When the Wind Chimes - Mary Ting Page 0,17

and picked out the brushes and paint tubes. After organizing them, I placed them neatly on a tall rolling tray. Though I had no idea what to paint, I decided to take a dab at it and see what happened.

Sometimes you have to just go for it.

I did have time to kill.

I decided on oil instead of acrylic. Let’s give it a try. After I squeezed the various paint tubes on a large palette, I laid out a sheet to protect the floor, shoved in my ear pods, and set my music.

I couldn’t decide which brush to use, so I opted on none. As I stood, I dotted gold on the blank white with my fingertips in a circle.

Today wasn’t about creating anything sellable. Today was about liberation and getting reacquainted with my artistic side. Today was about to hell with men, to hell with Jayden. It was about me.

As I listened to Ed Sheeran croon, I added red and green next. The cool, soft buttery texture greased my palms. I caressed the canvas in a rhythmic pattern from side to side.

There—Christmas colors. I laughed at the childlike creation. Tyler could have done this. I had switched to another song when the land line phone beeped.

I scurried past a collection of easels leaning against a wall to the desk, loaded with catalogs. With my elbow, I hit the speakerphone button. “Hello?”

“Kaitlyn.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “There’s a man here.”

“Oh. Well, show him around. I’m busy.”

“It’s Mr. Medici. What do I do?” She sounded nervous.

Had she never given a tour of the gallery before?

I sighed. “Stella, show him the paintings we have available. There’s a price tags on each one. If he has any questions, then I’ll come out. If he likes a painting, then he’ll buy it.”

I pushed the same button again with my elbow and went back to the canvas.

I didn’t mean to sound like a grouch, but she’d been there for two months. If she didn’t know how to do the job, she should be fired. Then guilt wrapped itself around my conscience. I was there to help out. If she called again, I would go out.

I pressed on “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones and began to sing. This time I stamped my paint-coated hands on the canvas to the rhythm of the beat. Then I added blue and yellow and smeared it all over.

My gooey hands moved in circles while colors mixed. I didn’t care that it looked like someone had vomited on it. Art was art. I sang and swayed my hips from side to side, paint splattering on the sheet, having the time of my life. I hadn’t sung and laughed so hard in a while.

Then ...

I thought I heard a door slam. No one should be back here unless Stella needed something. I turned and smacked into something hard. Not something, but someone.

My hands smeared with multicolored paint, had splatted flat against on a pristine, white dress shirt, right over a set of nice, hard pecs. I peered up into familiar chestnut-colored eyes growing wider and angrier, as the scent of cedar and pine enveloped me.

Crap!

How long had he been standing there? Mortified, I flushed with heat and released a soft whimper.

Chapter Eight — Mr. Medici

“I’m so sorry.” My heart ricocheted inside my chest as I stared at my trembling hands, wondering what in the world had just happened. Of all people, Leonardo walked right into my paint-covered hands.

The universe hated me. My timing was horrible. How could I have gotten so carried away in Abby’s workplace?

He didn’t speak as I slowly peeled my hands away. His silence couldn’t mean anything good. I had to rectify this fast.

“I’ll-I’ll pay for dry cleaning. No, that won’t really work. Oil paint on fabric is ... it’s pretty much ruined. I’ll pay for a new shirt. Oh my goodness, that’s an expensive shirt. I’m so sorry.”

I couldn’t stop babbling. I unbuttoned his top button, getting more paint on his shirt. “If I do it right now before it sets in, I can at least try to get the paint off with turpentine. But that would stink a lot and would probably ruin the shirt anyway. I can’t believe I’m paying it forward like this.”

What am I doing?

Around the third button, his fingers locked around my wrist and he cleared his throat. His hands were warm on my skin and I wanted to melt. Partly to just disappear and the other half ...