by Jean Oram
“No, that’s okay,” she said too brightly. “I’m Maggie.”
Clint and Maria whispered their own introductions while trying to simultaneously listen to the instructor. She was saying something about the kind of paint they’d be using and how long it would take to dry. Quite quickly, by the sound of things. That would make blending colors a trick and a half.
Miss Lucille gave a loud, harsh “Shh!” at the end of their introductions.
“Sorry!” both Maria and Clint chirped. Maria dived into her wineglass and noticed Clint did the same. When his eyes cut to hers over the rim of it the giggle that had been building inside her escaped, drawing another shushing sound from Miss Lucille. Maria shut her eyes, tightening her lips as she tried to hold back her laughter.
She could not look at Clint. Could not. She’d never stop laughing.
She looked.
His eyebrows danced, and she lost control, a loud bark of laughter startling the class.
“Sorry!”
“How much have you had?” Clint whispered, his shoulder pressing against hers as he checked out her wineglass.
She giggled, her face burning. “We should leave.”
“No way. This is just getting good, girl.”
“I’m hardly a girl.”
“You’re blushing like one.”
“It’s embarrassment.”
“Would the two of you be quiet already?” Miss Lucille snapped. The woman in a sweater set across from her gave them a look of intense disapproval.
“Come sit over here,” called a man from another table. He and his girlfriend shuffled their chairs to make room despite the crowd at their table.
Clint was up in a second, collecting their glasses in one hand, their chairs in the other. He hurried over, whispering, “Is this the fun table?” He hunched low as he set down their glasses.
Several people nodded, grins on their faces.
“Great.” He pulled out Maria’s chair and she sat, feeling both embarrassed by her outburst and full of energy. She wanted to be silly and to laugh at ridiculous things all day.
“How am I going to sit still for this?” she asked, staring at the glass ball in her hands.
“Drink more wine.”
“I don’t have any ideas for this ornament.”
Clint reached over with a brush dipped in green paint and slashed a mark across it. She gasped. “Hey!”
“You have to make that work.”
“What?”
“You have to keep the green stroke and work it into your design.”
“I don’t have a design.”
He checked his watch, then the clock above the display cases of sea glass jewelry. “You have approximately fifty-six minutes to make one.”
The room grew quiet as people contemplated what to paint, then chatter built once again until it filled the room.
Clint hunched over his ball, adding brushstroke after brushstroke. Maria couldn’t think of a single thing to paint.
She pressed against him, trying to see what he was doing. He leaned away, body curved around his ornament. “Hey! Don’t steal my ideas.”
“I wasn’t! I just wanted to see.”
“Fifty-three minutes,” he warned.
Maria sighed and contemplated the fist-sized ball. It had been so long since she’d held a brush she wasn’t sure she recalled how to do it.
Eventually she began adding more green around Clint’s mark, turning it into a palm tree. The room around her began to fade as she zeroed in on the smooth glass in her hand, the fine-bristled paintbrush and the colors that subtly changed depending on which tones neighbored them. She loved that about painting. Colors were flexible in how they could take on the tones of others. Kind of like people. When she hung out with Clint, she relaxed and laughed more. She liked that. She liked how hopeful and upbeat she felt. If she were a color, she’d be one of joy. Maybe a sunny yellow or a pink that popped.
She wondered how she made Clint feel. She turned to ask him, caught sight of his painting and burst out laughing.
“No?” He fought a smile, twisting his wrist so she had a better view of his completed ornament.
“It’s charming.”
He’d taken a stab at painting Santa Claus, the rounded ornament enunciating the size of Santa’s belly. Proportionally, he had done quite a good job, the painting playful and endearing. A lot of the qualities she saw in Clint.
She looked at her own ornament. She had painted the beach she’d been walking each day. Uninspired. Too much brown. Too much green. Too much blue. Too boring. Too flat.
She had checked off all the appropriate “good painting” boxes when it came to proportion, color, tone, balance, adhering to the rule of thirds and all the rest of it she’d learned in art class. But her ornament lacked character. It lacked a story, originality and life. It was precise, the technique shaky but solid. Overall it was cliched and forgettable.
She set down the ball.
Clint was watching her.
Maria tried to catch sight of what others had painted, but most people had already set theirs in the cardboard holders and boxes for drying and taking home. Maria had been the last one still painting.
Miss Lucille didn’t seem to have painted anything, but had been gossiping about the Ashland Belle Society and the upcoming gala as though she was in charge of it all.
Feeling an uncontrollable urge to correct her, Maria stood, saying to Clint, “Let’s get out of here.”
“What was wrong with your painting?” Clint asked as they left Coastal Creations. He had collected his ornament, having the mostly-dry ball carefully boxed and bagged. Maria had left hers behind, telling him she’d meet him outside.
“You didn’t like it?” he asked, when she dug her hands into her sweatshirt pockets and walked faster.
“It was boring.” And it represented everything she had been ignoring in her life until now. The worst part was that everyone else could see it. Roy had left her. Kit wanted her to loosen up, as did Clint and Fiona. Maria had been having a midlife crisis without even realizing it.
