"Never seen anyone paint?" I turned back to my easel.
"I've seen plenty of people paint." His shoes crunched on the ground as he stepped around to stand beside me. "I would have thought you left town by now."
"Why would you think that?" I added some shading in front of the café, deepening the shadows that surrounded the doorway. I wanted anyone who looked at the painting to wonder what was inside. Maybe they'd come out here to find out for themselves. If not, maybe they'd imagine.
That was one of my favourite things about art. It inspired imagination. Everyone saw every piece in a different way. They all brought their life experiences to that moment, interpreting based on what they knew to be true. Which could, of course, be completely different to what the artist knew. Or intended.
"Connor wasn't very welcoming," Riley said, leaning in to take a closer look at my brush strokes. Close enough that his nose bumped against the canvas, leaving a dot of green on the tip. "Then I went and smudged your little painting."
Little painting?
I couldn't tell if he'd done it on purpose or not. It might have been an accident, and it might be an attempt to piss me off. As if somehow if he did something bad enough, I'd pack up and get out of town. I wanted to laugh. He'd have to try harder than that.
He raised his hand toward the canvas as though he could rub the mark away. Like it was nothing more than a smudge on a phone screen.
I dropped my brush and caught his wrist. "It's fine, I can fix it." I ignored the way his muscles flexed in his arm before I dropped my hand.
"Maybe you should wipe that off." I glanced up at his nose. "Just in case it's toxic."
He wiped at his nose with the sleeve of his dark grey Henley. "You wouldn't paint with toxic paint, would you, sweetheart?"
I cleaned my brush and fixed up the spot he smudged. "Of course not, but I try to keep it off my face." He didn't need to get that up close and personal with my painting.
"Oh yeah? Where do you like it?" He took a step back and looked me up and down. A small streak of paint still decorated the side of his nose.
I decided not to mention it.
"On my canvas." I dabbed at the spot until I was satisfied it was fixed. "Where else?"
Was he trying to flirt with me or get a rise out of me? Did it matter? He wasn't going to succeed with either. No more than he and Connor were going to chase me out of town.
"You know, you're pretty good," he said grudgingly. "Do you do nudes?"
"Sometimes," I said, not looking in his direction.
He gave off that 'I know I'm attractive' air already without me stroking his ego. Dark hair, squared chin with a dimple, and blue eyes; no doubt he got more than his share of attention. Did he flirt with people he took on adventure tours? That seemed likely to me. He probably flirted with anyone who stayed still for long enough. All the more reason for me to stay away from him. Between his and Connor's frigid welcome, and this disingenuous bid for my attention, Riley Crane was trouble with a capital T.
"Will you paint me?" he asked.
"Why would I do that?" I dabbed my brush in the red and touched up the H on the front of Hollow Bites. It was a little too vibrant, where the actual letter was faded. Well loved.
"Why wouldn't you?" he countered.
"I'm sure you're too busy to stand still for a few hours," I said. "Not to mention, like you said, I might not be in town for long."
"You wouldn't stick around to paint me naked?" he asked. "Plenty of women would."
"Then you won't have any trouble finding someone who will," I said. If he thought he'd impress me with the suggestion of competition, he was barking up the wrong tree. I learned the hard way not to get involved with players.
"That's true," he agreed. "They're practically lining up."
"Yeah, I know, I painted them all." I gestured towards the canvas. A whole two vague figures stood near the pub. A man and a woman, leaning with their heads close, talking about something. They weren't anyone I'd seen today, just figures I thought should be there. Something to add a hint of mystery to the painting. People could speculate who they were and what they were saying to each other. 'People' included me.
"You're missing a few," he said with a grunt.
I put down my brush and leaned back to appraise my work. "Looks perfect to me."
"How much?" he asked.
