Prejudice Meets Pride (15 page)

Her response was to make a face by resting her thumb against the tip of her nose and wiggling her outstretched fingers. The gesture brought a smile to Kevin’s face and a lightness to his heart. Not only had she agreed to borrow his lawnmower, but she’d agreed to go out with him. For now, that was enough.

“Hey, Kajsa,” he called. “Want to learn that song now?”

The way her expression brightened only added to a day that had just taken a surprisingly good turn.

The front room felt eerily quiet without the girls’ lively voices springing off the walls. Emma rubbed her hands together at the same time her feet tapped against the ground, making her exposed knees bump up and down, along with the hem of the skirt she wore. What must Kevin think of her? Not only had she acted naughty, as Adelynn so kindly pointed out, but once again, Kevin had to step in as the hero of the hour and pop a pacifier into her mouth. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to go and turn his invitation to “hang out” into a date.

So now, here she was, waiting for her “date” to pick her up—only Kevin wasn’t really her date. Talk about awkward. That ought to teach her not to think she’d already sunk to the bottom of the barrel. In her world, there was no bottom, just an endless abyss of future embarrassments. At least where Kevin was concerned.

A knock sounded at the door, and Emma jumped. Then she stood and tried to hide her humiliation behind squared shoulders. If Kevin had agreed to a date—even if it was only to pacify her—then a date it would be. Besides, she’d likely never get another chance to go out with him, so she might as well make the most of it.

She opened the door with feigned confidence and a smile she hoped looked genuine. But when she saw him, she forgot to breathe. He wore dark slacks and a steel-blue, button-down shirt, with a button left opened at the top. He personified casual elegance, and she suddenly felt dowdy—the way Cinderella must have felt before her fairy godmother showed up.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

Her eyebrow rose in disbelief, but then Emma glanced down and remembered that Sam had dressed her tonight, so maybe she did look good. She ran her palms down the soft fabric of the pink and black flared skirt and adjusted the coordinating scarf at her neck. “Thanks. Sam let me borrow a few things. She even did my hair.” Emma twisted around to show Kevin the intricate knot that Sam had configured earlier. “Isn’t it pretty?” Come to think of it, maybe Sam was her fairy godmother. Her sweet, teenaged, fairy godmother.

“
You’re
pretty,” said Kevin, and Emma froze with her back to him. He’d sounded so genuine, so… His fingers closed around hers, gently spinning her back to face him, and Emma’s breath caught yet again. If he continued to touch her and say things like that, she’d have to find an oxygen tank before the night was out.

His hand dropped to his side, releasing her fingers, and he looked beyond her. “Where are the girls?”

“They had a better offer. Sam invited them to watch a movie and have a sleepover at her house. They were so excited that they rushed out of here without even giving me a goodbye hug.”

“Don’t take it personally. Sleepovers trump everything else in kids’ eyes.” Kevin cocked his head toward his running car. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Emma locked up the house and followed him out.

Inside the car, she breathed in the scent of new car, wondering if her car had ever smelled so nice. The leather seats felt warm and cozy, and Emma settled into hers, knowing Sunshine would never feel the same. That was the problem with experiencing “new”—it made it that much more difficult to return to normal. Or, in her case, old. Really old.

Emma found herself wondering if “normal” guys would be ruined for her now as well. She was used to dating run-of-the-mill sedans or compacts, and Kevin—well, he was luxury.

“Your lawn looks nice,” Kevin joked as he pulled from the driveway. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’d hired a professional.”

“Considering I’ve had more experience mowing lawns than the person who usually does it, I can see why you’d think that.”

“Ouch.” Kevin hit his fist against his chest. “You wound me, Emma.”

The way he said her name always turned her insides to something resembling goo. “Oh, c’mon,” she said, subtly pressing her palm against her stomach to ward off the butterflies. “You’re better at everything else. Just give me the lawn, okay?”

He chuckled. “Okay, fine. You can be the better mower. But I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say that you’re also the superior artist. I can’t even draw a decent stick figure.”

“Art’s too subjective to say one person’s better than another,” said Emma. “It all depends on the person doing the judging. Take Salvador Dali, for example. He’s considered a brilliant painter by so many people, but if given the choice between
The Persistence of Memory
and Kajsa’s recent painting of her riding a horse in her cowboy hat, I’d choose Kajsa’s and call her the better painter.”

“That’s only because Kajsa’s special to you.”

“No, it’s because her painting has more emotion behind it. It conveys a young, carefree girl doing something she dreams of doing one day. I look at her picture, and I see hope for the future. I see joy. The
Persistence of Memory
, on the other hand, is a depiction of creepy, melting clocks that are supposed to symbolize the relativity of time and space. But no matter how much I look at it or try to apply Einstein’s theory of relativity, it does nothing for me. I don’t care how much that painting is worth, I’d never hang it on my wall.”

“So what you’re saying is that art can’t be appreciated unless you can personalize it?”

“In a way, yeah. At least for me. Just like books, movies, and music.” Emma paused. “I guess you could call me an emotionally driven person.”

Kevin nodded slowly, as though mulling something over. “You’re making me really want to see some of your artwork.”

The thought of handing over one of her portfolios to Kevin caused Emma to press her hand to her stomach once more.
Because
she was emotionally driven, she put too much of herself in each of her sketches or paintings. Letting others see them was like exposing her soul. She’d had to deal with that during school, of course, but it was easier to do when everyone else was in the same boat. Now, though, Emma would never let just anyone look at her artwork. Even when Sam had asked to see some stuff during their last lesson, it had been difficult for Emma to show her.

