12 Days of Mistletoe

35. Bonnie

THIRTY-FIVE

bonnie

“If I’m doing this, then you are too,” May says matter-of-factly to her grandson. She hands him a paintbrush.

Elliot scoffs. “You’re a thousand times more artistic than me, Gran. We both know it.”

I peek at my friend that—darn it—I am so darn attracted to. We are on day three of activities with Bill. Apparently, the Eaton family has taken a short break from holiday festivities.

I’ve had lots of time with Elliot, though—plenty of time to talk like Autumn suggested. Have I brought up real feelings? Nope. I have not.

May has kept us busy and I have focused on that. She insists on seeing us together daily. She says we need kissing practice and something fun. We’ve also seen Bill, who doesn’t seem to care what we’re doing as long as he gets to see May.

The pair beat us at cards yesterday and Scrabble the day before. But today we’re doing something less competitive and more artistic. May and Elliot both seem to prefer the competitive.

“You’re painting, Elliot James,” his grandmother barks at him.

Elliot smirks out a small laugh. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, find a partner,” Joanie, the weekday activity director, says. “We’re not creating self-portraits this time. We’re creating a picture of our partner today!”

Joanie is great at her job. The best part was when she decided the seniors needed weekend activity options but didn’t want to work the weekend. That’s when they hired me on.

“Gran, I’ll be your?—”

“No,” May moans. “You’re Bonnie’s partner, of course.”

“That’s right, One-thirty, I’ve already claimed May for a partner.”

I might be seeing things, but I’m pretty sure May’s pale cheeks go pink as Bill says the word “claim.”

“Okay,” Joanie says at the head of the activity room. “Sit across from your partner. Make sure you have a good view of them.”

I help Joanie set up table easels, paints, and brushes for each table, with Noel following me about the room. She loves the attention from the old folks. I settle across from Elliot, Noel lying down at my feet, only to see that Elliot has already begun.

“Hey!” I complain with a laugh. “How can you start? I’m not even here.”

“It’s just the outline of your face.”

I lift one brow .

“I’ve got the shape of your face memorized.” He gives me a half grin.

And while he’s joking, my stomach still fills with butterflies. “Well, I don’t,” I say, playing it cool. “So sit still for one second.” I take a pencil and sketch an outline of Elliot’s face shape—the same exact outline I’d probably have drawn for any other person in this room. There are no details yet. And I’m not an artist. Nope, it’s just an oval waiting for eyes, nose, and a mouth.

We’ve been working for twenty minutes—Bill’s already given May eyes and a nose. And while it’s far from professional, I can see that it’s May.

I’m still attempting to get Elliot’s tan skin coloring right. I add a little pink to his cheeks and Bill chuckles, his eyes on my painting.

“What?” I say, holding back my grin. He’s right. It doesn’t look good.

“Never knew One-thirty was the blush-wearing type, that’s all.”

“Blush?” Elliot’s brows pull together. “I do not wear blush.”

“No,” I say. “But you naturally have a little color in your?—”

Both men stare at me and I decide it’s time to quit talking.

“I’m painting over it, okay?”

I dip into my mixture of apricot and tan and paint over Elliot’s blushing cheeks. I peek up at him as he’s studying his work.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I can’t—” He peers up at me, then back at his painting .

“Oh, heavens,” May says, her eyes going wide as she peers over at Elliot’s work.

“What?” I scoff, scanning from Elliot to his grandmother and back again. “What is it?”

“It’s just so large. Isn’t it?” May looks at me, then back to Elliot’s canvas. “Why so large?”

“Let me see,” I say, sliding my chair out from beneath the table. With two fingers, I instinctively tap my nose. There is nothing overly large on my face. I grew into my nose!

“No way. Not yet. It’s not time.” Elliot lifts his canvas and holds it close to his chest—any closer and he will imprint my face right on his black T-shirt.

“Fine.” I nibble on my lip and repress a laugh. It’s not as if I’m expecting the Mona Lisa . I’m definitely not giving it. Who cares if he gave me a giant yellow squash for a nose?

Twenty minutes later, I’m finished with my Elliot painting. He has big blue eyes that sparkle with shimmering paint I’ve added to his irises, short brown hair that’s as dark as coffee grounds, and no rosy cheeks. Though they should have a little pink in them. Yes, it looks like a second-grader painted it, but I’m still proud. If you put every person in this room in a lineup and showed this artwork to a stranger, I’m one hundred percent certain they’d pick out Elliot as the subject.

May and Bill share theirs with us—and while May’s is clearly better than mine or Bill’s, we are all very much amateurs, but you can still identify the subject of each canvas. I’m impressed with the details that each of us has put into making sure our work resembles our partner.

“Ready?” I beam at Elliot, who has yet to show me his or see mine .

“Um.” He wrinkles his nose and hisses through his teeth. “I’m thinking I might need another go. This one”—he clears his throat—“well, it just didn’t work out.”

I laugh. “Are you thinking I’m Picasso? I assure you, I am not.” I flip my painting around, hoping it’ll give Elliot a little more courage.

“Wow.” Elliot nods. “You even gave me a whistle around my neck.”

“Yeah—coach. Or P.E. instructor. What do kids call you?”

His brows lift. “Just Mr. Eaton. Though I did coach little league basketball last year. Those kids called me Coach.”

I smile. I can’t help it. I’m proud. “Now yours.” I nod toward his, its blank back still facing me.

“Well—”

“I don’t think you want to see it,” May says.

Which only makes me want to see it more than ever. “Come on, Elliot.” I push myself up from the table and walk around to where Elliot sits.

And there I am. In second-grade paint form. Blue eyes, with even a touch of green. Strawberry-blonde hair, a little more strawberry than blonde. Heart-shaped but normal-sized nose. A semi-colon tattoo just down from my funky right ear. And red lips the size of Texas. Like if Texas had a mouth, this would be it. Cheek to cheek, ear to ear, three-inch-tall lips that fill more than half my painted face.

“Whoa,” I say, unable to stop the laughter that bubbles out of me.

“I told you,” he says, nerves filling his voice. “It isn’t right yet.”

“Why so large, Elliot?” May shakes her head as if truly disappointed. Yep, she hasn’t been this down on him since she learned his Scrabble score.

“I couldn’t get them right,” he says, attempting to defend himself.

Bill stands next to me and grunts as he stares at Elliot’s work. “One-thirty’s got one thing on the brain, that’s for sure.”