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Summary
I pretended not to notice the way my own stomach flipped after saying it. Too late to take it back. Too embarrassing to explain. So, naturally, I dug around in the tote bag like a magician with questionable credentials.
First came the two small square canvases. Then a plastic cup, a folded cloth, a cheap mixing tray, two thin brushes, two thicker ones, and a little box of acrylic paints I had bought from the art supply store near the train station.
Jo’s face changed when he saw the paints.
It was a small shift. Of course it was small. This was Jo, after all. He did not light up like a fireworks display. He lit up like a room slowly filling with afternoon sun. His shoulders loosened. His eyes dropped to the paints, then to the brushes, then back to the canvases. His hand hovered over the box of colors before he stopped himself from touching it too quickly.
“Art picnic,” I said, trying very hard to sound casual and not like I had spent twenty minutes in an aisle being defeated by acrylic mediums for this exact reaction.
Series
- Part 46 of Many Moons: An &TEAM Flash Fic Series