Excerpt of Green by S.M. West

Eventually, I select a large canvas, so large, I can't get
it on the easel and settle for the floor. I strip my jeans,
long sleeved shirt and slip my shoes off, donning the
sizeable green smock hanging on the wall. And I paint.
Losing track of time or space. Fully immersed in the colors,
my vision, my emotion.

"Here you are," Coop says from the doorway, and I twist on
all fours in his direction.

He's leaning on the door jamb with his arms relaxed at his
sides, and his feet crossed like he has been standing there
a while.

"How long have you been here?"

I've been painting for hours, my fingers tingle, my feet are
numb, and my lower back aches from crouching and contorting
myself into strange, awkward positions. I was oblivious to
the cries of my body while working.

"A bit." He pushes off the wall, nearing to help me to my feet.

I roll my neck and shake out my limbs before tilting my head
to look at him. He smiles, his white teeth and twinkling
eyes pop as he tucks a few strands behind my ear.

"You've got some paint on your face." His finger slides down
my check and then the side of my nose. "It looks good on you."

Heat travels from the center of my chest outward, and I
can't help but smile, "I'm glad you think so."

Gone is my anger or bruised ego from his departure last
night. I don't really know what I was expecting or wanting,
and I'm glad to see him. I'm also happy to see that he's
more himself.

"What am I going to do with you? You have to stop
disappearing on me."

"And what? Make your job easier, not a chance." I tease,
treading lightly, all too aware of the kind of trouble my
wondering off could cause.