What I Should’ve Said
Chapter 20

Friday, August 20th

Bennett

Norah Ellis has been working for me for three days, and it already feels like a mistake.

Not because she’s dumb or because she hasn’t done something I’ve asked or hasn’t been prepared. Honestly, her work performance has been the exact opposite. She’s been on time, on task, thinks ahead, and has made my ability to focus on painting and nothing else ten times easier. She’s a hundred times better at this than she is at making coffee.

But she’s also got a laugh that’ll cut through even my deepest concentration, wild, curly hair I can’t stop imagining sinking my hands into, and is already in so deep with my daughter that Summer refuses to hang out anywhere but the studio anymore.

Breezy was right that I needed an assistant, but I should have gone with fucking Paul.

“Norah!” Summer shouts excitedly from her chair. “Stop!” Her laughter comes in peals, her breathing nearly ragged as Norah flicks another tiny droplet of water onto her leg from the slop sink.

I step back from my canvas, examining the reds and maroons that fade into brown around the edges. It’s a soft brown, one with a creamy center and flecks of golden speckle. I pretend it has nothing to do with my new assistant’s eyes.

“Norah,” I call, raising my voice enough to break through the cackling. “I need a new brush, a damp sponge, and the one brown color…” I search my mind for the name of it, but she beats me to the punch.

“The Mauve on Marron?”

“Yes.”

“On it!” she chirps happily, scooting around Summer with a smile and a wink and grabbing the paint from the closet in the back. After dropping that off, she grabs a sponge and a brush from the shelf, wets the sponge on the way, and sets them on my cart behind me while I pry open the top of this new can.

After doing that, she heads straight for Summer’s chair, turning it gently so that she can see the almost finished canvas hanging on the wall.

“Wow, Daddy. That looks cool!”

A little fatherly pride swells my chest. Funny how the approval of my seven-year-old means more than the experts at MoMA.

“You like it, Summblebee?”

“I’d like it more if it was pink, but the red and brown is cool too.”

I laugh. “They can’t all be pink, baby.”

Norah’s gaze jerks toward me suddenly, but when she notices I see her, she turns away.

“What?” I ask, completely uncomfortable not knowing what she’s thinking—an entirely new concept for me.

“Oh. Me? No, nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Norah, what?”

“I…” she starts so softly, I almost can’t hear her. “I’ve just never really heard you laugh before.”

“Isn’t it the best?” Summer interjects excitedly, making Norah smile, if hesitantly.

“What do you think of the painting?” I ask Norah, avoiding the other subject completely.

“I think it’s really interesting.” She steps closer to the canvas to inspect it. “I’ve never seen anything like it, never seen colors like those together in that way.”

“What does it make you feel?” I ask the most important question of all. Something becomes art when it makes you feel. It doesn’t matter the emotion, but it has to evoke something from inside you. A memory. A feeling. A fear. A desire.

“Well…” She glances over her shoulder at me. “You’ll have to give me a little grace because I don’t know a lot about art or even have the ability to fully understand pieces like this, but when I look at it…I feel…like I really want to keep looking at it, but something is telling me to look away at the same time. Like half of my body is being wrapped up in a cozy blanket, while the other half is being burned at the stake.”

Her response nails me to the floor. She’s a lot better at this than she gives herself credit for. It’s almost as if she can see inside your damn head.

“That probably sounds crazy, huh?” She digs her teeth into her bottom lip. “Just ignore me. Seriously. I—”

“No,” I cut her off with a shake of my head. “It’s not crazy at all.” If anything, it’s spot-fucking-on.

“Norah sounds just like you, Daddy,” Summer chimes in on a giggle. “When you’re talking about art with Aunt Breezy.”

“But do you think she likes it?” I ask, glancing between the two of them. “Because I can’t decide…”

“I do, I swear! I think it’s really great,” Norah jumps in, her face turning a shade of pink Summer probably loves. “Really, really great. I honestly think it’s going to surprise people, but I think that’s a good thing.”

I nod. That’s good. I need to make some money. And the sooner I sell it, the sooner I can forget what I used as inspiration for it.

A quick glance at the clock tells me Summer is due for her bath and meds, plus the therapy she refused to leave the studio for earlier today, but years of experience as her father also tell me she’s not going anywhere as long as Norah is still here. “All right, ladies, I think it’s about quitting time for today. We’ll pick back up next week.”

“Alreadyyy?” Summer whines.

“It’s getting late, Sum. You need a bath and meds, and I’m sure Norah’s ready to go home since it’s Friday night.” I turn to Norah directly. “If you’ll just wash out all the brushes and sponges and make sure everything’s sealed, you can take off when you’re done.”

Norah nods. “Of course. That’s great, thanks. Perfect, actually.”

I hate that I do it, but I can’t stop myself from asking, “Big plans for tonight?”

“Big? No,” she answers through a little snort. “I wouldn’t say big. But I’m thinking Josie and I might grab a bite or something. You know, celebrate my transition from being a freeloader and all.”

“Good.” I allow myself a half smile. “And I did talk to Breezy a couple of days ago, so she’s got you on the payroll. Probably won’t get a check until next Friday, though, if that’s okay. Just the way the pay schedule works.”

She waves me off with a chuckle and a shrug. “That’s fine. I’m used to having no money.”

Surprisingly, that makes me feel bad. Having no money is not how I read Norah Ellis the day I met her. Not at all. Maybe when I go up to the house, I can text Breezy and see if this first check can be fast-tracked? It’s certainly worth a shot.

I start to head over to the sink to wash my hands, but Norah’s voice grabs my attention before I get there.

“Bennett?”

I turn to face her.

“I just wanted to say thanks for the job,” she says, and her eyes soften to the warmest shade of brown. “Truly. I so appreciate you taking a chance on me. This is the best thing I’ve ever done and the happiest I’ve ever felt. Seriously.”

“You’re the best!” Summer interjects, saving me from having to say anything I might get a little too carried away with. For as good of an assistant as Norah is turning out to be, she’s still a terrible idea in every other way.

I’ve changed my life too much to consider any other possibility.

The old Bennett was pathetically loose with women. I spent a lot of time in bars, clubs, and fast cars, and my primary goals were booze and hot sex. It was an ugly look, to be honest, and in no way works with my priorities now. There’s a reason I avoid women, Norah included, and it’s the same as why I avoid my old life and have practically removed myself from the art scene. Maybe it’s a part of my creative psyche, but when I let things in, I tend to let them consume me.

The beautiful Norah Ellis wouldn’t leave any scraps.

After a quick wash of my hands in the slop sink, I spin Summer’s chair to the door as she shouts her goodbyes to Norah. My skin tingles with electricity and worry and uncertainty as I make our way to the golf cart, get her and her special chair strapped in, and then head for the house.

Summer talks my ear off the entire way.

“Norah is so cool.”

“Norah is so fun.”

“Norah is so pretty.”

“Norah is so smart.”

My daughter is in love, just as I knew she would be, and I don’t bother trying to correct her.

If only I’d realized how much she wasn’t the only one in danger.