noticed then that I was smiling, too. “It definitely does.”

His eyes locked on mine, and his smile grew. “Glad you like it. I must say…” His gaze moved to my unfinished painting, then back to me. “Yours put a smile on my face too when I peeked under the sheet. It looks…calm yet uncertain. Like a storm slowly brewing.”

I pressed my lips together and shrugged. “To be honest, I’m not so sure what I was feeling or thinking when I started it. But I like where it’s going.”

“That’s what’s important.” He gave me another smile. “As long as you don’t lose the inspiration, it’s all good.”

Just hearing him talk could make me reach a climax.

I bit my tongue to not say something stupid. I cleared my throat instead and took in his painting again. “Can I come see the painting when it’s done? Before it goes to the hospital?”

“Of course. It’ll be here until Wednesday, I’m sure.”

I nodded, smiling at him again. “Okay. So…I should go.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

I headed back to my painting, ready to cover it again, but Will stopped me. “Leave it. I like looking at it.”

With surprise and maybe a bit of excitement written across my face, I left the sheet on the stool and grabbed my bag. I was silent for a moment, looking at Will as a kind of comfort settled between us. “See you around,” I finally said.

“See you around,” he repeated with a nod. “Enjoy your birthday, Ivy.”

“Thank you.” With a tight smile and a strangely aching heart, I stepped out of the art room to head back to my apartment.

Will stayed on my mind for the rest of the evening, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him looking at my painting, possibly taking inspiration from it, while he continued to work on his own masterpiece.