“They’re watching the Lego movie,” I tell Thane as I walk out into the garage.

“Again?” he asks, from the top of the ladder installing my new garage door opener.

“Yup, I don’t know how they can do that.”

“What?”

“Watch the same thing over and over again.”

“Didn’t you used to do that when you were a kid?” he asks me.

“No, we didn’t have TV, and my parents were super strict about that sort of stuff.”

“So what did you do with your time?”

“Just played outside with the other kids in the neighborhood.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He seems surprised, but when I was growing up, we were outside from sunup ‘til sundown.

“My parents were totally different. They’re both free birds—we traveled a lot, and when we were home, we did whatever we wanted to,” he says.

“So you have siblings?” I ask him.

“One brother, you?”

“No. I’m an only child. Do you want more kids?” I ask him for some strange reason, and quickly he answers, “Sure, why not. Don’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I’m damaged enough, and just trying to keep my shit together for Braxley is next to impossible. I couldn’t imagine having a baby to take care of.”

“You’re not damaged, Faye,” he tells me, looking over his shoulder as he climbs down the ladder.

“Sure, I’m not.” I roll my eyes, pushing away the negative thoughts that creep into my head. He can say whatever he wants, but I’m a twenty-nine-year-old widow.

He takes a sip of his beer and says to me, “Faye, I don’t think you realize just how strong of a woman you are. I was thinking about it the other day, if I’d been through a quarter of the shit you have, I’d honestly be in a mental institution.”

“Thanks for saying that, but trust me, some days a straitjacket sounds better than just opening my eyes.”

“Hey, at least it’s only some days,” he teases me, and I raise my glass to him, then sip my wine. “Wanna do the honors?” he asks, pointing to the wall.

Reaching high above my head from the step I’m sitting on, I press the button on the wall. His eyes are on my body, electrifying my insides. The motor works quietly, and for the first time in days, my garage door opens. “You fixed it!” I cheer, and Thane gives me a satisfied nod.

“Well, that only took, what…a week?” he grumbles.

“Hey, it’s fixed. I’m not complaining one bit,” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He hands me the new portable opener from his pocket and says, “This should work too.”

I press the button on the remote he gave me to close the door and stop the cold air from rushing in. “So you gonna give me that painting now?” he asks, and I can’t believe he still wants it, but a deal is a deal.

As we go back into the house, the warm air is soothing. I can hear the boys laughing at the movie from Braxley’s room, the noise so settling to me.

“You really want it?”

“Well…I want the other one, but seeing as I don’t think you’re gonna give it up, I’ll take what I can get.”

“What other one?” I ask as we step foot into my studio.

“That one.” He points to the painting I did from the other day that is still on my easel. I haven’t found the time to come back in here since then and put the final touches on it. “I’d give it to you, but it’s not even finished.”

“Then finish it.”

He’s dead serious. “Right now?”

“Sure.”

I contemplate his offer. Looking at the painting, it doesn’t need much. I could do it right now. But I’m not sure that I want to let it go. It’s really so dark, but beautiful, a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“You gonna watch me do this?” I ask, and he laughs at me, sipping his beer, “Hell, yeah I am.” He has a smirk on his face, and I sit down, taking in the painting as I imagine what I’m going to do to it.

With Thane next to me, I’m feeling a bit nervous. I’ve always painted alone. Ben supported me painting but never watched me do it. Thane, on the other hand, is right behind me. I look back at him, the closeness consuming me. “I can’t work with you hovering over me.”

He grabs a chair from the other side of the room, removing the painting from it and asks, “Can I set this here?”

“Sure.” Then he sits down right next to me, just the way he did the night we saw each other at the boys’ school, our thighs almost brushing against each other’s.

“Are there any colors you want in it?” I ask.

“Whatever you want, you’re the artist.”

“Oh please, a painting like this Braxley could do.”

“No, he couldn’t. This is a masterpiece. Just paint already.”

Bossy.

Dipping my thin brush into the cup of water, I clean it. Then I fill my tray with a few colors, and as I hold on to it, I envision what I want the end picture to look like. Closing my eyes, I can see it clear as day.

Sticking the tip of the wet brush in the water, I add some black and gently begin to add a thin vein through the picture, bringing depth and life to it that it was missing before.

“Wow, that looks amazing,” Thane says.

“It’s really easy. You wanna try?”

“You sure?” he asks and sets his beer down, obviously excited. I get the brush ready and pass it to him. “Where should I start?” he asks me.

“Wherever you want. Don’t push hard, though. Keep the brush away from the canvas and let the stream of the paint and water move you along.”

He stares at my lips as I speak. The tension between us tonight is thick, and I don’t fight it. I let it just be. Then he looks away; his eyes are concentrating hard as his tongue is between his teeth. The brush is hovering over the paper, and I find myself getting lost in him. In the way, he moves the brush. In the way, his scent whips around me. In the way his lips have me wanting them. That pull and connection towards him tonight is so strong, stronger than it’s been since we met, and now I can see why he kissed me when he did, ‘cause right now I could kiss him.

“How’d I do?” he asks, bringing me out of my daydream.

“Good, really good.” Looking at the line he made on the canvas; it’s almost identical to mine. Both are parallel to one another. He has a steady hand; that is clear. “You’re a natural,” I tell him and find myself leaning in closer. Letting my emotions take over.

My palms are sweaty, and I lick my lips. Something is pushing me forward, telling me I should do this, then out of the blue, he touches the paintbrush to my nose, stopping me dead in my tracks. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” I ask him confused, with a wet nose of paint.

“Don’t come on to me like that. Last time this happened, it didn’t end well, and then we went a week without talking.”

He’s giving me that look again, and I know he feels it too, but maybe he’s right. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. Wiping my nose dry, I look down at my black hand. The gob of paint he left is huge, and I can’t stop myself, I press it against his cheek. My small hand smears the color into his skin. The stubble of his face is under my fingertips as he looks at me with his mouth gaping open.

“What was that for?”

“For stopping me.” My heart is pounding, and he grabs both sides of my face, holding onto it hard, studying my eyes. My breathing is erratic as I wait for him to move in.

Then as he slowly does, the door to the studio opens and Braxley is hunched over. Alarm consumes me. Thane lets me go, and I rush to Braxley’s side. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t feel good.”

“What hurts?”

I kneel in front of him, looking into his glazed red eyes. “My tummy.”

“You feel like you’re gonna get sick?”

He nods, and I turn to Thane, mouthing I’m sorry as I lead him out of the room. Feeling so bad for Braxley as I walk him into the bathroom, he slumps to the floor, his tiny body hugging the toilet, and as a mother in this moment I’m so helpless. I don’t want him to ever hurt; I want to take his pain away. The way he takes my pain.