Page 94 of None Of Your Business

She makes one final pass through the dark color near the bottom of the canvas, then sits back on her heels.

When she finally stands, her legs almost give way.

She takes two uneven steps toward the rear wall, sets her brush on the workbench, and lowers herself to the ground, legs stretched out in front of her.

There’s the break. I’ve been waiting for it.

I cross the room and stop at her feet, hands in my pockets.

“I overdid it,” she admits.

“You think?”

“I might have slightly miscalculated.”

“Slightly.”

She looks past me at the canvas, breathing hard but smiling.

I follow her gaze.

“It’s…” Every word that comes to mind sounds inadequate. “I don’t actually have the right words for that.”

“Then I’ve done it right.” She draws in a slow breath and looks down at her legs. “I don’t think I can get up.”

“Good thing I’m climbable, then.”

Her head falls back against the brick as she laughs. “You’re funny, Shrink Wrap.”

“Keep that to yourself. I have a reputation.” I crouch in front of her. “Can I?”

She lifts both arms toward me. “Please.”

I slide one arm carefully beneath her knees and the other around her back, taking my time as I lift her.

She comes willingly, winding an arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks,” she murmurs.

“Next time you decide to work yourself into the floor, give me some warning.”

“I’ll try.”

I carry her into her house, straight to the bathroom off her bedroom, and set her on the edge of the vanity. Her hands are covered in paint past the wrists, dried in some places, still wet in others.

I wet a clean cloth with warm water, add a little soap, and start with her right hand, slowly working the paint loose along her fingers. Her breath catches the second the warm cloth touches her skin. I rinse it, go over the same fingers again, and work my thumb into her palm, easing tension from muscles that have spent hours gripping a brush.

I can feel her eyes on me, but I keep looking at her hand. It’s safer there.

When I finish both hands, I notice a streak of pale blue along her cheekbone. I run my thumb over it and rub it away.

“Anything else you need?” I ask.

She clears her throat. “Can you grab me a T-shirt? Top drawer.”

I go into the bedroom, find an old gray T-shirt where she said it would be, and bring it back.

“I can take it from here,” she says, taking it from me. “You can wait in the bedroom if you’re worried.”