by Cora Davies
His statement startled her and Claire launched herself into the room. Her eyes darted to find the seat furthest from the front of the classroom.
The floor was paint splattered. Good, because with the day she was having, it would be less noticeable when she spilled a bottle of paint on the floor.
The easels each had a piece of white paper taped to them and small pedestals of paint resting nearby. A bowl of fruit was the center of attention for the circle of easels.
"Couldn't get anymore stereotypical," Eli said, sitting next to her.
"Stereotypical?" she asked. Was he calling her stereotypical? More importantly, why was he sitting next to her? She wanted to melt into the floor.
Eli picked up a paintbrush in his hand and twirled it between his fingers. "The bowl of fruit. It's always a bowl of fruit."
"Oh." Relieved, a single laugh burst out of her mouth.
The anxiety already ebbed. The hardest part was always finding the courage to step into a room, answer the phone, turn on the car. Once she was in motion, the anxiety faded away. Claire was still learning to control the anxiety --a parting gift from her divorce.
A short woman with creamy skin and gray hair appeared at the center of the room. She rearranged the fruit in the bowl before clapping her hands twice to silence them all and smiled.
"I'm Taliah, and welcome to Intro to Visual Art," she said, lifting her arms and spinning around in a quick circle. Her arms were covered with brightly colored bangles, clanking against each other as she moved her arms. She spoke for the next few minutes about the course. Claire joined in on the collective sigh of relief when Taliah announced that attendance, timeliness and dedication were keys to a good grade -- not natural talent.
Soon it was time to create the bowl of fruit, with no further instruction from Taliah than, "Feel the painting come to life."
Claire looked around. A few of her classmates began with paint on the canvas, but most were sketching crude shapes. She dug through her bag for a pencil. No way she would start painting without tracing first. She noticed Eli was already confidently laying out shapes with the paint, no penciled in drawing. He seemed to be a natural.
"You're really good at this," Claire whispered, after a few minutes. The bowl already on his paper, complete with the small chip in the rim and a finger-stain on the front of the porcelain.
"It keeps me out of trouble," he muttered, and she noticed that his cheeks reddened. Embarrassed when complimented, good to know. Was Eli not all ego like most devastatingly attractive men? Eli glanced at Claire's painting, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. He said nothing.
"I don't know what I'm doing; I thought she was going to stand here and teach us step by step. You know, like in those wine and painting studios?" Claire knew she sounded flustered and turned back to the canvas. Her mouth felt dry from just the few words she had spoken.
She blamed it on the bad day she was having, she did not usually have such a difficult time talking to men. Hell, she had been in the Air Force; men vastly outnumbered the women at work every single day.
It was Eli. He was doing something to her with his stupid gray eyes. He had an intense gaze, and it was discomforting. She decided she would imagine he had webbed toes. Yes, webbed toes would make him seem more normal than the tattooed Adonis he was.
"You're doing fine," Eli said, a hint of humor in his voice as an unfortunate lemon appeared on Claire's paper. "What are you in for?"
"In?"
"School. Are you just taking a few classes? Or getting a degree?" Eli blew on his painting, drying what he had done so far. She imagined his lips doing other things.
Webbed feet.
"Associates in Early Childhood. I want to be a preschool teacher," Claire said.
"Preschool." A mischievous glint passed through Eli's eyes, and he pointed to Claire's painting with his brush. "I'd say you're right on track then."
The joke was so unexpected, she could not help herself. She laughed and playfully punched Eli in the arm and Eli laughed softly. Claire felt solid muscle under that flannel shirt, and she was sure his muscles tightened when she touched him. Rachel's voice rang through her head. Time to get back out there.
"Okay, good. My joke could have gone one of two ways, and I'm glad I don't have a black eye right now," Eli teased. The paint separated from his bristled and the water turned green as he swirled the brush around in his glass of water. "Seriously though, teaching is a very noble profession. More noble than anything I've ever done. I'm not much of a kid person myself, I guess." Eli shrugged. Claire no longer had to imagine webbed feet. "Not that there is anything wrong with... hey, I stuck my foot in mouth. I noticed you have carseats..."
"Two kids. Ella is six and Robby is three." Claire stabbed her paintbrush into the red paint a little too hard. The kids would spend so much more time with their father over the next few months while she finished school. She shoved the guilt away every day. Some days it stayed away, and some days it came back. But even when she was successful, Robert found a way to lay the guilt trip on her, just like he had earlier that evening when she dropped the kids off at his apartment.
"That's cool. Your husband watches them while you go to class?" Eli asked. Claire's nose wrinkled, thinking about Robert.
"Their dad is watching them." Claire said. She did not want to talk about Robert tonight. He acted as if he was doing her the world's hugest favor by watching his own children at drop off. "What are you going to school for?"
"I'm giving a semester a go. If it works out, accounting. If it doesn't work out, at least I'll have this painting of a bowl of fruit."
"Accounting? Numbers, math... ouch," Claire said, screwing up her face. A weird square apple formed on the paper in front of her.
"You don't like math?" Eli asked, hand on his chest in mock offense. He was funnier than she thought he would be. When he was behind the bar counter, he was serious and smoldering. "I get that a lot, but numbers are like breathing to me. Simple, always the same. No variables."
