Brush Strokes by Dee Carney Page A

sundry details of
your model in solitude.” His jaw tightened before his gaze dropped.
“Sorry to have taken up so much of your time,” he mumbled and
walked away.
    She almost called out to him. Almost
asked him to come back and make her understand. Instead she watched
him push through the glass door to be swallowed by the sunlight and
outside world.
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Eight
    Joe paced the sidewalk, pissed with
the world. Furious with himself. Why in God’s name had he walked
away from her? He’d fallen in love with an artist. What did he
expect for her to see when she looked at him? If Tanya was an
architect, she’d notice the way buildings and bridges were
constructed. If she had been a florist, she’d notice the way
gardens could be spruced up with more color and variety. It only
made sense that when she saw him, she saw the best way to capture
him on paper. At what point had he lost his own perspective and
forgotten that about her? If he’d push aside his fucking ego, he’d
realize that ability to see him in a different light had first
attracted him to her.
    Jesus. A limited number of options were open for him to salvage this
mess. The most obvious meant doing an about face and going inside
to apologize. If he wanted her—and God knew he did—he’d suck it up
and do just that. Yet, he stood in place.
    So what kept him from going back
in?
    Her hesitation. The way she’d dropped
his hand, putting some space between them when someone she knew saw
them together. Again, the ugly question of whether she dated
outside of her race reared its ugly head. All of this time,
everything they’d done had been behind closed doors. In a roomful
of people like herself, maybe she didn’t want anyone to know the
white guy next to her meant something a little more… She had no
problem letting him perhaps make love to her, but when together in
a public venue she raised shields he didn’t know she had. Maybe it
was easier on her if she perpetuated the belief they were nothing
more than artist and model.
    He’d never ever thought their races
would come between them. He would have picked a thousand other
things before this one, yet there it was. An unpleasant truth of
reality. That little scene in there didn’t help matters.
    He took a deep, cleansing breath.
Okay. Maybe it wasn’t race. Maybe the problem was more global.
Perhaps she had a problem with him. Good enough for sex, but not
good enough for much more. Perhaps she preferred a man who offered
more. An established safety net like Mr. Killian. Someone who could
support her and her artwork. Then again, she didn’t want much. So
maybe she wanted an artist like herself. Someone who understood the
aches and pains she went through.
    Oh for fuck’s sake, he could spend the
next hour throwing out what-ifs and never know the real answer. As
his older brother would say, time to put on his big girl panties
and suck it up. Go back inside now and figure out where their
relationship, as he preferred to think of it, was headed. One way
or the other. He just had to decide if Tanya was worth a little bit
of his pride.
    Turning to face the expansive picture
window, he peered inside. She didn’t appear as he hoped, but the
sight of couples milling about, stopping to admire various art
didn’t escape his attention. Goddamn it he wanted to be in there
next to her, if not admiring her work, at least enjoying her
company.
    So yeah. His pride would have to take
a beating.
    Each step back inside bolstered his
confidence. She’d seen something special enough to hire him in the
first place. The times they celebrated her successes together; the
past couple of days when they sorrowed together. All of it meant
something. Something with which they could build a future. He had
to find out if she thought they could. God knew he did. He had to
hear the verdict from her mouth. And the certainty he could
convince her they deserved a chance