All Things Beautiful, page 6
Regardless, nothing could happen between them. Leighton had allowed herself to appreciate a few moments with her today. Tomorrow, she’d be all business. Her days of indulging in an enjoyable interaction with someone striking, let alone dating or having a romantic relationship, lay in her past. Marriage had taught her a hard lesson. She breathed out a sigh and took a sip.
“Those two knuckleheads are going to be a handful.” Stefan assessed a box of graham crackers before returning it to the shelf.
“Phoenix and Jaiden?” She chuckled and swirled her wine. “I agree. I don’t remember them being this bad last year, but they started rooming together at the beginning of the summer. Maybe that has something to do with it. They’re going to drive us nuts with their innuendo, but they amuse me.”
He joined her in the living room and dropped into her green wingback chair. “What’s your impression of the new students?” He ripped open a bag of pretzels.
“What do you mean?” Leighton set her glass on the coffee table.
“What do you think I mean? It’s not a trick question.” Humor and annoyance mingled in his voice. “Did you like them? Their personalities?”
“Of course. Didn’t you?” Her response came out forced. She unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves.
He laughed. “This isn’t an interrogation. I’m just making conversation. So far, I like everyone.”
“Yes, they’re an exceptional bunch.” When she’d gotten comfortable, she retrieved her glass. “Still, everything has to go well. I have a lot riding on it.” She’d doubled her number of students and teaching staff from the previous year. And while last year’s students had drawn attention with the paintings they produced, even more eyes would be on the atelier and gallery this year. She tucked her legs beneath her. She’d discarded her boots seconds after entering her apartment.
Stefan studied her. “It will. I’m certain of it. We vetted everyone as much as we could, we planned the curriculum down to meticulous detail, you know what worked and didn’t work last year, and we have Erica to help.” He downed a gulp of wine.
“Sure, we vetted everyone, but one of our first-years has a toddler we didn’t know existed.” It wasn’t a question of how it’d happened. Casey hadn’t wanted them to know. Why?
He shrugged. “That doesn’t change her talent or her goals. Are you worried about her focus? Her commitment?”
Leighton considered his question. “No, she seems more committed than most. Having a son might make her more dedicated. You read her essay. She seems to want this more than any of them, Erica included.” Leighton was no stranger to aiming high. She admired that facet of Casey.
“So, what is it then?”
“I’m just worried. Everything has gone into this dream of mine.” After her divorce, she’d poured all her energy into Kalyssa and the atelier. Her personal life had come to a thundering halt, but Kalyssa was doing great, and her school looked to flourish. Unless something unexpected happened.
“So, what’s worrying you?” He popped a pretzel into his mouth and crunched loudly.
Leighton remained quiet. It sounded silly, being knocked off balance by one little encounter. She debated whether to admit it or say nothing, but their long friendship and mutual trust won out.
“I got thrown a curveball. Of all the things I thought might happen today, it was most unexpected.” She instantly regretted the confession, but it was too late to turn back.
He chewed and swallowed. “Casey?”
“Yes. Casey.” She enjoyed saying her name aloud despite being stunned he’d guessed. “How did you know?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, she’s the most talented student we have, and that’s counting the second-years. I know that captured your attention even before you met her. She’s also the most attractive, and I’m not even into women. But, Leighton…Well, I’m not sure it’s my place to mention it—”
“I’m her teacher, and she’s my student? Yes, Stefan, I’m aware.” Too aware. That reminder had surfaced so many times throughout the day she wondered how she’d managed to talk about motion sensors and tardiness.
“Okay, good, because that could complicate things.” He raised his eyebrows. “However, for what it’s worth, I think you may have also thrown her a curveball. I saw how she looked at you. She’s not very good at hiding her appreciation.”
Leighton laughed. “You should’ve seen her in the gallery.” She also thought she’d caught a glimpse of Casey’s admiration but wondered if she’d imagined it. Still, Stefan’s words rattled her and confused her more. “We might be misreading things. She could be straight. After all, she has a child.” Minimizing her interest in Casey had become more difficult with the knowledge Casey might also feel whatever this was between them.