"Isn't variable a math term?" she asked.
Eli's lips turned up in a crooked grin and he opened his mouth to speak, but his paintbrush slipped out of his hand and fell on her knee. The green paint immediately soaked into the denim. Before she could tell him not to worry about it, he hopped out of his seat, and grabbed a few wipes from the center table by the fruit.
He handed one to Claire who cleaned her hands while Eli wiped at the knee of her jeans. A tingle traveled up her thighs, and they squeezed tight unconsciously. She pretended like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a stranger rubbing her knee. Not at all sensual. He was simply cleaning up his mess.
"You're right, variable is a math term. I should have said, I can solve for those variables easier than I understand people; people have entirely too many variables. Numbers I can pin down and... I'm not making sense." He lifted the wipe, staring at it as if it was the most interesting object in the classroom.
Claire, conscious of his hand still on her knee, did her best to not appear squirmy. "You're making as much sense to someone who sucks at math... can make sense... to? Now I'm not making sense."
"No, you're not," Eli teased. He smiled, laugh lines appearing around his gray eyes. Claire's heart skipped a beat.
Eli set the cloth down, and looked into her eyes, which she wished were any color but boring brown. "I think I ruined your pants."
"They're old; it's no big deal," she said, avoiding his gaze, as if that could keep him from noticing how red her face had become. Claire wondered if she imagined it when Eli's fingers trailed off of her knee slower than necessary.
CHAPTER THREE
Eli was flirting with Claire; he knew it. He was not quiet about it. As obvious as if someone dropped an anvil on their heads. He could not stop himself from flirting, even if she was not flirting back. Claire was probably so used to the attention; she was able to brush it off.
Claire was beautiful, and not small town beautiful
, but like a Greek goddess. With her olive skin tone and curves in all the right places. When she laughed, he saw her crooked eyetooth setting her smile apart from everyone else. Perfect. Well, physically. Part of him hoped she would let him follow through with his threat to lift her up and carry her into the room.
He had to keep reminding himself; she has kids.
No husband. He slid that question in there, and she slid right back to him. An involved father, but no husband. Even though, a mother? No future for Eli and Claire except someone fun to kill time with at school.
They talked through the rest of the class period, and as time went on, Claire seemed to relax, and the two talked about their backgrounds. She was single. Funny. Smart. She worked as the lead baker at the grocery store in Seaside Cove. She had a sexy little tattoo on her ankle. He almost asked her out for drinks after class. But before he asked, she said something about her kids.
That's right. A mom.
Eli had nothing against children; once upon a time he imagined he would settle down with his own family. But, men with his kind of past did not have children, families, or security. They had one-night stands and casual flings.
Eli's mother had been the type to run around. The type to leave. He would never come between a family.
On top of all of that, he enjoyed talking to her, and wanted to sit by her the rest of the semester.
"So, I've seen you before," she said. "At first I thought I knew you from the store, but it's from the brewery."
"Yeah?" he asked. He was not surprised. The Brewery on the Bluffs was becoming a hot spot in the sleepy town. He was surprised, but, that he had not noticed Claire when she was there.
"My sister took me a few times. And if you're the same bartender I'm thinking of, you're dating Bridget from the news, right?" Claire painted the background, her face screwed up in concentration. Eli suppressed a laugh. It was cute how hard she was struggling to get the fruit right. And it was a good thing she looked adorable when she mentioned Bridget.
"Bridget and I dated for a few months. It did not end... We'll just say she is my only ex I'm not on speaking terms with." Eli's mood darkened as he thought of the night he had brought a bottle of wine over to Bridget's house to surprise her. A surprise for Eli too.
"I'm sorry to bring it up," Claire said, and she flushed. "Rachel didn't tell me what happened."
Eli forgot about Bridget. Rachel's sister? "Rachel? As in Molly's Rachel? She's your sister?"
"Molly's Rachel. I've never heard her called that before," Claire said.
He searched her face, squinting, for any resemblance to Rachel. He did not believe this was her. The woman Molly had told him about. Molly insisted that she was perfect for him, in every way. Now he sat next to her, and he did not even realize it was her. How had Molly not told him how perfect Claire was?
But she had, he realized. She told him over and over. According to Molly, Claire was supposed to be the woman of his dreams.
Her eyes grew wider, like a deer caught in headlights. Eli was still staring at her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Eli stopped squinting. Rachel was tall, thin, angular, blond. Rachel was cocky, rude and high maintenance. From what Eli saw, Claire was her sister's opposite. "You don't look like Rachel."
"No, she got the looks, I got the leftovers." She covered her mouth when the last word left her mouth. "Sorry, that sounds totally self-depreciating, I'm trying not to say that sort of stuff. It's just something I heard a lot growing up."
Claire rolled her eyes and cocked her head. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and hid her expression as she turned back to her painting. "Seriously though, I look like my dad's side of the family, she looks like my mom's. They are like Nordic gods, or something."
