My morning with my parents resulted in French toast and several games of cards: Old Maid, Go Fish, and Liverpool Rummy. My parents separated into their Sunday tasks, including my dad having to go to the hospital for a few hours to cover another trauma surgeon.
I went to my room and made progress on flashcards for my classes, then when it was almost three o’clock, I changed into an old and almost too small pair of overalls with an old middle school shirt and beat up flip flops that really should have been retired long ago. My brown curly hair was up in a messy ponytail, with a headband to keep out my flyaways.
With my phone shoved in my pocket, I headed to the kitchen for a water.
Mom looked up from the kitchen table. “Where are you headed?” She did a double take. “Are those your old overalls?”
“Yep. I have a project for school to work on with Wyatt. Didn’t want to mess up any good clothes.”
She removed her reading glasses as she watched me. “With Wyatt, huh? Well, be careful.”
“Always.”
She nodded, but her gaze on me lingered.
It was unnerving, but then my phone beeped and I knew that meant he was here.
“See ya later, Mom.”
She waved, then adjusted her reading glasses refocusing on the several folders spread out in front of her.
Wyatt was surprisingly right by my front door when I closed it.
“Hey,” he said.
I twirled around. “This work?”
He nodded, then walked around to my side of the truck, and opened the door. Once I was in the seat, he walked around to the other side and started it.
“I set up the date before I got here so we’re all good.”
“And why did I have to wear clothes I could ruin?”
“We’ll be creating something.”
I groaned.
“Blindfolded.”
I double groaned. “Blindfolded? Oh man. I can’t create anything unless there are step by step directions, but blindfolded?” I sputtered.
He laughed. “You’ll be fine, Marley. I’ll guide you, then you’ll guide me.”
“Okay.” He clearly didn’t understand how badly I had done in art class. It was a requirement to take an art elective and theater was out of the question, so I had settled on art.
For someone who loved school and exceled in class, this was not that class. I had passed and I had managed an A but with strenuous effort. For many projects, I received a B, it was only by one project and the final that I managed to pull out the grade I wanted.
An afternoon doing art of any kind was not my idea of a fun time.
We pulled off the main road and onto a smaller dirt one. All around us were wheat plants. When Wyatt pulled off the road and finally parked, I could see that in a small clearing between the plants was a large canvas style covering laid out on the ground, then several bags of things, followed by an easel.
I gasped. “Are we painting blindfolded?”
He smiled, one of those lazy smiles, where his eyes were relaxed, but was sexy at the same time. “Yep.”
Internally I screamed. Like a blood-curdling-running-from-the-bad-guy scream. Painting? That was as bad as I could get. My drawing abilities were limited to stick figures and squiggly lines.
And then another thought surfaced. “Did you buy all these supplies?”
He shrugged but avoided my gaze.
“You did! Wyatt, you shouldn’t have done that. I could have gone and gotten them.”
“You could have, but then you would have known what we were doing and that was the whole point of the surprise.”
“But I feel bad you used your money. These dates are my fault.”
“Fault is a bit strong, but I don’t mind, Marley.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, now get out and let’s go.”
The grass flattened as I jumped down, then sprang up around my toes, tickling my ankles and feet. I hastened my pace to get to the canvas before I was an itchy mess. I wasn’t actually allergic to grass, but it never failed to make me itchy.
“I didn’t have an actual blindfold, so I brought a tie.”
“That’s fine, I could close my eyes too.”
“Oh no. You think I believe you won’t cheat?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You so would, you’d be stressed enough to look because it’s painting.”
I sighed. “Fine. So how am I going to paint?”
“I have a few colors. Pick the ones you want and we will put them on the paper plate. Then just tell me what color and I’ll help you put it on the brush, then voila you use the canvas to paint.”
“Voila, huh?”
“Yes.” He brought the bag of paint colors to me, which had more colors than I expected: salmon, purple, teal, brown, cream, and red.
“Wow. Okay, these three,” I said as I grabbed salmon, purple, and teal.
He grabbed those three tubes, put some on the plate, then let the bag plop to the ground.
When he searched for the brushes, I focused on what he had chosen to wear. His beanie was still present, but it wasn’t one I normally saw. He had a white fitted T-shirt and light-washed jeans, with sneakers. As he stretched for the brushes, his muscles in his back rippled, sending heat over my cheeks.
Dang it, stop thinking about his body.
“Okay, we can just use this medium brush. You ready?”
“No, but something tells me that you won’t accept that answer.”
“That’d be correct.” He picked up the tie: a satin powder-blue one. “Let me know if it is too tight.” He approached me slowly, draping the tie over my eyes, then reached behind me to secure it. He was close enough that I could hear his breathing and his arms brushed my cheek. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I have no idea. This is darker than I thought.”
I certainly hadn’t expected to wear a blindfold, let alone with Wyatt Shaw so that we could paint.
“Good, that’s perfect then. Okay, I’m putting the paintbrush in your hand.” His fingers settled under my hand and then with his other one, he placed the brush between the correct fingers for me to hold it.
My cheeks flamed from the touch.
“Okay, I’ll help you put paint on it, which color first?”
“Teal.”
He moved my hand until I could feel the brush scrape against the paper plate, then he shook it slightly, which I assumed was to get rid of excess paint.
“Okay, here’s the canvas.” He used my left hand to touch the canvas. “So, go ahead and have at it.
It felt absolutely ridiculous, but I swiped the brush up and down where I thought the canvas was. The bristles of the brush moved over the surface smoothly, giving that small rustling sound.
“Ready for more paint?”
“Yes.”
Again, he guided my hand to the paper plate, then back to the canvas. And so we went, only speaking as I needed more paint or a different color. I found that one of his hands had a callus, was that from playing guitar? The skin was rough to the touch, but he only ever touched me gently.
