Page 78 of Ruined Vows
When I walk into the community rec center, I’m hit with the smell of acrylic paint, overwhelming perfume that is way too sweet, and an overwhelming wave ofbingo energy.
There are easels. There’s a table of cookies shaped like flowers. There’s a woman in a sequined beret humming along to a Sinatra song.
And then there’sBianca, standing in the middle of it like she’s always belonged here. A soft pink sweater, sleeves rolled to the elbow, smudges of blue paint on her wrist and cheek like anaccidental crown.
She looks over and grins. “Welcome to date six.”
I look around. “Didn’t realize we were doing a retirement tour. I’m not that old,” I joke.
That earns me a smile as she walks up and presses a paintbrush into my hand. “We’re doing art therapy with seniors.”
I blink. “You brought a Serbian mob enforcer to paint with grandmas?”
“They’re vicious,” she deadpans. “You’ll fit right in.” And her eyes twinkle with a dare.
I end up at a table next to a woman named Edie, who tells me I have“the arms of a man who’s seen things.”
I don’t disagree.
Bianca’s across the table, half-distracted by the woman beside her who’s trying to recreate a Monet with the passion of a first-year art student and the accuracy of a drunk pirate.
Bianca laughs—light, full, andunguarded.
I don’t breathe for a second because I’ve seen her smile before. But not like this.
It’s the simple things that say she’s softening towards me, or perhaps she’s good with the elderly. God knows she’s full of hidden talents, and I can’t help but wonder what she’ll be like in my bed.
But tonight, the tone of her voice is almost carefree, like she’s letting go. And for a minute, I forget I’m supposed to be uncomfortable.
I dip my brush in green. I start painting something that doesn’t look like anything. I don’t care.
She leans over. “Is that supposed to be a tree?”
“It’s a tactical shrub.”
She snorts.
“I can’t believe you’re good at this,” she says. “You’re not even scowling.”
“I don’t scowl.”
“No,” she agrees. “You have resting gun-for-hire face.”
“And you have resting brat.”
“Only when I’m winning,” she chuckles.
“You brought me here to break me.”
“No,” she says, softer now. “I brought you here to see if you’d stay.”
That lands like a punch to the sternum. Then, I look at her. Is she falling into me?
She’s still smiling, but there’s something behind it. Something vulnerable. As if she meant to hide it, but forgot to put on her armor this morning.
Edie, beside me, leans in. “Is that your girl?”
Bianca scoffs. “Absolutely not.”
