Page 157 of Beyond the Stroke

Us.

I’m starting to like the sound of it.

“Summer?” Rory whispers.

“Yeah?” I say distractedly while I work to blend where the ocean meets the sky.

“Don’t move.”

My brush freezes. “Why?”

“There’s a squirrel. And it’s looking at me.”

“And?”

Rory, as stealthily as he can, crawls his way over to hide behind me.

“It has murder in its eyes.”

I turn around to find a chunky gray squirrel standing a few feet away from the blanket eyeing the snack bag with predatory intensity.

I press my lips together, barely stifling a laugh. “He wants your nuts.”

Beside me, Rory pales. “What?”

“Your trail mix, Rory.” I bite back a laugh. “He’s coming for your snacks.”

“Oh, right.”

“So, you weren’t lying with that whole terrified of squirrels thing? I thought that was all a bit to sleep in my van.”

“Maybe it was and now I have to keep up the ruse. I guess you’ll never know.”

“Oh, Iknow. This six-foot-four Olympic swimmer fears woodland critters.”

Rory tilts his head back and empties the rest of the trail mix bag into this mouth. When he’s done chewing, he crumples up the bag and puts it into his backpack. “There. No more snacks, so leave.”

“Hey,” I pout. “I didn’t get any snacks.”

“Oops. Sorry. Want me to run back to the car and get you something?”

“And leave me here alone with the killer squirrel?” I lift a brow in jest.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve got great material to work with.”

“Yeah, you do.”

The squirrel loses interest, and Rory relaxes again. But instead of picking up his book, he moves to sit next to me, draping his arms over his bent knees.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m watching you paint. And it’s fascinating.”

I blow out a breath, trying to ignore the tingle of nerves his presence brings me. After a few minutes, my strokes smooth out again, and I’m able to refocus on my painting.

“What is your goal with your art? Is it for fun, just for you? Or do you want to share it with the world?”

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