some concession.
He knocked on her hotel room door at ten, right on time. She
closed her laptop. Stu had sent her two emails, one asking her to forgive him and
re-marry him, the other telling her she was a lousy sub and a bitch. She really
needed to stop reading his messages. At least she hadn’t cared enough to notice
which order he sent them in. It could be either.
She opened the door. He was wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt
that showed off his muscles to good effect. He took her in from head to toe
with one sweep of his gaze. His smile surprised her, because she half expected
to be a disappointment.
“Ready to go, or need a few minutes?” he asked.
“Just let me get my sketchbook. And do you mind if I take my
paints?” She had been debating between watercolors and pencils, but after
seeing his smile she was definitely in a mood for color. So much more cheerful.
“Of course not. Want help carrying? All I have to carry is a
book.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A book?”
He held up a worn hardback copy of The Power of One ,
by Bryce Courtenay. “An old favorite. I figured you’d be a while drawing, so I
should expect to amuse myself, and I’d rather do that next to you than by wandering
the rest of the zoo. The zoo, unlike you, is not going away soon.”
“Oh.” She was flattered, and at the same time impressed by
his practicality. She turned and got her stuff, aware of his gaze on her. She
didn’t really need him to carry anything. She was used to keeping it all in her
bag, and her travel set of watercolors fit very nicely, but she handed him the
watercolor block after all. He took a glance at it and then tucked it under his
arm with his book.
* * * * *
It was tempting to try to imagine how the platypus would
look if the light were better or if it would stay still for a fraction of a
second, and try to paint that. It would certainly make a more marketable
painting. But there was something gripping about the way it darted about in the
unlit water. In the pictures she had seen, they always looked like living
evidence that God had a twisted sense of humor, little bits of various animals
grafted improbably onto an ungainly shape. But in motion in the water, the
platypus was perfect, its duck-like bill and beaver-like tail making it a
streamlined and speedy swimmer.
She painted it as it was, a blur against the darkness but
still quite recognizable as a unique animal. She was transfixed in a way she
hadn’t been when painting the cute echidna that had wobbled out to greet them,
or even the wallaby and the emu as they wrestled briefly over a head of cabbage
to the wallaby’s inevitable defeat. She didn’t remember she had company until
she was finished.
Nick was watching her, and he didn’t try to look away when
she caught him at it. His book was closed and sitting on the bench, the flap of
the dust jacket no longer marking his place. She glanced down at it, then at
him. He was smiling. “How long?” she asked.
“You’ve been at it for a bit over an hour this time. You’re
amazingly quick. Lovely picture too, you’ve really captured the beastie.”
“And you’re amazingly patient.” She felt the heat rise in
her face at his compliment. “I meant how long have you been finished with your
book and staring at me? I know about how long it takes me to work.” In her
embarrassment, she sounded snappish, and she didn’t like it. He hadn’t done
anything to deserve it.
He didn’t seem to notice either. “Only half an hour. I can’t
paint, so I have to memorize.”
That didn’t help. “I’m not worth memorizing,” she said.
“I beg to differ. I suppose I could have taken a picture
with my phone.”
She frowned. She wasn’t a fan of photographs of herself,
although there wasn’t any harm in it she could put her finger on. “Well, too
bad you missed your opportunity. I’d have noticed that. I wasn’t that far in a
trance.”
His smirk made her wonder if he had taken a picture of
He knocked on her hotel room door at ten, right on time. She
closed her laptop. Stu had sent her two emails, one asking her to forgive him and
re-marry him, the other telling her she was a lousy sub and a bitch. She really
needed to stop reading his messages. At least she hadn’t cared enough to notice
which order he sent them in. It could be either.
She opened the door. He was wearing jeans and a snug T-shirt
that showed off his muscles to good effect. He took her in from head to toe
with one sweep of his gaze. His smile surprised her, because she half expected
to be a disappointment.
“Ready to go, or need a few minutes?” he asked.
“Just let me get my sketchbook. And do you mind if I take my
paints?” She had been debating between watercolors and pencils, but after
seeing his smile she was definitely in a mood for color. So much more cheerful.
“Of course not. Want help carrying? All I have to carry is a
book.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A book?”
He held up a worn hardback copy of The Power of One ,
by Bryce Courtenay. “An old favorite. I figured you’d be a while drawing, so I
should expect to amuse myself, and I’d rather do that next to you than by wandering
the rest of the zoo. The zoo, unlike you, is not going away soon.”
“Oh.” She was flattered, and at the same time impressed by
his practicality. She turned and got her stuff, aware of his gaze on her. She
didn’t really need him to carry anything. She was used to keeping it all in her
bag, and her travel set of watercolors fit very nicely, but she handed him the
watercolor block after all. He took a glance at it and then tucked it under his
arm with his book.
* * * * *
It was tempting to try to imagine how the platypus would
look if the light were better or if it would stay still for a fraction of a
second, and try to paint that. It would certainly make a more marketable
painting. But there was something gripping about the way it darted about in the
unlit water. In the pictures she had seen, they always looked like living
evidence that God had a twisted sense of humor, little bits of various animals
grafted improbably onto an ungainly shape. But in motion in the water, the
platypus was perfect, its duck-like bill and beaver-like tail making it a
streamlined and speedy swimmer.
She painted it as it was, a blur against the darkness but
still quite recognizable as a unique animal. She was transfixed in a way she
hadn’t been when painting the cute echidna that had wobbled out to greet them,
or even the wallaby and the emu as they wrestled briefly over a head of cabbage
to the wallaby’s inevitable defeat. She didn’t remember she had company until
she was finished.
Nick was watching her, and he didn’t try to look away when
she caught him at it. His book was closed and sitting on the bench, the flap of
the dust jacket no longer marking his place. She glanced down at it, then at
him. He was smiling. “How long?” she asked.
“You’ve been at it for a bit over an hour this time. You’re
amazingly quick. Lovely picture too, you’ve really captured the beastie.”
“And you’re amazingly patient.” She felt the heat rise in
her face at his compliment. “I meant how long have you been finished with your
book and staring at me? I know about how long it takes me to work.” In her
embarrassment, she sounded snappish, and she didn’t like it. He hadn’t done
anything to deserve it.
He didn’t seem to notice either. “Only half an hour. I can’t
paint, so I have to memorize.”
That didn’t help. “I’m not worth memorizing,” she said.
“I beg to differ. I suppose I could have taken a picture
with my phone.”
She frowned. She wasn’t a fan of photographs of herself,
although there wasn’t any harm in it she could put her finger on. “Well, too
bad you missed your opportunity. I’d have noticed that. I wasn’t that far in a
trance.”
His smirk made her wonder if he had taken a picture of
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