Page 50 of Lessons in Heartbreak

“I suck at painting,” he whispered fiercely, lowering his head to speak close to my ear.

I patted his forearm. “We’re not here to win any awards, Griffin. It’s just for fun.”

He snorted. “Please. Everything’s a competition for guys like me.”

He took the unspoken challenge seriously. For the first fifteen minutes, he rebuffed any attempt at conversation.

“Quit trying to distract me,” he said, leaning in closer to study my face. “It won’t work, Tate.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m on your team; 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 atmy 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.”

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