Free Change of Heart (The Flanagan Sisters, #2) by Claire Boston Page B

glass next to him on the garden wall, he began to draw.
    ***
    E van had drawn three sketches from different angles, but he wasn’t happy with any of them. There was something not quite right, something missing. He picked up the glass of horchata, but he’d left it too long. The ants had found it and were swarming all over it. Sighing, he tipped the contents into the garden bed, hoping it wasn’t going to kill anything.
    Someone cleared their throat behind him. He looked up and his face heated. Carmen was standing there watching him.
    Caught.
    “Sorry, the ants got to it.”
    She waved her hand. “That does not matter. I did not want to disturb you. You seemed quite involved.”
    How long had she been standing there?
    “I’m sorry. I tend to zone out when I draw.”
    “My Carolina is the same when she is on her computer. Like you, she does not hear when I am standing right next to her.”
    Had she spoken to him and he’d ignored her? “Did you need something?”
    “I wanted to ask whether you would like to join us for lunch.”
    He glanced at his watch. It was midday. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. “If you have enough, I’d love to.”
    “There is always enough for one more.”
    It was such a different sentiment from his own family. He’d never invited friends to stay for dinner, because his father would have kicked up a fuss about the extra mouth to feed. Yet his family earned more than Carmen. He closed his sketchbook and returned his pencils to his case before following her back to the house.
    “Is the drawing going well?” she asked him.
    He didn’t want to answer. People sometimes panicked when he said it wasn’t, and he didn’t want to upset her. “It’s going well for a first pass.”
    “Would you mind if I did some gardening after lunch? Will I be in your way?”
    “Of course not. Please do what you need to and tell me if I’m in your way. This is your garden.”
    She nodded, pleased with his answer.
    Inside, Zita carried a large bowl of salad to the table where the girls were seated.
    “Have a seat.” Carmen said, directing him to the head of the table. He hesitated, but at Zita’s nod, he sat down.
    Soon the room was filled with chatter. Next to him, Zita said quietly, “So how did the picnic go?”
    Hell. He hadn’t considered this aspect of asking for Zita’s help. “It was nice.”
    “Nice?” Zita repeated, screwing up her face.
    “Nice,” he said firmly.
    “Are you going to see her again?”
    He chuckled at her persistence. “I am not going to discuss my relationship with your sister with you.”
    Zita pouted. “Just tell me this. Did she wear her high heels?”
    He frowned at the question. Why would Carly wear high heels on a picnic? “No.”
    Zita beamed as if he’d told her the secret to the universe. “That’s great!”
    Not sure where this was going, he kept his mouth shut.
    ***
    A fter lunch, Carmen put on a wide-brimmed hat and accompanied him out to the garden. When the path split, she took the right path while he continued to the next place he’d identified as a potential landscape. After maybe an hour, he put down his pencils. It wasn’t working. He couldn’t quite capture the story he wanted to tell – the hours of work that went into tending the garden to make it what it was.
    He walked back along the path until he found Carmen crouched down, picking some peas. That was what he needed. Walking over to her, he asked, “Would you mind if I draw you in your garden?”
    “Me?” She seemed surprised.
    “Yes. Just keep doing what you need to do. I’ll follow you around.”
    “You do not want an old woman in your painting,” she protested.
    “You’re not old.” He chuckled. “You are the mistress of the garden, the nurturer, the defender.”
    She waved him off. “If you want to.”
    Inspired now, he drew. It only took him a moment to notice she wasn’t moving, she was posing. He swallowed his smile. “You don’t need to be still. Keep picking