Chapter Ten

“‘Picasso’s Pinot?’” Jenna asked when the Uber driver let them out in front of a rundown storefront in a strip mall a few miles from the resort. The sun had slipped just below the horizon, staining the sky with bright oranges and reds as it sank into the ocean.

After showering away the kick boxing sweat, Jenna had enjoyed a day full of, well, nothing. She couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t had to be somewhere or pick up something or call someone for the wedding or for Elliot. And she certainly hadn’t realized how much stress she’d been under until she had actively tried to do nothing but sit. She’d even taken an afternoon nap. And it had been glorious. After that, she and Zach had enjoyed last night’s leftovers on the deck, watching the sea birds in silhouette diving into the water, looking for their dinners, too. All in all, a pretty awesome day.

Zach checked his phone then looked up at the sign. “This is the place,” he said, putting the phone in his pocket. Someone had delivered some of Zach’s clothing that he said had been on his plane, so he wasn’t stuck in newlywed T-shirts and sweats from the gift shop anymore. Tonight he wore a light yellow polo shirt and khaki pants, paired with a pair of leather loafers. The pale yellow really set off his dark hair and eyes. Jenna kind of missed the T-shirts, though.

Jenna had chosen one of the sundresses she’d packed, paired with a paper-thin white sweater and sandals, of course. That was sort of required in Florida.

“Marcy says you drink wine and paint and that these places are popular with the ladies,” Zach said.

“They have a Paint and Sip night at Sunrise,” Jenna said. “But they only give the seniors sugar-free grape juice.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

“Actually, it kind of is. How sad is that that my favorite night of the month is drinking grape juice and making bad art with a group of folks more than three times my age?”

“Well, unless I am forced to attend a social function for work, my Saturday nights usually consist of sitting my desk, either at home or in my office, and reading reams of research data. If I feel really frisky, I might work in front of the TV while having a glass of ginger ale.”

“Sports?”

He shook his head. “Cooking shows.”

“That is way sadder,” she said, teasing him. “Do you cook a lot?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I like to live vicariously.”

“I get that. I love reruns of old woodworking shows, and I’ve never used a table saw in my life…and have no current plans to.”

They approached the building, and in the window was a display of some of the art that they could presumably paint as they sipped. There were some beach landscapes, a sunset, palm trees, and a few on wood that said things like “Home Sweet Home” and “Blessed.”

“I have to say, this seems a little…”

“Romantic?” he asked, giving a fake shudder.

“I was going to say girly, but yeah. Romantic works, too. Not as anti as I expected.”

He grinned and held the door open for her. “We’re not doing flowers or beaches,” he said. “I’ve arranged for a private session.”

“Please tell me we’re not painting Picasso’s Pinot.”

“No. At least I hope not.”

The room was crammed with women of mixed ages. They seemed to be working on a starfish, not a Pinot, Picasso’s or otherwise.

Zach went to the counter and gave the lady their names, and they were taken to a smaller back room of the studio. She handed them aprons and introduced herself as Mrs. Reynolds. Against one plastic-draped wall, two giant canvases were propped up, plastic also spread out on the floor underneath. Plastic cups of paint and a variety of brushes were laid out on a nearby work table.

“Ever hear of Jackson Pollack?” Zach asked.

Things finally started to make sense. Instead of creating adorable pictures of sea life, they were going to wreck a couple of perfectly unsuspecting canvases by throwing paint, spattering, and otherwise making a mess. Hell, yeah.

Jenna slipped the apron on over her head. “This is awesome. Definitely not romantic.”

Mrs. Reynolds looked at them a little oddly but handed them goggles and some of those paper shoe covers workmen wear into an apartment so as not to ruin the carpet.

As they got suited up, Mrs. Reynolds went over the few rules and talked a little about Jackson Pollack and how he was at the forefront of Abstract Expressionism and had developed his signature style of painting around 1947. Then she asked if they wanted her to stay.

“No, we’re good,” Zach said. He looked hilarious in his goggles, and Jenna grabbed her phone from the pocket in her dress and snapped his picture before he could object.

“That better not go on social media,” he said, pouring two glasses of wine. He handed Jenna one.

“Never,” she said innocently. She sipped the wine, but really she was eager to get started making a mess.

“Where do you want to start?”

“I want purple,” she said. “Big brush.”

“I think we need some mood music,” Zach said. He turned on an old boom box sitting on the table and tuned into a hard rock station.

Jenna threw up the rock sign and chose a brush. She tilted her head, considering the canvas, then made a huge X across the whole thing, letting the paint from the loaded brush drip down the canvas. It looked kind of macabre. She liked it, so she added several more Xs in various sizes and colors.

“Not bad,” Zach said.

“You know, I’ve heard of women who get divorced and have a party where they shoot paintballs at their wedding gowns. I never got that before, but I kind of do now.”

“Want me to see if I can get a wedding dress to pin up there?”