Clint hustled to keep up with her. “Boring?” he asked.
“Yup.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
She picked up her pace.
“Hey, slow down.”
Her steps faltered. “Have you ever taken a moment to look up after working hard all your life?”
“Sure.”
“And then realized that none of it…” She gestured futilely, unable to find the right words to express how she felt. It had all been worth it. She had her boys, a thriving ranch that supported several generations. She knew her sons loved and appreciated her. She didn’t have regrets. Not specifically.
But still, something was missing.
“None of it matters?” Clint offered, his features lined with concern. “Defines who you are?”
“This isn’t a fill-in-the-blanks test.”
“Talk to me. Just keep talking until it all makes sense.”
Maria exhaled, trying to collect her thoughts. She didn’t know what to think. What to say, or where to start.
“Who do you see when you look in the mirror?” Clint suggested. When she heaved an impatient sigh, he reached over to give her elbow a supportive squeeze. “Talk to me.”
“I’m too task-focused. I take myself and my life too seriously.”
She faced Clint for a long moment, as he studied her.
“Know what I see?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Do I want to?” She wasn’t in the mood for compliments.
“I see a woman who puts pressure on herself to achieve and hold things together. And maybe she’s feeling a little lost because her place in the world doesn’t feel as make-it-or-break-it any longer. Her family’s grown up and fairly independent. A big slice of your identity was the boys, Maria. It makes sense that you’re wondering where you fit in now that they’re peering down the path toward starting their own families.”
She fe
lt her eyes dampen.
“Hey…” Clint pulled her into a tight hug that felt like everything she needed. “It’s okay.”
“I know.”
“It’s just time to change gears.”
“But how?” She was still an important cog in the ranch’s operations, and didn’t want to give that up. But again, something was missing. Something felt overlooked.
“Like with the town library. I heard you helped Karen get the mental space to battle against Henry, who was standing in her way.” Clint released her enough to look at her. “In the old days you would have been up all night baking your amazing squares to sell in a fundraiser. But we’re old.”
“Don’t put me out to pasture!”
He chuckled, his gaze on her lips again, heat turning his brown eyes into depthless pools she wanted to explore.
“All I’m saying is that how we contribute is shifting. We have a novel kind of brawn now. It’s time to let the next generation pull the weight while we sit on our mountaintop and wait for them to need our insights.”
Maria laughed at the image of her sitting on a mountain like a wise old sage. Although she understood what he was saying. She used to run around baking and doing crazy amounts of labor for various fundraisers. This time, however, she’d stepped forward to advise and clear paths. It was still important work, and it was still support, just different. A different energy.
“It’s our time to slow down and enjoy life. Don’t you think?”
“But it’s hard.”
He smiled. “That’s because you’re amazing, and you’re wired to take charge and get things done.”
Maria rolled her eyes. “I’m boring. I painted the most boring scene on that ornament.”
“You take any task given to you very seriously, and that’s appreciated by everyone you work with. But you know what else I see?”
“Hmm?”
“This Maria Wylder chick can also turn around and tease someone else until they beg for mercy.”
“I don’t see anyone begging.”
“I’m begging, Maria.” His eyes had locked on her mouth. His voice lowered until it was barely above a whisper. “Trust me, I am begging.”
Maria licked her lips, confused and unsure what to say or do. He had released her from the hug, but they were still standing close. Closer than friends would, but not so near they’d be mistaken for lovers.
“Can I kiss you?” He was the most serious she’d ever seen him. Even when, a few months back, he’d informed her she needed a new transmission in her car.
“You shouldn’t have to ask that,” she said, frustrated that he didn’t feel he could be spontaneous with her. With some things, yes, such as picnics, scooter rides and ornament painting. But not with a kiss, the one thing that should be unplanned and from the heart.
Was this indicative of her entire problem? She’d lost the ability to relax and go with the flow?
Clint shuffled his feet closer to hers as his callused hands bracketed her face. The kiss was tender and sweet, tasting of gingerbread. He must have stopped at Sweet Caroline’s for a cookie as well. He kissed her for a long moment, forcing the pre-Christmas foot traffic to weave around them.
“You left the painting class to come outside and do this on our streets?” said Miss Lucille with disdain. “Tourists,” she muttered, and Maria couldn’t help but giggle in Clint’s arms.
“We sure did,” he called after her.
As Maria pulled Clint in for another wet kiss, she thought maybe she was already learning to not take herself so seriously.
Chapter 5
Maria let herself and Clint into Kittim’s condo, then closed the door and leaned against it, smiling. The energy surge from giggling like a teenager in the painting session had returned full force. She was brimming with unexpected joy and delight, as well as curiosity over what might come next.
“You’re even more beautiful when you smile,” Clint said, easing closer to cradle her face. He gave her a light kiss on the lips. While it was chaste, it held a heat that whispered of promise.
She smiled again, feeling ridiculous. Was this how Roy had felt when Sophia had paid attention to him? Renewed? Excited? Full of anticipation that there might be more to life yet to come?
