Casey ignored the pile of dirty dishes in her kitchen sink, opting instead to spend a few minutes with Andy while he ate his snack. She glanced around her. In truth, the apartment could use a good cleaning before she and Mark got busier with the addition of classes and studio time at the atelier. But then, it wasn’t like the place ever appeared much cleaner after a thorough scrubbing. The marred linoleum that looked like it was from the eighties and might once have been white stayed a grayish beige, and the brown splotch in the center of the green Formica-topped table never got any better no matter what they used on it.
When they’d first moved in, she’d quickly grown tired of balancing her meals on her knees, so she’d been grateful when they’d found the discarded table on the sidewalk with a FREE sign taped to it. It served their purposes nicely as long as they kept the folded matchbox under one leg and the back edge shoved against the wall.
“Here, let me cut that for you.” She tried to take the half-banana from Andy’s grasp.
“No.” He leaned away and dug his fingers deeper into the soft yellow flesh.
She gave in, worried he might tip over the chair on which she’d strapped him and his new booster seat. Well, not new, but new to them. Erica’s friend had offered it to Casey when his daughter outgrew it.
“Do you want orange juice?” She finger-combed his unruly hair that showed evidence of his nap. His cowlicks curled when wet or sweaty, and she hoped that wouldn’t change as he got older.
“No.” He gnawed on the gooey piece of fruit.
From the safety of the far corner of the table, the syllabus Leighton had handed out earlier taunted her. She yearned to read it, but she wanted to save it for when she had uninterrupted time. It outlined the curriculum for the semester, but it contained far more. It’d give her a much-desired glimpse into Leighton. With all the strength she had in her, she returned her attention to Andy.
“When you’re done, we’ll read a book.” She picked up a sticky bit of banana from the floor, then squished it into a napkin.
“No.”
“What? You like books.” This argumentative streak better be a phase.
He shook his head with vigor. “No.”
“Yes, you do, funny boy.” She tickled his side.
As much as she tired of hearing no, it was part of his language development, and she enjoyed watching him learn how to express his thoughts as his vocabulary expanded and he began stringing together two or three words.
“Milk, please.”
Right on cue. She smiled, adoring everything about him. He might have inherited her coloring and bone structure, but his dark eyes and lashes were his daddy’s. She kissed him on the forehead. “You got it.”
As she rose, the syllabus beckoned her again. Waiting to read it ate at her. She filled Andy’s sippy cup, then returned to the table. If Mark hadn’t been with her when she’d left the atelier, she’d have pored over it on the train ride home. She handed Andy his milk.
He grabbed it with one hand, waving his mangled banana in the other.
What the hell. She snatched up the syllabus.
As she read, she heard Leighton’s voice in her head. Her speech patterns, and somehow even her tone, came through in her writing, but the content impressed Casey even more.
In particular, the section that detailed Atelier Vaughn’s evaluation system stood out. Above all, Leighton deemed critiques the most valuable part of the learning process. The lack of any formal grading system surprised Casey. Leighton envisioned success for every student, so she’d structured her school to avoid comparing the progress of one against another. Both instructors would critique each work, and the artist could anticipate acclaim as well as constructive criticism.
In addition, Leighton expected students to turn in every assignment, but the atelier operated under the presumption they were adults and, therefore, would take responsibility for their learning. Casey almost chuckled as she translated what Leighton hadn’t written. It was their money. If they paid to attend Atelier Vaughn and wasted the opportunity, that was on them.
Wasting money wasn’t a problem in Casey’s case since she had none. However, as a scholarship recipient, she didn’t intend to squander the opportunity Maxine had given her, the best chance to give Andy a better life.
As she continued through the syllabus, Casey almost bounced in her seat when she read what she’d be studying. If they had a Make-A-Wish foundation for artists like herself, the syllabus read like a fairytale dream come true. Plus, she’d be doing it alongside Leighton.
“Done.” Andy splayed his glistening hands, banana smeared all over his face, in his hair, down his shirt, and across the table in front of him.
Casey blinked. Was that all from half of a banana? The sippy cup lay in a puddle of milk on the floor, the lid beside it. So much for spill-proof. But it was worth every second she’d been able to spend devouring her course curriculum.
“Okay, I guess you need a bath instead of a book.” She laughed.
“Bath!” Andy’s squeal matched the enthusiastic smile that lit his face.
Finally, something other than a no.
In the bathroom, Casey’s thoughts wandered as she tested the water temperature. What was it about Leighton? Why was she so captivated by her? She tried to distinguish whether her fascination stemmed from the sheer talent Leighton possessed, or Casey’s admiration of her as a person. It was difficult to untangle the two.
She’d known about Leighton as an artist through her works and websites, as well as the articles Casey had read. Now that she’d met her, Leighton seemed just as impressive as a woman without factoring art into the equation at all. She’d understood the struggles in Casey’s life and had shown her acceptance and kindness by welcoming Andy to the gallery while Casey volunteered.
