How to Love Your Neighbour(73)

“Okay, well, fair warning, mine is going to be perfect for a dark closet.”

She patted his cheek. “Have some faith.”

“Fun. I wanted to have fun. Not faith.”

She just laughed, checking out the colors on the trolley. They worked together to choose colors. For his canvas, which she knew she’d treasure forever no matter how it turned out, he chose bright shades of purple, blue, pink, and yellow. For hers, which she hoped he’d hang in the spot she suggested, she chose every shade of blue available.

“What are we thinking? Go in slow and deliberate?” He picked up a brush like it had the potential to bite him.

“There’s nothing slow or deliberate about splatter paint. Let’s get messy,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He stared a second, then leaned in over the paint tray she held. “I don’t know how that’s hot but it is.”

She shook her head, surprised by how much fun she was having. “No peeking. Deal?”

“Deal.”

He worked on one wall while she worked against another. The sounds of paint splashing and sloshing against the surface were oddly soothing. About five minutes in, he called her name.

“No peeking.”

“I didn’t turn around.”

“What’s up?” She chose another blue, dabbed her brush in it.

“This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

Fortunately, the sound of paint splattering the canvas covered the final drop of her heart. Right into Noah’s hands. She took a deep breath, her brush pausing in midair. In many cases, it was safer, and easier, to lean into a fall than try to avoid it. So, Grace let herself lean. Hard.





33


Noah turned on one of his Spotify playlists, which added the gentle beat of music to their painting sounds. It was oddly cathartic, whipping paint at a surface. Grace used a bigger brush to give the entire canvas a coat of pale blue before using the darker shades to create a variety of splatter marks. She kept most of her marks to the upper part of the canvas so she could create the illusion of water below. Her hope was that it looked like water and waves bursting from the sea. She’d use other brushes and possibly a sponge to add some texture to the bottom. She smiled, wondering how his was turning out.

“Two brothers and one sister. That’s a busy household,” she said over the music.

“It was, for sure. We’re really close together in ages. Our parents had us back-to-back.”

“How long have they been apart?” She heard him mixing something on one of the palettes.

“Mom left by the time I turned twelve. I’m surprised she stayed so long. The older we got, the more intense my father became. His life was about business and finding a trophy wife. We didn’t meet wife number three until they returned from a quickie wedding in Vegas. After her, it’s been just engagements. My mom made a smart choice. After my grandfather died, he changed. Not just as a person but his vision for the company.”

He said it all nonchalantly, but Grace knew from experience that parents leaving or failing in their roles left marks on a kid.

“You’re close to your mom?”

“I am. Not as close as Chris but we talk every couple weeks. Text every few days or so. How about you? You’re not close to your mom but do you talk to her at all?”

The paint hit the canvas with a little more energy. “Infrequently at best. A few texts here and there. She’s sent a couple letters recently but they’re just more of the same.”

“What’s that look like? The same?”

She grabbed a thick brush and coated it with a gorgeous, deep shade of blue. “Her needing money. Guilt trips for not being a better daughter. Complaining about how hard life is and that she has no one to take care of her. She can’t hold a job but it’s never her fault. My mom’s sort of a ‘what can you do for me’ person.”

“You certainly didn’t turn out like her,” he said.

A strange, nearly painful, type of happiness bloomed inside of her. She turned without thinking, his simple words a solace she’d craved. Noah heard her and spun as well, pointing his thin-tipped paintbrush.

“Hey! We said no peeking!”

She stared at the vibrant colors decorating the canvas in big chunks. They crossed over one another, spreading out from the middle like a Skittles rainbow. It was so . . . happy.

Grace stepped forward. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to look but I worry so much about being like my mom, it was nice to hear that maybe I’m not. Now that I’m looking, I can’t unlook and it’s so pretty. I love it. It’s so happy.”

Noah set down his brush, walked closer to Grace, but stared straight ahead at the work she’d created.

“Is there anything you can’t do well?” He put his hands to his hips, studying the painting.

She had a whole list of things she couldn’t do at all, never mind well. But she liked the way he viewed her. It made her want to see herself that way.

“You like it?”

He turned to meet her gaze. “It’s beautiful. It feels alive. This is what that quote means. It’s the perfect quote to describe you.”

Grace’s features crinkled. “What quote?”

“The one you were looking at out front. It’s what you make others see. You make me see things I never imagined, Grace.”