Kajsa and Adelynn, on the other hand, had seen them all. They were like picture books to them, and in their eyes, Emma was a brilliant artist. They made opening up easy.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“What’s a no?”

“Seeing your paintings. I said I wanted to have a look, and I was met with a wall of silence.”

“No offense. I just don’t trust you enough to show them to you.”

He glanced at her, his eyebrow lifted in question. “What? You think I’d make fun of them?”

“No, of course not. I guess trust wasn’t the right word. It’s more about not knowing you well enough or feeling ready to let you know me. Because… well, showing them to people is like sharing some of my deepest, darkest secrets, and you don’t share that type of thing with just anyone.”

His head nodded slowly. “Okay, I get it.” The words were tinged with a little bit of hurt, making Emma feel bad. But then he lightened his tone. “Okay, so if I’m not allowed to call you the superior artist, then I don’t think I can call you the superior lawn mower either. Like art, it’s too subjective to know for sure.”

Emma frowned in his direction. “You’re really going to take that away even though you know how much it means to me?”

“I really am.”

“Hoser.”

Kevin’s laughter lightened the mood further, and by the time they pulled into the gallery’s parking lot in Denver, the uncomfortable first-date/not-really-a-date tension had eased, replaced with an easy camaraderie between them. It was nice. And as soon as they entered the building in front of them, it would be even better. Art galleries hit the bull’s-eye of Emma’s comfort zone.

“I’ll get your door,” Kevin said as he pulled his key from the ignition.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can get it.” She started to reach for the handle until he shot her a warning look.

“Is this a date or not?” he said.

She hesitated. “You tell me, because I’m really not sure. I don’t normally manipulate guys into asking me out, so it’s sort of a gray area for me.”

A smile played on his lips as he settled against the back of his seat and angled his body toward her. “Emma?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go out with me tonight?”

Butterflies assailed her stomach. Could this man get anymore charming? “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why are you asking? Is it because I had a bad day, and you’re afraid I’ll have another mental breakdown if you don’t? Or is it because you really want to go out with me?”

Kevin leaned forward, closing the space between them until Emma’s heart felt like it might implode from pounding so hard. She could smell the mint and feel the warmth of his breath on her face. “I’m asking because I think you’re beautiful, intriguing, and interesting. And I’m really hoping that someday you’ll
trust
me enough to show me all those deep, dark secret paintings of yours.”

Bam, bam, bam.
Her chest rose and fell with each pound of her heart. “They’re not all paintings,” she breathed.

He chuckled, then leaned back and shook his head. “You’re not making this easy on me. It’s a simple question. Will you go out with me tonight, or not?”

“Yes.”

His eyes met hers, and a smile formed. “Good. Now stay put and let me get your door for you. My mother would have my hide if she ever heard that I wasn’t being a gentleman.”

“So I shouldn’t tell her about the day you dumped a bunch of groceries on my front porch?”

“No.” Kevin laughed. “No, you should not.” He exited the car and sauntered around to Emma’s side, looking so suave, so confident, so out of her reach. Why was she here? Why had she come? He was going to break her heart.

He pulled her door open and held out a hand.

She glanced at it warily, remembering what his touch had done to her earlier.

“Will you let me help you out of the car, Emma?”

Once again, her stomach was a gooey mess, and he hadn’t even touched her yet. With trepidation, she placed her fingers on his and let him pull her from the car. Then he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her toward the building. It was a good thing he didn’t try to carry on a conversation because her mind was a whirl of incoherent thoughts. He let go of her arm to hold open the door of the gallery, and Emma used that as an excuse to put some distance between them and bring her heart rate back to a less dangerous level.

As Kevin picked up a brochure and perused it, she moved forward to stand in front of the nearest painting, hugging her arms to her chest. Created with oils, the scene looked down on a man sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake. Reflections of tall mountains skirted one side of the lake, making it feel like he was so alone. It was a unique perspective, and one Emma couldn’t help but admire. Painted with an impressionistic style, it lacked detail, but the way the man slumped over, resting his chin on his hands, lent a feeling of introspection—as though he’d rowed to the middle of the lake to mull something over.

What weighs you down?
Emma wanted to ask.
What’s your story?
She loved the pictures that told stories. It made art an experience, like reading a book or watching a movie. Only with a painting, it also became a puzzle. Thousands of brush strokes worked together to form a fragment of a story, and it was up to the observer to figure out the rest, which was Emma’s favorite part. Had the man just been spurned by the woman of his dreams? Had he recently lost someone dear to him? Was he having financial difficulties, or was he feeling pressure to go one way while wanting to go another?

“Why aren’t there any oars?” Kevin’s voice cut in, interrupting her reverie.

“Huh?”

His finger pointed to the boat, where, interestingly enough, there were no oars. “How did he get there without oars?”

Emma scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to fit that detail into one of the stories forming in her mind, but try as she might, it didn’t make sense. The title of the painting
Alone on Lake Pleasant
didn’t help either.

“I bet he was drugged,” said Kevin.

“What?” Emma suddenly felt jerked awake from a beautiful, melancholy dream.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” said Kevin. “Someone took the oars out of the boat and threw him in, then gave it a hard shove. When he woke up, there he was in the middle of the lake, not knowing what to do because he can’t swim. Not that it matters. Because any second now, the Loch Ness Monster will emerge from the water and—”

Emma slugged him on the arm and walked away.

“What?” he said, following, though his tone told Emma he knew exactly why she’d slugged him.

She rolled her eyes and stopped in front of the next painting, which depicted a realistic rendering of a beautiful woman with her arms around two little girls. It made Emma think of Adelynn and Kajsa, and she liked it instantly. It exuded love and warmth and family.