No. No thinking about Roy under any circumstances.
She was here, away from home and everything that kept tying her to an identity that no longer served her. Things had changed, as Clint had so deftly pointed out. It was time she changed, too. Just a bit.
“Want a cup of tea?” she asked, slipping past Clint and heading down the narrow hallway to the kitchen and living area. She pivoted, walking backward to watch him. He advanced with a smile, catching her in his arms to give her a kiss that wasn’t as sweet or innocent as the earlier one.
She wrapped herself in the moment, refusing to think about the future or any implications related to kissing Clint Walker.
“A spot of tea would be delightful,” he said when he finally released her, putting on a posh accent. “And if a cup of tea is a euphemism for something else, then I—”
Still in his arms, Maria tickled him without mercy. “You are such a brat. I swear it’s the ocean air.”
“It’s not,” he said, helpless with laughter.
“You are so unbelievably ticklish!”
He was handsome when he laughed, and all trace of worry left his face, giving him that youthful look that had intrigued her two days ago on the beach. It was hard to believe he’d had any sort of recent health issue.
The idea sobered her, and she relented, steering him toward the kitchen as she asked, “Fiona said you had a health scare? Everything’s okay?”
She tried to keep it casual, but knew her concern had revealed itself in her voice. Worry had returned to the lines in his face.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you? Because I don’t want to get involved with a man who’s on death’s door.”
“We’re getting involved?” There was a warmth to his voice she wanted to keep there.
“No. But that still doesn’t mean I want to be an item on someone’s bucket list.” With a slight amount of alarm, she realized she wanted to be a lot more than that.
“Bucket list?” he repeated.
“You know, a kiss or a girlfriend before you kick the bucket or something like that?”
“Shoot. You’re onto me. The doctor found something odd with my prostate. But the delightful news is that it turned out to be nothing a dose of radiation can’t fix.”
Maria gasped, her palms landing lightly on his chest.
“I’m kidding.” He gently took her hands, holding them in front of him, then placed a kiss on her forehead. “It was nothing more than a bit of inflammation. He fixed me up.”
“I’m glad.”
“Were you worried about me?” A slow smile of pleasure stretched his mouth.
“Yes.” She pulled her hands from his and busied herself with gathering cups for tea.
“Less interested now that I might stick around another twenty years?” He craned his neck, trying to see her expression, and she glowered even though she didn’t feel the least bit angry. “Were you afraid your new boyfriend was about to keel over?”
She sighed at his teasing.
“Maybe you thought he was looking to entrap someone to be his in-home nurse during his final days?”
She gave his shoulder a light tap of disapproval as she reached around him for the electric kettle. “Don’t make me take you by your ear.”
“I’ve heard about that infamous abuse. You have rumors being spread by your boys all over town, and yet I have never seen you get physical with a single soul. Not even that time Ryan had a fit in the middle of Main Street when he was—how old? five? seven?—because you wouldn’t buy him an ice-cream cone.”
Maria laughed. “Oh, that one was such a handful. If I hadn’t been so tired from raising all those boys, I might’ve had the grace to be embarrassed.”
“You handle
all of life’s bumps with endless grace.”
“I wish that were true. I’ve had my share of fits over the years.” Not so many, but enough that she didn’t want to think about them.
Maria filled the kettle and plugged it in. She opened the cupboard above the counter. “What kind of tea do you like?”
“How about something without caffeine,” Clint said, checking the clock on the oven’s console.
“We haven’t had lunch,” Maria said with surprise. She was so out of sync with her routine, she’d missed the meal. She went to the fridge. “I could do with a sandwich. How about you?”
“Sure.”
Maria moved around a few take-out containers, opening them to check the contents. “I forgot about these. Kit and I ate at Sweet Caroline’s the other night and she never eats her leftovers. How about I have hers and you have mine?” She lifted her eyebrows to see if it was okay with Clint.
He peeked inside the take-out box, seeing her untouched half of chicken potpie. He picked it up and cradled it in his hand, taking a bite as he moved to the small dining nook just beyond the kitchen.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said. Men were so easy to please. They didn’t need a napkin, plate or even a utensil. Just hand them the food and they were good.
With a shrug, Maria followed Clint with her own box. He hadn’t stopped in the nook, but had opened the patio door and was eating at the railing that overlooked the condo’s inner courtyard and pool. She took a chair behind him and he turned, settling in the one beside her, the idea of tea forgotten.
The weather was gorgeous, with a streak of sunshine warming the patio. Below, a breeze rippled the blue water of the quiet pool, where a floating leaf turned idly like a rowboat with only one oar.
When they finished eating Maria popped up, “Oh! I forgot about the tea.”
The kettle had clicked off, but the water was still warm.
“The cups in here?” Clint had followed her and started opening cupboard doors at random.
“They’re already on the counter.” She held up two boxes of decaffeinated tea.
“Raspberry,” he said.
Maria checked them. “There’s no raspberry.”
