Only Between Us Read Online Free Page B

helpful.”
    She smiles and pats my shoulder. “What they need is someone to listen without judging them. It’s harder than it looks to walk away and start over, and they need to talk to someone who understands. Can you do that?”
    I nod, determined. “Yeah. I can do that.”
     
    I glare at the blank page, this huge piece of creamy paper taped to my easel. It looks innocent enough, but it’s been persecuting me for the few hours. My palette is all set up, a few basic oil colors, cadmium yellow, phthalo blue, naphthol red, titanium white. My brush is in my hand. The bristles are clean.
    My mind is blank. I’m clenching my teeth so tightly that my head is starting to ache. This was supposed to be a release, my chance to express myself, and I’ve been sitting here at this easel in the back row all evening, staring. There are several would-be artists around me, some teenage girls, all sitting near the front, working feverishly. They remind me of me a few years ago, discovering the joy of putting brush to canvas or paper. There are a few gray-haired elderlies, one man and a few women, mostly painting fruit or landscapes. A few women from the Tuesday class are here, too, and their papers are dominated by images of the lake, a favorite inspiration for a lot of local painters. But I don’t miss how some of them keep glancing toward the stairs that lead to the studios, probably wondering where Caleb is.
    I hate to admit it, but I’ve been wondering that myself. A few of the artists from upstairs have been hanging out—a pretty woman named Daisy with waist-length, wheat-colored hair, and a guy named Markus with black, grimy fingernails and full sleeve tattoos on both his arms. Both of them came back here to check on me, but I smiled and brushed them off, telling them I’m still settling in.
    And now people are packing up. Daisy announces that folks can stay until ten if they want, and then she and Markus head up the stairs, chatting about an upcoming gallery show in one of the places on Main Street. The girls head out to wait for their parents to pick them up, and the elderly people go out to their cars. One of the tailored middle-aged women from my class goes up the stairs, and the rest of them leave. All the while, I sit here, wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea.
    The front door slams and I flinch, cold prickles running through me. The lights in the room switch off, and I gasp.
    “Oh, sorry,” Caleb says. “I didn’t know someone was still in here.” The lights come back on. “Romy?” He steps into the room, looking windblown, smelling faintly of smoke, his gaze riveted to my face as his eyes fill with concern. “Are you okay?”
    I blink. “What? Yeah. I was about to pack up.”
    He edges along a row of easels, glancing around the empty room. “What are you working on?” He frowns as he reaches me and sees that my paper is blank. He looks down at my untouched palette, my clean brush. “Did you just get here?”
    I swallow. “I’ve been here for a while, actually. I’m kind of …”
    “Blocked?”
    I shrug. There’s a dark smudge of something on his temple, and I want to wipe it away. It makes him look vulnerable.
    “It happens to everyone sometimes,” he says.
    I never thought gray was a warm color, but as I look into his eyes, I start to reconsider. “It’s never happened to me before, but it’s been a while since I painted.”
    He nods at my palette. “You’re into oils? Why are you taking my acrylics for beginners class?”
    “It was the only one I could fit into my course schedule.”
    “What’s your major?”
    “I’m a graduate student in counseling. I’m in my second year.”
    His smile turns mischievous. “So you’re gonna be a shrink? Is that why you were analyzing my painting?”
    I roll my eyes. “Why, are you afraid I’ll discover your dark secrets?”
    He lets out a huff of silent laughter. “Maybe.” He gestures at my paper. “Are you afraid to reveal yours