What would it be like to be in his hands?
Where did that come from?
I needed to stop that. He was just being kind, nothing more. I certainly wouldn’t be his type. Instead, I should be focusing on what the heck I was painting.
“Can I switch to the salmon?”
“Sure.” He grabbed the paintbrush and wiped it off. Apparently, he had water in cups and paper towels to clean the brushes. Then he handed me the brush back.
“I put the paint on it for you.”
I smiled and reached to the top of the canvas to put more of the color up there, but instead of feeling the brush touch the canvas, it resisted in a weird way, before my hand landed on someone’s chest.
I gulped, not someone’s, but Wyatt’s.
“Woah!” Wyatt said before I could do anything. “I’m not the canvas, Marley. It’s that way.”
“Oh my gosh. I got paint on you?”
“Yeah, right here.”
Suddenly a wet feeling engulfed my cheek.
“Hey! Did you put paint on me?”
“Oops,” he said.
“Nuh uh. That wasn’t an accident. I didn’t do it on purpose. You got me on the cheek!” I reached for the blindfold.
“Oh no. You aren’t done. Finish your painting. You can’t see until you’re finished.”
“What? No! I don’t trust you. You’ll get paint on me again.”
Hands reached out, but graced my arm, before I lifted the blindfold partially off my eyes, just in time to see Wyatt move closer.
I screamed and ripped the blindfold off and defended myself with the paintbrush. This time a long salmon stripe went down the front of his shirt.
He froze and his eyes widened. “Oh, that is a declaration of war.” He lurched for the bag of paint.
As I realized what he was going to do, I ran to him, but too late. He had already uncapped the red and squirted it in my direction.
Had I remained where I was, almost nothing would have landed on me, but alas, I was closer, and a splotchy red streak went from my shoulder to my right knee.
Throwing the blindfold to the canvas, I went after the bag of paint too.
He was so dead. I would get him for that. I managed to grab the brown but had at least three more squirts of paint over my arms and overalls.
Looking away, I uncapped the paint and launched it at him. Thankfully, my poor aim got him anyway.
He placed his hands up in surrender. “I’m out. You can’t shoot an unarmed man.
“Wanna bet?” I smirked and sprayed him again.
A mischievous grin spread across his face. He moved closer as I aimed it steadily at his chest.
“Don’t move any closer or I’ll spray.”
He arched a brow, then jumped toward my paint.
We wrestled for the ownership of the tube, neither of us letting go.
I tried to twist and turn to rip it from his fingers, but the more I moved, the bigger his smile was. My breathing was ragged and my arms were sore. I was gassing out, and he knew it.
I released only slightly from the paint, but that was enough for him to strike. He twisted it once, and it flew away from my fingers. The momentum pulled me close to his chest.
He raised the paint above my head and squeezed, keeping it out of reach. I tried to jump for it, but I couldn’t maintain the stamina. I paused and so did he.
Our chests stayed together. I could feel him breathe against my own chest as it heaved to get my breathing under control.
His arms slowly lowered as did his chin as he met my gaze.
The air around us changed. It sparked with something I couldn’t name. His pupils were big, despite being in the sun.
He leaned forward, our faces even closer. “Truce?”
I nodded. Words were too much at the moment.
Up this close, I could see his eyelashes, and they were even longer than I had thought they were. They fluttered over those gorgeous brown eyes as he blinked, until we took a breath and leaned toward each other. My eyes had closed.
Then our lips touched. My eyes flew open. Was I having my first kiss? Was this really happening?
His lips were soft and gentle as he lightly pressed them against mine. His hands had moved to my waist and all the sensations were enough to completely screw up my breathing again. He didn’t rest all of his weight on my waist, but enough so that I could feel exactly where every finger laid over the top of my shirt. My skin erupted in goosebumps from the contact.
What would it have been like if his hand was on my bare skin? I couldn’t imagine it. Our bodies were so close, my thoughts were stuttered. How was I having my first kiss? And why couldn’t I just focus on it instead of thinking about it to death?
I laid a hand on his chest and leaned slightly back, but it was enough that he had stopped.
The moment broke and I had no idea how to even process that whole thing.
Wyatt’s expression searched mine and then shifted. “I’m so sorry. I … you. I should have asked. Are you okay?”
“I’m. Uh—”
He removed his beanie, his hair falling everywhere. “Marley, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have. You said no PDA. I broke that rule.”
I placed my hand to his arm, my stomach twirling. “No. It’s okay. I think I wanted to.”
“That’s not the point.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t help it. You looked so cute with that blue paint on your cheek and how hard you tried to keep the paint from me. But we had an agreement. I—” He coughed and took a few steps backward before replacing his beanie. “I’d understand if you want to go home.”
“Wyatt, we’re okay. Okay?” If my stomach was any indication, I was more than okay. That kiss had been like nothing I could have imagined on my own. Sage had told me to expect the worst first kiss I could ever have, but that? If that was a bad first kiss, then I didn’t think I was ready for a good one.
He searched my gaze warily. “You’re sure?”
I nodded and reached for the blindfold. “Want to keep painting?” I smirked. “And on the actual canvas this time?”
A half smile returned. “Yes, I do have a painting to create too.” He looked around at the cream canvas beneath us. “Although I think we had some color sacrifices.”
I giggled. “I’d have to agree. You look nice in salmon and brown though.”
“I’ll remember that.”
I held out the blindfold so he could help me put it back on.
He took a few steps to me and then replaced it over my eyes. “Good? Can you see anything?”
“Nope.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders, my body leaned into the touch, before he guided me back to the painting. We kept the paint on the canvas, but only because we had kept a truce. And after that kiss? I had way more important things to think about than revenge for paint.
Because if I was being honest with myself, I liked it. And that truth? Well, it changed everything.