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I scrunch my face up. “I may have sketched a portrait of Roman.”
“Are you saying your hunky boss was more inspiring than my chubby bubby?”
A smile stretches across my face too quickly to stop. “Let’s just say he gave me lots of inspiration the other night.”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Not like that. He looked so relaxed and happy, and I felt this overwhelming urge to sketch him.”
“If he’s got you wanting to paint again,” she says, her voice turning serious, “then I’m all for it. But why do you need a picture of Christopher?”
“I had to tell Dad something,” I confess, wincing. “And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wanted to paint him.”
“So you’re using my child to hide your affair with your boss?”
A scoff escapes me. “In the beginning, I guess I was, technically. Now, though, I’m itching to paint him.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then my phone beeps in my ear.
“Okay, I sent one of my favorite photos through,” Lola says. “Speaking of your dad, how’s he doing?”
I lean back against the headboard and sigh. “He’s improving every day. And he’s happy. Actually,” I run my fingers over my bed cover. “I think there might be something going on between him and Carol.”
“Really?” She sounds delighted. “How do you feel about that?”
I frown. “If there really is something there, I’m happy for him. But… I guess I’m used to it being the two of us. What happens if they do start dating? Or if she moves in? Does she still get paid?”
“You might be putting the cart before the horse there, Chlo.”
Shoulders slumping, I sigh. “I know. I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m just not very good with change.”
“Things always change.” Her voice is gentle. “That’s a good thing.”
“I guess…” I pick at a piece of lint stuck to my comforter. “Things are going so well. It’s hard not to worry that it could all turn bad.”
I’ve already fallen hard for Roman, so what happens to my heart if it all comes crashing down?
“There will always be surprises,” she says. “But whatever happens, you’ll have the strength to deal with it. Believe that. And enjoy the good times. Try not to worry about the possibility of bad times.”
She’s right. So much of my nervousness stems from my uncertainty about my relationship with Roman. It’s time to learn to let go and live for today rather than try to anticipate all the what ifs.
Once I end the call with Lola, I help Carol finish up dinner. After an enjoyable meal, she heads off for the evening and Dad and I settle in on the couch.
As I flick through the channels, he clears his throat. “I’ve been thinking, love. I’m not ready to paint again yet. But I reached out to one of the small galleries where I used to show my work occasionally and asked if they’d be interested in the few that I haven’t sold off. I thought it might generate a bit of interest and maybe a little bit of money while I’m waiting to get my hand strength back.”
Grinning, I bolt up straight. “That’s a great idea.”
“I know that one”—he nods toward the hallway—“is your favorite, but I think it would be the perfect centerpiece. If you’re not comfortable with seeing it possibly sell, though, then I can leave it out. What do you think?”
My chest constricts. “Honestly, I’d be sad if I couldn’t see it every day, but I think you should do it. Some lucky person out there deserves to have your painting on their wall.”
He holds out an arm. “I’m the lucky one.”
I slide across the couch and let him engulf me, reveling in the extra strength in his embrace. When he lets me go, I lay my head on his shoulder.
Finally, we decide on re-runs ofFirefly. We watched the series together when I was a kid, so rewatching now fills me with nostalgia and hope. For Dad. For me.
Things are changing, and it’s scary. But it’s like staring at a blank canvas and being too nervous to make that first stroke of color, worried the painting will be imperfect. If I let fear of that hold me back, I’ll never have the chance to create something truly beautiful.