Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“It’s like that sometimes, isn’t it? We fall in love with things that are gone, and we’ve got no way of getting them back. But we still remember what it felt like when it was fresh and new.” A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it away with a taste of her beverage. An emotional unburdening was definitely not something she wished to pursue, especially not in mixed company.
One of the instructors came over. A tall, bubbly woman with light blond hair, wearing an art smock.
“Hello, you two. Welcome! Ohhh, nice work!” She complimented Nikolai.
He gave her a leisurely smile.
“Thanks.”
“Do you need any help with anything?” the woman offered.
Porsche looked at her bare canvas. She was surprised. For some reason, she’d been so lost in her own thoughts, in everything, that she forgot that she was supposed to be painting.
“I’m okay. I was just talking too much. Just about to get started.”
“No problem. We want you to have fun, so enjoy yourselves at your own pace. If you need any assistance, don’t hesitate to call me over.”
The woman moved on to another group, offering that same cheery disposition. Porsche looked down at the art supplies next to her canvas and table easel, and picked up a brush. Dipping it into the black paint, she began to outline what she saw. Every now and again, she’d sneak peeks at Nikolai’s masterpiece. That was just what it was. He had a really good eye. His painting looked almost identical to the original so far.
“So, you’re an artist, too?” she asked as she applied more paint to her brush.
“Nah. I like to dibble and dabble in paint a little though. A true artist loves what they do. Maybe they hate it a little, too, like a love affair.” His words tapered at the end, like the end of the brush he was holding. “This is fun on occasion. Sometimes I get lucky and make something different. Most times I don’t. I know some really talented painters… I’m not one of ’em.”
“Isn’t blacksmithing a kind of art, too?”
He paused and turned to look at her. The lights in the room hit him just right, casting an optimistic sparkle in his eyes.
“Yeah… some think so.” He went back to his painting.
“What do you think?”
“Depends on what I’m doing. I guess it depends on how you look at it, too. Art is subjective, as they say.”
She nodded in understanding. “Well, that makes sense.”
A couple of minutes passed with the two of them side by side, painting and enjoying themselves… and one another.
“Nikolai, if I asked you, would you be willing to supply a DNA sample? I noticed you didn’t already have one on file.”
He kept on painting, running the brush up and down the canvas in slow, steady strokes. His shoulders slumped, and then he shrugged. “Y’all found DNA on the dead guy?”
They hadn’t. In fact, that was the strangest thing of all about these murders, making her even more certain that they were linked. Nevertheless, if his DNA was on file, just in case something popped up, it would make things easier. More importantly, she wanted to gauge his reaction. Jar him in the middle of a good time. The best test to uncover a person’s true self was to shake them in the middle of their peace.
“I can’t really disclose those details of the case.”
“If it’ll help… yeah, I’d do it.”
A man approached with menus then.
“Oh, I didn’t know they served food here.” She took the menu and Nikolai looked over her shoulder so they could read it at the same time. “I’m hungry actually, so this is perfect. I’ll have the flatbread pizza. It’s BBQ chicken, right?”
“Yes, and it’s one of my favorite things to eat here,” the waiter explained.
“Okay, perfect. I’ll have that then.”
“I’d like to try the BBQ chicken flatbread pizza, too,” Nikolai stated.
She handed the man the menu, and he walked away. She shifted her gaze back to his painting and was awestruck. He moved so fast now, he seemed halfway finished. She plunged her brush into the basin of water a bit too hard, making it splash. The liquid sprayed, misting her face.
He stared at her, and she burst into a fit of laughter. Snatching a paper towel from the roll, he dabbed it on her face.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When he was satisfied, he balled up the paper towel and held it in his fist while his gaze penetrated her through the short distance between them. But she broke the connection, needing a reprieve.
“Wow. Blacksmithing and a painter—the talent is there whether you admit it or not. Here I am, with barely anything on, and all wet. You’re really good with your hands!”
As soon as she realized what she’d said, they both looked at one another then simultaneously burst out laughing.