Page 59 of Long Way Down

“It’s…” Haunting. Frighteningly realistic. A painful reminder of the place she’d left behind, and had tried so hard to hate. “Really good,” she settled on, lamely.

“Thanks. It’s all student art through this hall. I was surprised one of my pieces was chosen.”

“You shouldn’t be. It really is good.” Even if she kept looking into the deeper shadows between the trees in search of a flash of fair hair and a wink of round-framed glasses.

A belated thought occurred. “Wait.” She turned back to him. “Why’d you ask me if I got it right?”

His blush deepened a fraction. “Oh. Uh…” He shifted his weight and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Not to be a creep, but I noticed you had a bit of an accent.”

Pongo popped into her mind:Gonna have to do something about that accent, sweetheart.

She must have made a face, because he said, “Sorry. I didn’t want to assume, but…”

“It’s obvious,” she said, flatly, and even though she tried to mask it, her drawl peeked out. Damn it.

“That’s okay,” he rushed to say. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing. It’s…” He caught himself, then said, “It’s pleasant.”

She wondered what he’d started to say and edited, and wondered why it mattered.

When she didn’t answer, and only stared at him, he scuffed a boot across the floor and glanced at his canvas, mistaking her awkwardness for scrutiny. “I saw that you and your partner talked to Doug and Daniel. Guess I’m next, huh?”

Yes, she should have said. Oryou’re too pretty to be trusted. OrI don’t know what the hell’s gotten into me.

Instead, she said, “What do you know about them? Doug and Daniel, I mean,” she added, when his brows lifted in surprise. “Have you ever spent any time with them? Learned anything about them?”

He frowned – but in a way entirely different from Doug and Daniel. A thoughtful frown, one without defensiveness or aggression. Puzzled. “They’re both…a good bit younger than me,” he said, a little embarrassed-sounding.

“So’s your whole study group, but you hang out with them.”

“We study,” he corrected.

“And that never turns into hanging out? You said you went to Lana’s apartment, once.”

“Yeah, well – yeah,” he said, wry twist to his mouth. “I did.”

“I’m gonna assume it’s safe to say that a person’s age isn’t what makes them a friend. That you didn’t spend time with Doug or Daniel because you didn’t want to.”

“I – no. You’re right.” He glanced away from her, back toward his canvas, and his frown settled into firmer, unhappier lines.

He’d been friendly with her from the start, and in an effort to overcompensate for the fact that she thought he was handsome, she’d treated him with the cold, stern regard she’d offer someone who’d already been arrested.

There was that old adage about flies and honey, after all…

She took a deep breath, and said, more softly, “Can you tell me about them?”

The look he skated at her sideways was understandably cautious.

She shifted her posture, allowed her hips and shoulders to relax. “I saw a coffee kiosk downstairs. My treat.”

The walk down the wide, central staircase, and her questions about his artwork eased the momentary tension, and he was talking fondly and warmly about his process and his progress as they bought coffees and settled on a bench with a view of a dramatic, abstract sculpture that brought to mind horses and water without rendering either in clear lines. Melissa had started out making all the usual polite noises –mmhm, yeah, sounds interesting– but found that she genuinelywasinterested, by the time they were seated. He clearly loved his work; spoke with excitement about a new batch of paints he’d splurged on, recently, and his experiments laying oils over dried watercolors.

“I like the softness of the piece you saw upstairs. The lack of crisp lines – that was me trying to capture Southern humidity.”

“You captured it all right,” she said, a little ashamed, but not very, that her accent had thickened the more she relaxed into their conversation. “There are days you start to polish the condensation off your glasses, and then you realize you’re not wearing glasses, and the air just looks like that.”

He laughed, quiet and easy, a sound enhanced by the natural depth of his voice. “You can see air?”

“In Mississippi you can, trust me.”