Beautiful, thoughtful, funny—what wasn’t there to like?
* * *
The next morning, excited about her first actual class, Casey stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. Since she’d left early, she assumed she’d be the first to arrive, but light flooded the studio. Movement in the kitchen caught her attention, and Devin looked up from a stack of coffee filters he struggled to separate. Beside him, Stefan read a paper at the table. Who read real newspapers anymore?
“Good morning!”
Devin’s cheeriness grated on her. She wished she could ignore him, but maintaining a level of civility would make things easier while they were students together. Leighton wanted a familial atmosphere, so Casey would do her best to oblige. Even after only a day, she yearned to make Leighton happy. If difficulties arose between her and Devin, it wouldn’t be because of any attitude on her part.
“Hi. You’re here early.” When she extended her hand, he gave her the filters. They were difficult to separate with her short nails, but she managed.
“I wanted to get a start on my sketchbook assignments, and I figured it’d be quiet here. It never is at my house, as you know.” He flashed her a wry smile.
Casey remembered his large, jovial family. The laughter, jokes, banter, and decibel level never subsided.
“Want some coffee?” He dropped the filter she gave him into its holder and scooped some grounds into it.
“Sure, thanks.” She headed for her easel. No sooner had she hung up her jacket than the elevator ding signaled a new arrival.
“Good morning.” Leighton greeted Devin as she breezed in wearing dark blue jeans and a tan blouse, her shirt untucked. “Stefan.” As she crossed the open room, she ran her fingers through her damp hair.
Casey couldn’t distinguish their murmured responses.
“Hello, Casey.” She smiled and continued toward her office.
In Leighton’s wake, Casey caught the sweet scent of her hair products. “Good morning.” She tried to focus on selecting the perfect length of vine charcoal, but it didn’t help. All she could think of was Leighton in either the bath or shower. She dismissed the unbidden images.
As she started her drawing, her thoughts continued to stray until a movement beside her brought her back. Devin stood at her elbow with a mug of coffee.
“A splash of milk, just how you like it.” He beamed.
Based on the dip of Leighton’s eyebrow as she exited her office, she’d heard his statement.
Casey inwardly winced.
“And here’s your book.” He brought it out from behind his back with a flourish and a sheepish grin. “Sorry I kept it so long.”
Was he trying to be cute? At any other time, she’d be ecstatic to get it back, but not in front of Leighton.
“Oh, and here.” He pulled something from his pocket.
Good God. Was that her retainer? It’d been missing for months.
“I found it behind my nightstand.”
Casey noticed the little piece of fuzz clinging to it just as Leighton walked by. Eww. Silly her, thinking the situation couldn’t get any worse. She avoided eye contact.
She glared at Devin and snatched the retainer from him. “Thanks. You can set the coffee down.”
“How’s Andy?” Unaware of her discomfort, he tried for small talk.
“Not. Now. Devin.” Her terse words came out through clenched teeth. In an instant, she regretted them. “Sorry, I’m not a morning person.”
With a downcast expression, he returned to the kitchen, passing Leighton with her own steaming coffee.
As she neared Casey, she slowed. “Is everything all right?”
The damp ends of her hair had created translucent spots on the fabric of her shirt near her collarbone, causing it to stick to her skin. Casey found herself staring and snapped out of it. She raised her chin. “It will be.” Her voice held conviction. There was no way she’d let her past with Devin interfere with her learning, or with Leighton’s opinion of her.
“Okay.” Leighton entered her office and closed the door.
Casey shoved the book into her taboret, dropped the retainer into her garbage, and moved the coffee she no longer wanted aside.
Mark exited the elevator with his bicycle balanced on one wheel. He lowered it with a bounce and pushed it into the studio. “Hey, Stefan?”
Stefan straightened from where he’d been digging in the refrigerator for something. “Yep.”
“Is it okay if I store my bike inside? I’ve had two stolen in the last year, so I’d rather not lock it up out back.” He peeled off his fingerless gloves.
He loved his bike and used it as his main form of transportation, and he didn’t have money to replace it yet again.
“Yeah. No problem.” Stefan pulled a glass from a cupboard.
“Should I leave it in here, or is it better to put it up with the stools on the third floor?” Mark hadn’t moved.
“What?” Stefan’s forehead creased with his obvious confusion. “Oh.” He gave a slight headshake. “No, leave it against that wall.” He pointed to a space under the northern windows near Casey’s station.
Mark leaned his bike against the bricks and hung his helmet on the handlebars. “Morning, Case. You’re up early.”
“Hey, Mark.”
Jenna had arrived behind him and wandered over. “Nice bike.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think they want us up in the storage area. The third floor lights were on when I came back last night to get my wallet. I tried to go up to turn them off, but the elevator wouldn’t let me.”
