Page 51 of Fresh Canvas
Stalking toward him, I said, “Of course you would wear a stuffy button-up on Sunday. It’s theweekend, Val. Live a little.”
He startled at the sound of my voice, scanning the landscape until his eyes found mine. Val stood and slid his phone into the front pocket of his jeans. His brow furrowed, though his mouth slanted in a sly smile. He took me in, lazily spanning the length of my body.
My stupid heart forgot to beat.
“Says the girl in a plain t-shirt. At least one of us should care about our appearance.” He clapped a hand to his ridiculously muscled chest. “I’m happy to take this one for the team.”
I rolled my eyes, but a laugh puffed out of me. “I can’t believe you’re this awful outside of work too. You must be exhausted.”
“When it comes to you, it’s surprisingly effortless.” He shot me a roguish grin.
Scanning the stormy sky, I said, “I must say, I’m surprised you wanted to meethere, Russo. In the great outdoors.” I turned in a slow circle, opening my arms to the horizon. I gasped, my eyes growing bigger over his shoulder. “Is that a bird?!”
Val tensed as if bracing for an attack from behind. After a long moment, he cracked one eyelid. Any traces of trepidation were replaced with irritation as I buckled over with laughter.
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” His sarcasm only brought me more joy.
“I’m sorry.” I wiped the streaming laughter from my eyes. “It was either that or rent a golf cart, but clearly you can’t be trusted with one of those.”
A ghost of a smile flicked across Val’s features. “You’re the worst, Adams. I’ll remember this. And Rick’s going to get an earful from me for telling you that stupid story to begin with.” Furtively scanning the sky behind him, he seemed to fully relax once certain the coast was clear.
He gestured to the path. “Sit, or walk?”
“Walk. Then there’s less chance of you boring me to sleep.” I sauntered past, but Val’s long strides caught up in seconds.
“So, tell me again exactly how you knew Felix’s lake piece was a fake,” he said.
“Felix’slake piece?” I repeated, highly affronted. “That’s like calling the Mona Lisa DaVinci’s ‘mediocre-looking woman who couldn’t smile properly.’ Jeez Val. And you call yourself a curator.”
“First off, Mona Lisa wasn’t mediocre-looking. In her time, I heard she was quite a babe.”
An unexpected laugh burst from my mouth. Did Russo just make an actual joke?
“Second, will you just answer my question already?”
Those captivating eyes of his crashed into mine, liquid gold flecks glittering. And just like that, the invisible, electrical force sparked back into existence between us. It felt tangible and dangerous.
I ignored my racing heart and decided to lay it out in the open and watch his expression for tells.
“I already told you last night. In Rick’s closet? Or did you forget?” I was rewarded with a hint of nerves on his otherwise cool demeanor.
So I’m not the only one thinking about it.
The thought simultaneously thrilled and annoyed me.
“Remind me again,” he muttered.
“The brushstrokes were off.” I shrugged.
“Okay, but offhow?”
I stopped short with a puff of air. “Felix Andreas was a realist. Textured, loose brushstrokes with paint ridges weren’t his style. The corner of the dock was supposed to be smooth and polished. It wasn’t.”
Val’s face screwed up in contemplation, a slight frown marring his features. He slid his hands into his pockets as we resumed walking side by side.
“You also mentioned a lily?” he asked.
“The lily’s petals weren’t ivory. They were white. Like,titaniumwhite.” I named the paint color I suspected. “The original lily has yellowed over time.”