"I think you're beautiful." The words were out of Eli's mouth before he knew they were coming. He wished he could stuff them back inside. Not that they weren't true, and not that she did not deserve to hear them. But because he pushed away an attraction to her ever since he watched her fall out of her car almost an hour earlier. Eli did not want to give into that attraction. Did he?
Want and should are two very different paths.
"Thanks, but you don't have to say that," she said, the tip of an ear, just visible through her hair, turned pink. Her shoulders stiffened. "I promise I wasn't fishing for a compliment; I say stupid stuff sometimes."
He should have said, "I didn't say that because I had to." But, he sat in a silence, only broken by Taliah's announcement about the following Thursday's class.
Eli cleaned his paintbrushes as the class wrapped up, wanting to say something but each time he opened his mouth, the words disappeared. He was blindsided by the fact that she was Rachel's sister. What had Molly said about her? He could not remember a thing except Molly saying "prick ex-husband."
I'm a moron.
"Do you remember where your next class is?" Claire asked, studying a spot of paint on the back of her hand. Her tone was serious and quick.
"Yeah. Claire, did I say something wrong?" Eli said.
She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. A thought struck him. He wanted to be the one to bite her lip.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm just tired." When she spoke, her voice was lighter again. He wished he believed her.
They stood, walking out of the classroom together. Eli found himself, aware of her body, the way it moved next to him, falling in step with his pace. The way she held her huge bag at her side, in between them.
"Thanks for your help tonight, Claire." He pointed to the room number.
"Sure," she said, shrugging. "I guess I'm going in the opposite direction. We're in biology together Monday; over there."
Eli nodded and looked in the direction Claire pointed, then back to her. "I'll see you Monday."
"See you Monday," she said, nodding briskly and walking towards the stairwell. Eli could not leave it like that. Too many opportunities were lost by leaving things unsaid. He watched it happen with Jack and Molly. Ten years lost because of silence.
Eli caught up to her at the top of the first flight of stairs. He touched her shoulder.
"Claire," Eli said, "please stop, just one second, okay?"
She stopped ahead of him, stepping out of the way of passing students. Eli followed her.
"Yeah?" she asked, checking her watch.
"If I said something to offend you, or gave you the impression that I'm a creep, I'm sorry. I meant what I said, you're beautiful. I'm shocked you don't realize that. Most women who look like you, you're right; they are fishing for compliments." Eli paused while group of students passed. A window behind Claire showed that night had fallen. "But I don't think you were. Fishing. I felt like you needed to hear it."
"Thank you," she said. "I'll see you Monday."
"So you aren't going to tell me why I pissed you off?" Eli asked, not bothering to hide his annoyance, maybe she was as high maintenance as Rachel. "I wasn't flirting with you in there or anything." Lies. "I thought we were having fun together and becoming buddies."
Lies. He was flirting during class. Every time he set down his brush and watched her paint, he imagined doing things to her that she would find more offensive than telling her she was beautiful.
But these lies put her at ease. He noticed her shoulders soften, and her lips slowly grow into a smile.
"It wasn't that," Claire said. She tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, then straightened. "Okay, maybe it was a little. I'm on the offense a little when it comes to men. If you said anything nice to me, I would have gone into ice princess mode."
The prick ex-husband.
She checked her watch again. "I really have to go, or I'll be late."
"Okay, yeah," Eli said, clearing his throat. "Bye, Claire."
Eli watched her run up the stairs, failing at keeping his eyes off of her perky butt. Rachel's sister. Off limits to him, but even if she wasn't - he was not her type.
Hell, she was not his type in the least. Not
anymore. He had a strict policy when it came to women. No one he could form an attachment to. Bridget was the last one he had bent that rule for, and it blew up in his face. Never again.
But, when Claire reached the top of the stairs and looked back at him, something lit in her eyes. A light that told Eli she might not be as uninterested as he originally thought. Maybe she would be an exception to his rule, this one time. The problem was, with someone like Claire, he could see himself snapping that rule right in half, instead of simply bending it.
"Dangerous," he whispered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Gravel kicked out from under Claire's tires as she drove the steep unpaved road to her house. Her headlights spilled into her driveway, rolling over Rachel's truck. Rachel had slept at Claire's almost every night during the past few weeks. Rachel's neighbor's baby was teething, and she could hear the child's late night cries even through the thick apartment walls.
Claire climbed the porch steps of her little log cabin, avoiding the soft step. The cabin was a mild fixer upper. The twenty acres of forest surrounding the cabin made up for the flaws. Not paying on a mortgage helped, too. Claire's grandfather left the cabin to her when he passed away.
The porch vibrated from the music blasting from her house. Disco. She took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
"ABBA," Claire grumbled, wincing as Dancing Queen belted from her mother's childhood record player in the corner of the room.
She scanned the living room for Rachel. The wood-paneled walls used to make her skin crawl when she first moved in; too reminiscent of the trailer she lived in growing up. The cabin's walls were real wood, and that finally became enough to bring Claire to terms with the dark walls.
"Rachel?" Claire yelled, kicking off her muddy sneakers and passing across the new, but cheap, tan carpet. Eventually she would get the hardwood floor underneath updated.
She lifted the needle off the record. Blissful silence. "You know, there's these things called CD players? God, not even CDs, you can stream-"