“I did, too.” Mark tucked his gloves inside his helmet. “Not because of the lights but out of curiosity.” He shrugged. “Neither my card nor code worked.”
Casey gave a short laugh. “I feel left out. Am I the only one who hasn’t tried?”
Jenna shuddered. “Storage rooms and attics tend to be haunted and full of spiders. I was secretly glad I couldn’t get up there.”
“I don’t care.” Mark patted his bike’s cushioned seat. “I’d rather have my baby where I can see her, anyway.”
Locks and sensors, more cameras than Casey could count, and doors and windows they couldn’t open. Why was Leighton so paranoid? Casey could understand wanting it in the gallery since Leighton’s pieces sold for the prices they did. However, wouldn’t she carry insurance in case of theft? Why was the entire building so secure? It seemed a bit much.
* * *
After only a few days, Casey had determined her classes were the best she’d ever attended. She filed her drawing from Stefan’s lesson on perspective into her portfolio bag and tidied her station. Already, twenty-four pages of her sketchbook contained notes and diagrams. Sometimes she used her laptop, but she liked how her combination of techniques, sketches, quotes, and ideas looked together. It motivated her.
Leighton, on her own, possessed more talent and knowledge than all of Casey’s previous professors combined. Stefan was a proficient instructor, too, and quite skilled in his own right, but in Casey’s opinion, Leighton’s teaching style parted the clouds and made the sun shimmer through. She taught in a way that cultivated the seeds of inspiration alongside the fundamentals and turned pigments suspended in oil and brushed onto canvas into something magical.
In addition to being mesmerized by her intellectual and artistic abilities, watching Leighton demonstrate techniques or write words like penumbra or esquisse on the whiteboard in her elegant handwriting captivated Casey. Without intending to, she’d memorized Leighton’s curves and the sculpted shape of her legs. If she remained this distracted, she’d have to work twice as hard as everyone else to keep up. She tried to convince herself that being consumed by the beauty of the female form, especially in an art class, was normal. At any rate, if her concentration faltered any further, she might require a prescription for her focus issues.
She needed to suppress her admiration for Leighton so she didn’t attract attention, but how could she refrain from looking? It reminded her of when she’d been told not to stare at the sun as a child.
Physical attributes aside, she’d enjoyed getting to know Leighton during her classes. The more she learned about her, the more she longed to discover. Casey had enjoyed almost every minute of her time at Atelier Vaughn, and the semester had just begun. It filled her with joy thinking about the future. She hadn’t felt so energized and inspired in years.
She had an hour before her next class, so she fished in her backpack for her wallet. Almost everyone had cleared out for the noon hour except Mikala and Leighton, who readied the room for her afternoon lesson.
Mikala stopped at Casey’s station. “Hey, I know a great deli nearby. Want to grab lunch?” She ran a hand over her short, dark hair.
Casey checked to make sure she had enough tips left from her final shift at the coffeehouse to buy a sandwich. “Sure. I’m starving.”
Leighton passed them.
“Do you want to join us for lunch, Leighton?” Mikala stretched her neck, like she needed to work out a kink.
Casey wished she had Mikala’s easygoing manner. Asking Leighton to lunch would be so much more than lunch in her mind. Even now, she wasn’t sure she wanted Leighton to accept or decline.
Leighton gave an apologetic smile. “I’d love to, however, I have a standing lunch date on Fridays.” Her eyes lit with anticipation.
Casey stomach pitched, and she busied herself with her wallet to appear disinterested. A date? And not just one, but a standing date? She’d surely dwell on that for the rest of the day.
“Next time then.” Mikala turned to Casey. “Ready?”
They headed for the elevator. When the doors slid open, Jaiden edged past them with a half-eaten falafel. “Oops, sorry.” He waved his sandwich in front of Casey. The scent of the tahini filled the alcove. “Hey, Case. Want a bite? It’ll cancel my garlic breath, so we can do some sweet, sweet kissin’ later.”
She laughed. “Aw, Jai. As inviting as you make that sound, I’m busy all day.” Her lack of desire to do any sort of kissing equaled his, but somehow they’d naturally fallen into teasing one another. His girlfriend attended Montclair and was studying to be a kindergarten teacher, and Jaiden was crazy about her. If they weren’t engaged by the end of the year, he could name Casey’s next child.
Leighton didn’t follow them into the elevator. “You two go ahead. I want the exercise.” She entered the stairwell.
Casey sniffed again. Had the strong scent forced Leighton to take the stairs? It was potent, but it smelled good. Maybe she didn’t like garlic. Casey chewed on her thumbnail. Did Leighton want to avoid riding with them, or worse, with her?
Had Casey done something to offend her? How could she have? She’d only been with her for a minute other than class time. Leighton simply had other lunch plans, and she wanted some exercise.
No. She had a date. God, Casey had to stop internalizing everything where Leighton was concerned, or she’d make herself insane. If she hadn’t already.