“Not necessary. I’m imagining my gown right now,” she said, flinging paint from her brush over her creation, making satisfying splatters on the canvas. “And the Python.” She flung her brush harder. “And those horrible heels.” She tossed the whole paint brush. It slapped the canvas with a wet thwack then hit the ground.

Zach pushed his goggles on top of his head. “Remind me not to make you wear uncomfortable clothes.”

Jenna laughed, and it felt good, like really good, to just let everything fly. Zach might have been right about the anger bit. And while boxing wasn’t exactly her thing, at least not with fitness Barbie there drooling on Zach, she could seriously get into this.

She looked over at Zach’s painting. So far, he had grid lines on his canvas in dark blue. They were perfectly even, of course, and he was proceeding with the precision of a surgeon.

“I think you’re imitating Mondrian rather than Pollack,” Jenna said. “You know, the guy who made a whole career out of painting squares in primary colors.”

“I think it shows potential,” he said. “And besides, yours isn’t very Pollack-like, either. Only a few flicks so far. And Mrs. Reynolds said Pollock used unstretched canvas, just lying on the floor.”

“I’m just getting started.” She picked up another brush and started spattering her work, Pollack-style. She slapped paint on the canvas, splattered it, even smeared it with her hands. Elliot would be horrified at the mess, which made it even more fun.

By the time she was done, the canvas was dripping, and she had to imagine it would take days to dry.

“How are we going to get these home?” she asked.

“They should fit in the plane,” he said.

“Oh right. Private plane,” she said, rolling her eyes.

She eyed Zach’s painting. Still too perfect. Just lines and the squares the intersections made, clean and even. She reached across and slashed a big orange swipe across his perfect navy blue checkerboard pattern.

“Hey! You ruined it!”

“I think you mean I improved it,” she said, grinning. She leaned over to swipe her paint-covered hand across another portion, but he grabbed her wrist before it could make contact.

“You have a canvas,” he said. “Why do you want to decorate mine?”

“Because it was too perfect,” she said. “Now it has character.”

“Right.” He squinted at her then tapped the paintbrush he was holding on the end of her nose.

“Hey!”

“Fair’s fair,” he said, releasing her wrist and dancing out of the way. “Your face was just too perfect. Now it has character. And a big blue splotch.”

She wanted to wipe the paint off her nose, but both her hands were covered already. “At least get me a paper towel or something,” she said, trying to rub at the spot with the back of her wrist. “This itches.”

“Fine,” he said and grabbed a roll of paper towels off the table. He came back and, ripping a towel off the roll, started to dab at her nose.

He smelled amazing. Jenna used the same hotel toiletries he had, but somehow on him, the gently scented soap smelled stupid sexy.

“There, perfect once again,” he said, smiling at her.

“Thanks so much, Zach,” she said sweetly and swiped her paint-smeared hands down both sides of his face, leaving a trail of multicolored streaks behind. A way bigger blotch than he’d given Jenna.

The look of utter shock and confusion made her laugh. “Fair’s fair,” she sing-songed and tried to dart away, but Zach was faster. He caught her around the waist and painted her whole cheek blue while she squirmed and squealed. And when she managed to slip out of his grasp, she grabbed a small cup of paint and tossed it at him. She got his apron a little but mostly his canvas.

“So it’s to be war between us,” he said in an ominous tone. But Jenna could see the light dance in his dark eyes as he stalked her, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so much.

He grabbed a cup of pink and tossed it at her, getting her bare legs and part of her canvas. Then she returned fire with yellow, and before she knew it, both of them were covered in paint, as were their canvases, the floor, the table, and the radio. Even the walls had splatters.

At last she was laughing too hard to catch her breath. “Stop,” she said, “I surrender.”

Zach raised his hands, raising two dripping brushes over his head in a victorious pose. “I knew you couldn’t last forever.”

Jenna hopped up on the table, still breathing hard, and uncorked the bottle of wine they’d left there. He stopped in front of her, and she passed him the bottle after she’d taken a deep pull.

“You’re a mess,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So are you.” He had spatters of yellow in his hair. “I think we turned out to be the Jackson Pollack art.” She picked a couple flecks of drying paint out of his hair.

“Mrs. Reynolds is not going to be happy,” he said.

Jenna surveyed the damage and stifled a giggle. “I don’t expect we’ll be asked back.”

“No, and I’m sure I’ll be charged a hefty clean-up fee.”

“Totally worth it. This was so much better than towel animal making.”

He was close now, his voice barely a low-pitched rumble in his chest. Jenna’s pulse was trying to escape her body, and her breath still wouldn’t come evenly. It felt like it was a hundred degrees in the room all of a sudden.

“I think we’re going to need those towel animals to clean up,” he said, wiping something off her cheek bone with his thumb.

With him standing and Jenna sitting on the counter, they were pretty much at lip level. The Smolder was in full effect, and the warm thrum of desire pulsed low in her belly.

