More Than Neighbors by Isabel Keats

thought, shrugging her shoulders.
    “Thank you so much, Catalina. I admit I could eat an ox, hooves and all.”
    On the tray there were scrambled eggs, sausages, toast, marmalade and butter, and strong coffee that Leopold found delicious. Seeing her contentedly watching him while he eagerly ate, he felt a little embarrassed and asked, “Are you not having anything?”
    “I had breakfast a few hours ago; I took Milo out for a walk and did some shopping.”
    When there were just a few crumbs left on the tray, Leopold gave her a satisfied look and thanked her. “You’re welcome, Leo.” Catalina smiled at him sweetly. “That’s what friends are for.”
    Her words bothered him for some reason, but he didn’t let it show. “I’m glad we’re friends. Will you show me what you’re painting now?”
    “I’m finishing some set panels for a play my students are performing at their Christmas party.” Cat led him to a room he’d never been in before. It was almost empty, and the floor was covered in large plastic sheets, splattered with paint. A broad shaft of sunlight came in through the curtainless windows, and a wooden easel stood by an old table covered in paint tubes, brushes, and glass jars.
    “So this is your studio.” Leopold looked around with interest.
    “Yeah. I’m fortunate to have a place like this to paint in. The light’s fabulous.”
    Leo approached one of the large panels resting against the easel. A forest was painted on it, and he felt that at any moment a flock of chirping birds would emerge from the panel and fly in all directions. “You’re a fabulous artist!” he exclaimed with admiration.
    Catalina was flattered. “It’s just a simple set for an amateur production,” she said with false modesty.
    He remained standing in front of the panel, fascinated. “Will you show me one of your paintings?” he cajoled once again.
    She shook her head, looking amused. “Now I see why you’re such a good businessman, Leo. You’re like a bulldog with its teeth locked on its prey: when you want something, you don’t let go until you get it.”
    “You know me too well already, Catalina. Come on, show me one.”
    He gazed at her beseechingly, and for a moment, Cat was reminded of Milo’s expectant look whenever she wandered near where his leash was kept. Unable to resist Leo, she shrugged and gave a resigned sigh. “Very well—I can readily imagine how often you use that look.” She didn’t miss the self-satisfied smile that spread across his firm lips, and she had to stop herself from smiling along with him.
    She walked over to one of the walls where a large number of canvases were leaning, facing away from them. She looked through them and eventually pulled out a medium-sized one and positioned it near the window so that light fell straight onto it.
    Leopold walked over and examined it closely. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the painting both surprised him and, at the same time, seemed very Catalina Stapleton. It was a landscape midway between abstract and realist. The young woman had captured a fleeting, light-filled scene using vibrant brushstrokes, as full of vitality as herself, and Sinclair felt powerfully moved.
    Cat studied his face, trying to figure out what was going through his mind, and she was very satisfied with his reaction. Finally, Leo looked up from the painting. “It’s good,” he proclaimed, staring her in the eyes, “very good.”
    Catalina returned his gaze, contented, a pleasant warmth spreading throughout her body. “Thanks.”
    “Diego’s right. You should exhibit.”
    “Maybe I will, one day,” she said absent-mindedly.
    Leopold stared at her without saying a word, and Cat fidgeted uncomfortably under the weight of his stern look, which seemed to see right through her.
    Catalina awkwardly tried to change the subject. “You’d better go and take that shower.”
    Perhaps he was beginning to get used to her dismissals, because, for once, Leo didn’t