Truth in Watercolors (Truth Series Book 2) by Kimberly Rose Page A

horizontal. When we get back to mine, you’ll see the fin angles down.”
    “I like horizontal,” I said pointing at the Thunderbird. I swore Wes stifled a laugh next to me, but I was immediately taken by the smooth edges of the car and the way the light reflected off the paint.
    “How do you feel about vertical?”
    “Seems like it wouldn’t be very effective.” Wes snorted behind me. “I mean, I imagine if the fins were straight up and down, they’d catch too much wind.”
    “Depends on who’s driving. I could nail it,” Wes said confidently. I bet he could. If anyone could, it would be Wes.
    “Okay. What about parallel? Ohhh. Or perpendicular?” Wow, he was really into this, which was kind of cool since I was enjoying it, too. There weren’t many people who I could talk with like this. Well, there was no one I talked to like this. I found that unless you had the mind of an artist, discussions in shape, texture, depth, or anything like that lost people to boredom fast.
    We walked away from the Thunderbird and strolled through the aisle again.
    “Ummm, I guess, perpendicular? Is that even possible?” I questioned Wes.
    “So possible, C. I’ll show you just how possible it is.” Wes’ laugh pitched like a little boy at his response, and immediately, I realized what he was doing.
    “Oh, my God, Wes!” I punched him in the arm. “What’s wrong with you?” I scoffed over a hidden laugh. “You’re aw—”
    “—some. I know. I’m super awesome.” Wes laughed and draped his arm over my shoulder, pulling me into him. I went willingly and reminded my fluttering heart that this was a brotherly gesture.
    “Sometimes,” I grumbled snuggled up in the crook of his arm.
    “Just sometimes?” he said aloud. “I guess I’m gonna have to try harder.” He squeezed his hand over my shoulder and ran it softly down my arm tickling up goosebumps. That was so not brotherly.
    My nerves kicked up, sending slightly chilled blood through my veins. I clenched and unclenched my fists to settle them and caught a glimpse of my heartbeat through my palms. To my surprise, it wasn’t erratic. It wasn’t pinging off the walls of my chest. It was strong, and it was steady.
    “Marilyn!” Wes’ arm dropped when turned toward the haggard voice.
    “Heya, Bluebell,” he called over his shoulder and placed his hand on the small of my back, clearly driving me away.
    “Awww, c’mon. Find a pretty lady, and we ain’t nothin’ anymore?” another voice shouted up at us mixed in with a deep laughter. “And here I thought we were somethin’ special.”
    Wes shook his head smiling and waved the guys off but kept nudging me forward. “Who are they?” I asked, though I was more concerned with why he clearly didn’t want me to meet them.
    “Those are the guys from the shop,” he said as he kept ushering me away.
    “So why don’t we go say hello?” I pressed my feet firmly into the ground. “Why don’t you want them to meet me?” I crossed my arms over my chest and cocked my eyebrow at him.
    “Not want them to meet you? That’s ridiculous,” he said mimicking my stance. “They can be really vulgar and… well, they’re assholes. I thought you might be uncomfortable.”
    “Now, that’s ridiculous,” I said unfolding my arms and passing Wes to retrace our steps back to the group.
    I put my hand out to the first one, an older gentleman with a long, scraggly beard and long hair tied back into a low ponytail. “Hi, I’m Capri,” I said when he put his warm and calloused hand in mine.
    “Blue, sweetheart.” He smiled kindly at me. “This here is Trace.”
    I smiled back and shook Trace’s hand. “Nice Mohawk.” I pointed to the blue stripe down the middle of his head.
    “Makes him feel taller,” Wes said coming up from behind me and rubbing his hand across the top of it. The height of the Mohawk did add a few inches to his otherwise short and round frame.
    Trace batted Wes’ hand away. “Nice of you to