Danger lights went off in her head as his gaze dropped to her lips. Zach was going to kiss her. And as terrible an idea that would be, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more at that particular moment.

“Jenna,” he whispered, certain he was going to lean in and—

“You have paint on your mouth.”

He wiped it away with his thumb. “There,” he said softly, but he didn’t move back. Neither of them was laughing now. Breath mingled between them. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt the muscles go tense beneath her palm. He leaned forward. She leaned forward—

“What the hell happened in here?” Mrs. Reynolds’ shrill yell made them startle apart.

Zach recovered first. “We, uh, had a little accident,” he said.

Jenna hopped off the table. “We’re so sorry.”

Mrs. Reynolds was still speechless, looking at the ceiling, the walls, the floors, and them.

Zach very calmly removed his apron, folded it, and laid it on the table. “Charge the card I gave you over the phone whatever you think is fair,” he said.

Mrs. Reynolds still wore a look of horror.

“Plus twenty percent,” Zach added.

Jenna leaned in to whisper to Zach, “I think we broke her.”

Zach edged toward the door. “Thanks for accommodating us.”

Jenna was already one step ahead of him.

“I’ll send someone to pick up the canvases in a couple days,” Zach said. “Once they stop dripping.”

When they crossed through the main room toward the door, all conversation stopped as thirty pairs of eyes took in their ruined clothes, paint-specked hair, and multi-colored faces. “Drugs,” one woman whispered loudly to the lady next to her.

“Probably meth,” her neighbor whispered back. “Or bath salts. That’s the thing now.”

Jenna tucked a paint-matted strand of hair behind her ear and strolled out as if she was perfectly coiffed and dressed in Vera Wang.

“Ladies,” Zach acknowledged as he hurried out the door behind her.

She cracked up again as soon as they hit the sidewalk.

Zach took her hand and led her down the covered sidewalk toward the far end of the strip mall. “And that’s why we can’t go anywhere nice,” he said. “You’re trouble.”

“No, I was always the good girl,” she said. They slowed to a walk, side by side. “You’re the bad influence.”

“I think you have that the wrong way around. I was always the good kid.”

She stopped and tilted her head back, looking at him. “Yeah, I can see that,” she said. “I think you’re probably a pretty serious guy in your normal life. All the numbers and such. Strait-laced. By the book.”

“Guilty.”

“I’ll probably have to go back to being boring old Jenna, too, once you go back to the city tomorrow. It’s no fun being bad all by yourself.”

The crease appeared between his brows. “What will you do the rest of the week? Have you decided what kind of anti activities you’re going to do to finish the list?”

“Actually, my main project will probably be deepening the ass groove in the sofa and mainlining M&Ms.” His frown deepened. “But don’t worry. I’ll be all right. Promise.”

“I’m afraid stage four is coming on,” he said, still frowning.

“Oh jeez. I’m afraid to ask.”

“Depression,” he said, shaking his head.

“Ah, yes. That, I remember.”

He looked blank for a moment, and she knew the exact second everything clicked and he wanted to shove his entire foot into his mouth. “Your parents,” he said softly, and she nodded.

“I don’t remember the other stages, though I guess I must have experienced them. But the depression.” Jenna sucked in a deep breath, remembering the pain. “I remember that. I wasn’t sure for a long time I’d see the light at the end of that awful tunnel.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to joke about something so…I’m terrible with people.”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, meaning it. “It seems so long ago now. I haven’t really thought about it in a while. I mean, of course I miss them, but it’s not like it was at first, that empty gnawing hole. The wedding stuff kind of brought it back, though, you know? I always thought my dad would walk me down the aisle and my mom would be in the dressing room helping me get ready.” She shrugged. “Things don’t always work out the way you think they’re going to.”

He was still just staring at her like he wanted to say the right thing but was afraid to open his mouth again.

“You’ll go back to work and I’ll…be fine here.” She smiled at him, but she was sure he would know it was fake. The truth was she was kind of dreading to be alone. Zach was fun and sweet. And she felt like she could be herself around him, not always worried that she wasn’t living up to what Elliot wanted her to be.

She was going to miss that. But Zach had already taken time out of his busy life for her, a virtual stranger. Plus, there was that whatever it was that had just happened between them at the art studio. Now that there was a tiny bit of distance between them and the Smolder was stored away, she acknowledged that Mrs. Reynolds had probably saved them from a huge mistake. Because the truth was that kiss would have been hot. And they would have ended up with handprints in places paint should never be applied. There was this sizzling something between them, like a campfire spark just waiting until someone let her guard down for half a second before it jumped out of the safe stone fire ring and set half the forest ablaze.

Jenna couldn’t afford to start a fire, forest or any other kind, with Zach. It would be way too hard to put out again.

“Seriously. You can go back to work with a clear conscience. I’ll be absolutely fine.”

And maybe, she thought, she would be. Eventually.