Page 21 of She’s Worth the Risk

But more than any of that, she doesn’t want me to look at her tonight. She’s denying me that right with her body language.

And it’s my own fault.

I suck in a lungful of hot, sticky air as I pace the room, rolling my sleeves restlessly. A younger student named Bernice asks for help, and I pause beside her, explaining how to gauge the distance between parts of a subject by holding your thumb up to measure and translate it onto the page.

Checking the time on my phone, I continue around the room. Ten minutes remaining. It’s a long pose, and Zinnia holds it well, like she always does, but as I glance at her, a strand of hair falls loose from her bun to hang in her eyes. She blows at it, attempting to get it out of her face without breaking the pose, brows scrunched in concentration. It’s comical, the way she does it, and it’s the first time she’s seemed like herself all night. Despite myself, it makes me smile.

Without thinking, I cross and kneel beside her, reaching to push the strand of hair away. Her eyes fly to mine, and I freeze, cursing myself. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me to even look at her, let alone touch her, but her gaze softens. And as it does, something softens in my chest.

She’s forgiving me.

I should pull away, but I can’t. Instead, my fingers brush her forehead with the tiniest, briefest touch, but it’s enough to tilt my world on its axis. Zinnia’s gaze bores into mine, and my pulse scrambles, hand shaking as I withdraw it.

Fuck. What am I doing?

I rise on unsteady legs, heading back to the window to drag in a ragged breath. Thankfully, the class doesn’t seem to have noticed my serious lapse in judgment, and when the timer goes off a few minutes later, I sneak a plastic cup of wine from the drinks table and down it in one, telling myself it’s because of the heat. Then I set about packing up the easels, head lowered, praying Zinnia doesn’t try to help.

“Did you see that?” I overhear Gary say as he and Ruth head for the door. I try to tune them out as I drag the pedestal to the corner, but Ruth’s next words land clearly, almost as if she wanted me to hear.

“I did. Maybe he’s human after all.”

I drop my head, heart hammering my ribs. What they don’t realize is that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

“Goodnight.” Zinnia’s gentle voice cuts into my thoughts, and I snap my head up. She’s in the doorway, dressed in denim cutoffs, with an oversized tee hanging loosely off one shoulder, her bag in her hands. It’s clear she’s not going to help me pack up, and that’s good. That’s what I want.

But it doesn’t explain the twinge of disappointment in my gut. Her lips curve into a soft, tentative smile, almost as if she knows.

“Goodnight,” I say, watching her head out the door. And as I quickly pack up and slip into the warm evening air, I think about that smile more than I should.

It’s not until I’m home that I realize I didn’t tell June I can no longer teach the class.

10

ZINNIA

Iwake to the scent of Chanel No. 5, and when I blink my eyes open, I find Gran perched on the edge of my bed, grinning.

“Get up,” she instructs. “I’m taking you to the Met, and then to lunch.”

I yawn, reaching for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. 9.16 a.m. I’m supposed to have class at one, but after everything that’s happened with Nick, I’m not sure if I should go.

“I know you have class later,” Gran says. “But we’ll be finished by then. Come on, you can’t spend all morning in bed, wasting the day away!” She gives my leg a firm pat, then rises. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

I laugh as she ambles from the room, sitting up to stretch in bed. Everyone is so worried about Gran, but I’ve never seen her more full of life. I could leave New York, and she’d be fine.

My mind drifts as I shower and dress, thinking back to last night. I hadn’t wanted to go to life-drawing class, mainly because I’d been dreading seeing Nick. By the time the evening rolled around, I wasn’t only hurt by the way he spoke to me, I was kind of pissed. Maybe I was a little too informal after class on Monday, but he didn’t need to be so rude. I only wanted to talk to him about the works he’d discussed in his lecture. Surely that’s not unreasonable?

But I also knew I couldn’t bail on June. She’s sweet and reminds me of Gran in a way, with her love of the arts. I kept picturing the relief on her face when I volunteered to model, and knew that if I was going to leave town, the least she deserved was a few days’ notice. So I went to class, planning to tell June at the end of the night that I was grateful for her letting me model, but that I had to move on. I figured that gave her a couple days to find someone new for the next class.

What I didn’t count on was Nick. Or rather, his… energy. I don’t know how to describe it, but he felt different. Outwardly, he was as rigid as always, issuing instructions in that detached way of his, but beneath his composed exterior, I sensed something else. Something I haven’t seen in him before.

Maybe it was the way I could feel his gaze, checking in on me throughout the class. Maybe it was the twenty-minute break where he stared out the window, lost in thought, as if there weren’t eighteen other people in the room.

Or maybe it was the moment he kneeled beside me, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes, as if he needed to… I don’t know what. Apologize? It wasn’t an apology, but it felt like one.

Or maybe we all went a little crazy in the heat.

I pull on a soft cotton dress, check my hair in the mirror, then head down the stairs to meet Gran.