Page 19 of Never Again
Natalie took the rolling garment bag while Carmen pulled the matching suitcase and slung the carry-on over her shoulder. Once they reached the living room, the intercom buzzed and her heart leaped into her throat.
“It’s him!” Carmen said excitedly.
She pressed the button at the door. “Carlos?”
“It’s me.”
“Come on up.” She buzzed him in.
Minutes later, she opened the door and flung her arms around his neck, as if she hadn’t seen him earlier. He smelled as fresh as a spring day, and the ends of his hair were a little damp, as though he’d taken a shower only minutes before.
He squeezed her tight, obviously happy to see her, too. When he finally pulled back, he asked, “Ready to go?”
“All set.”
She led him to the bags near the door.
“Hey,” Natalie said in an emotionless voice. She stood with a hip against the sofa and gave a less-than-enthusiastic wave.
“Hi, Natalie,” Carlos said, picking up the two larger pieces of luggage.
“Do right by my girl,” Natalie said.
“Nat!” Carmen glared at her.
Natalie ignored her and stared at Carlos.
“Don’t worry, I promise I will.”
He turned to Carmen, and even a blind person could see the love in his eyes. Surely Natalie saw it, too.
“She’s stuck with me,” Carlos said with finality.
“Gosh, you two are sickening. Go and be happy.” Natalie waved them through the door.
Before she left, Carmen glanced back at her friend. There was concern in her eyes, but Natalie was smiling, too. Carmen grinned at her and followed Carlos down the hall.
Carmen’s sock-coveredfeet moved silently on the tile floor as she walked over to the gray sofa with Sofia tucked against her chest. Carlos was hard at work on a painting, his long legs clad in loose-fitting cotton slacks, olive-toned skin bare from the waist up. His body was a work of art itself, lean with the subtle movement of hard muscle beneath the soft skin of his back and shoulders as he manipulated the paint into the image in his mind.
She sat down and watched over the back of the sofa while he worked.
During the past couple of days, she took great pleasure in watching him work, observing him in his element as he alternated between using his bare fingers covered in paint or wearing disposable nitrile gloves. In the current project, the splashes of bright primary colors looked like blunt swipes of paint but amazingly formed a recognizable image of a house at the end of a tree-lined road.
He was truly talented, and she enjoyed watching him work, his brow furrowed in concentration and light pouring through the huge windows at his back. She knew better than to disturb him during these moments, particularly when he brought his face closer to the large canvas to fix a detail and get the image just right.
Finally, Carlos stepped back and stared at his work. “What do you think?” he asked.
Her eyes moved over the piece in appreciation, but she knew his eyes were much more critical. “I love it,” she answered truthfully.
Carlos didn’t respond. He continued to stare and then squeezed a little more yellow paint onto the tip of his middle finger and dabbed it on the canvas. He stood back again and finally nodded, tearing off the gloves and tossing them in the nearby trash.
Sofia jumped off Carmen’s lap and sauntered away as Carlos joined her on the sofa.
“It’ll do for now.”
Too much of a perfectionist, he finished but wasn’t completely satisfied. As inspiration hit, he very well might get up in the middle of the night and add more color or change a detail that bothered him which no one else would notice.
“You’re too critical.” Carmen took his hand. She constantly wanted to touch his skin or play in his hair.
