Portrait of Us Read Online Free Page B

my tone was steady, even if a little chilly.
    He shook his head and pursed his lips. “I’m not sure yet.”
    I put the doughnuts in individual minibags and rang the two guys out. They clomped to the door.
    â€œHey, man, you coming?” Thomas asked as he shoved his shoulder to the door. The little bell rang, and a blast of warm air burst inside.
    â€œI’ll be out in a minute,” Matthew replied.
    The guys shrugged, then started chowing on their doughnuts as they headed outside into the warm summer heat.
    Matthew took his attention off the glass case, then gave me a crooked smile. “Sorry about them. I don’t think they get enough oxygen in their brains.”
    That made me crack a small smile. At least he felt bad for them being such meatheads. “Anything in there interest you?”
    He tilted his head, and a smile widened on his face.
    â€œUm, what?”
    â€œYou have . . .” He reached toward me, then stopped, gesturing at my cheek. “Uh, there’s a little flour . . .”
    Ah, crud. I spun around and scrubbed at my cheeks. When I kneaded dough, flour got everywhere. Why hadn’t I thought it would be on my face, too? Awkward. I turned back and fought the wave of embarrassment. “Thanks.”
    Matthew leaned toward the case, careful not to touch the glass and keep his fingers on the metal rim. “So, how did your project come along? You entered, right? I thought I saw that.”
    I swallowed. Somehow I hadn’t anticipated him asking me about art. But of course he would. “It went fine, thanks.” My spine was so stiff I could snap in half if another breeze rolled in here. What was it about him that set me on edge so much? “So . . . you entered?” I made myself ask.
    â€œI did. Took me all week to work on my piece. I stayed up really late.”
    I tried to envision what postmodern art he would have worked on that could take more than ten minutes. Then I shoved that snotty thought out. Ava’s words about me being judgmental popped to the forefront of my brain. “I did too, actually. I did a watercolor for my entry.”
    â€œI did an ink-and-newspaper collage for mine. Kind of a mixed media. A bit of a social commentary . . .” He gave a self-conscious shrug, then cleared his throat. “Um. Anyway. Good luck. I’ve seen your pieces, and you’re really talented.”
    Wow, that was really nice of him. My heart thudded in surprise at the compliment. If Ava were here, she’d be poking me in the ribs. “Thanks. I appreciate that. And good luck to you, too.”
    Matthew rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away. As much as I hated to admit it, he really was handsome.
    â€œI’ll see you Monday, then,” he said, his grin crooked as he backed away from the counter.
    I tipped my head in response and watched him turn to leave. Every movement of his was effortless, from the way his legs ate up the distance between him and the door to how his arm reached out and pushed it open. A sort of ballet, full of confidence and self-assurance.
    Wow, was I getting ridiculous or what? Maybe I’d breathed too much flour in this morning. I shook those thoughts out of my head and turned my attention back to cleaning. Focus, I ordered myself. A guy could be as cute as he wanted, but that didn’t mean he thought I was cute in return. Or that I’d even want him to.
    I had enough on my plate. There was no room in there for a guy.
    Especially one like Matthew.

    After a long weekend, where I spent far too long last night staring at the ceiling, willing myself to fall asleep, it was finally Monday. I dressed quickly and ran downstairs. I could barely keep any breakfast down, my stomach was churning so hard.
    Somehow, this had become more than just a regular art competition for me. Lying in bed,