Page 83 of The Leaving Kind

Humming softly to himself, Victor compared his sketch pad to the wash of paint he’d used for a background on his current canvas. A combination of oak and gold in preparation for Cam’s brown on brown coloring. Should he have used blue instead? Added ochre highlights to Cam’s hair?

He put the sketch pad aside and stood to sort through the tubes in the paint-splattered cart he’d parked close by. Burnt umber, camel, wheat? No, too light. Sienna, black bean, burgundy. He dotted a fresh palette with color and began mixing. Then, with a conscious lack of thought, he introduced the brush to his canvas again, moving it in short, downward curls. Dark layers first, moving outward. Lighter, a shadow beneath there, lighter still. Another shadow. He mixed and painted, mixed some more, chose a lighter shade, and finally started applying highlights to the cap of varied brown. Ochre and a touch of orange. Using a much finer brush for the slimmest threads.

The golden background was wrong, but he could fix that. Also, no one was going to buy a painting of someone’s hair, so whatever. He was painting and that was all that mattered.

After dotting a final touch here and there, Victor dropped his brush into the jar of water, where it collided with the three other brushes he’d used. The water had that murky puddle color he always tried so hard to replicate on canvas, and the studio smelled of paint—a curiously flat odor—and sweat.

A chewing sound caught his attention, and he checked the corner where Cam had encouraged Honey to curl up and nap. He’d dropped her off a couple of hours ago, asking Victor to keep an eye on her while he and the team continued work on the path project. He was worried about her being too close to the road. Given Honey had made her debut on a roadside, Cam’s concern was relevant.

The end of the cast closest to her paw had a rather frayed appearance. Victor smiled. If he had fur, he’d probably want the damn thing off too.

He ambled over, crouched at her side, and ran a hand along her short coat. Had her belly been this round when Cam found her? Probably not. She licked his hand.

The front door opened and closed, and a voice called out, “Hello!”

Smiling, Victor stood. “In here.”

After a scuffle that likely involved Cam pulling his dirty boots off, a shadow appeared at the other end of the family room. Victor only felt silly after he waved, but left his hand suspended in the air. Cam’s smile as he approached made the gesture worthwhile. He looked tired but restful as he joined his hand to Victor’s, threading their fingers before folding his over in a squeeze, and then leaned in to kiss him.

He tasted sweet and salty, like caramel soda and hard work.

Pulling back, Victor murmured, “All done for the day?”

“Yeah. We got the first three terraces finished. Want to come see?”

“Seeing as I’m not allowed to work on this project with you, maybe I should wait until it’s completed.”

Cam squeezed his hand. “What’s the point of paying me to do some work if you’re going to do it with me?”

“I could stand the exercise.”

“Start clearing for the vegetable patch you want to put in. Or the herb garden behind the patio. Chop some wood. Winter is always coming.”

Victor chuckled, and his mood rose up from the anxious knot in his gut to spread across his shoulders like a warm blanket. Cam always had this effect on him. Victor could be spiraling downward and one glimpse of Cam’s smiling face would halt the cycle.

Cam peered over his shoulder with a light frown. “Is that a dead bush?”

Victor glanced back into the studio and laughed. His painting did resemble a brown bush. Or a pile of turds. Take your pick.

“Something like that.” He’d rather not tell Cam it was hair. His hair. Who painted just hair, for goodness’s sake?

Maybe that could be his new direction. Victor Ness—hair artist.

“Hey.”

Victor snapped his eyes forward and met Cam’s curious gaze. “Hmm?”

“Everything okay with you?”

“I’m ...” He pressed his lips together. Cam knew his thoughts on fine. “It’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it. Come see the path.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Gone. On their way home.”

“Is Jorge expecting you this evening?”