He rolled his eyes. “You’re queer, and you have a child. I’m sure you noticed how she responds to you. I’d bet on her being about as straight as I am. She jumped away from you like you might burn her if she got too close.”
Leighton shook her head. “Why would she do that? It makes little sense.” Casey’s reaction seemed out of place. It’d thrown her so much she’d fumbled to regain her train of thought.
“I think you scare her.”
“Scare her?” Leighton twirled the bracelet on her wrist. “Scare her how?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps the idea of you is frightening. She might have a bit of an infatuation with you as an artist, then she meets you and, well, you’re you.” He traced her outline in the air. “Now she’s about to spend a lot of time in close quarters with a beautiful woman she admires and finds attractive. Despite taking longer to graduate from college, she’s still young and impressionable. I’m sure it’s a lot to manage.”
“You sound like you may have some experience in this area. Don’t tell me young Stefan Jovic had a crush on a teacher.” She shot him a wry grin.
He dug another pretzel from the bag. “Too many to count.”
His admission sank into her heart and the realization of how serious the situation could get shifted her mood. “Look, it’s fine for us to joke about this now, but she’s my student, and that’s not going to change. Having a successful atelier is my dream, and I’m not about to jeopardize it. Let’s also remember Casey is Maxine’s scholarship recipient, so this discussion needs to stay between us. Maxine would have a coronary if she heard even a whisper about this. I could lose her funding, not to mention her respect.”
“I’ve spent little time with Maxine so far, but from what I’ve gathered, she does seem a bit conservative. Still, it’s not like we use grades, or you could use your position of authority to advance or impede Casey’s status here. You were careful to design your atelier in a way that doesn’t create an atmosphere of competition.” He stood and tipped his empty glass toward her.
She extended hers to accept his offer of more wine. “True, I intend for them to compete against themselves to become the best artist they can be. Even so, it’s impossible. It’d be scandalous if I had a relationship with one of my students.”
Stefan nodded and walked to the kitchen.
“Maxine might be my biggest funder, but the smaller investors are just as important. I have to consider optics. Plus, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize Casey’s scholarship.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m even talking about this in the hypothetical sense.”
He returned to the living room with their wine and a sleeve of crackers. “Jesus, Leighton, I’m not advocating for it. I’m merely pointing out that if something happened, it’d be between two consenting adults. It’s not like she’s seventeen. She graduated from college and has a child. Although, I admit it surprised me when she said she had a two-year-old.”
Leighton replayed her encounter with Casey in her mind. “His real name is Anders. Her son. I asked.”
His forehead creased. “That’s a strange name.”
“She said she named him after his father’s favorite artist.” Leighton gave him a knowing look.
“Anders? As in Sweden’s famous Anders Zorn?” His eyes narrowed. “Who’s the kid’s father?” He scooted to the edge of his seat.
She shrugged. “I didn’t ask.”
“So, daddy likes realism, too. I wonder if any other famous artists are named Anders.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Shall I google it?”
“All she said was that she’d named him after his dad’s favorite artist.” Leighton wished she’d never brought it up. It felt like a betrayal.
“She might have met his father in art school.”
He didn’t abandon the subject even as she retreated into thought. She needed to end this tangent since Andy’s father had nothing to do with her. With a groan, she unfolded her legs and took her glass to the kitchen. “Kalyssa will be home soon. I don’t want to be having this conversation when Maxine drops her off. When it comes down to it, it’s not ethical for me to have feelings for a student. Besides, the last time I fell for someone, look where it left me.” She paused for effect. “I’d rather be alone the rest of my life than risk going through that again.”
He winced and stood. “I get it. Let’s chalk this up to meaningless chitchat over a glass of wine. You won’t hear any more from me unless you bring it up.” He held out his arms.
She gave him a rueful smile and stepped into the embrace. “Thanks. I’m grateful you accepted the position. I know it’s going to be an amazing year.” It had to be. She’d worked so hard to get to this point.
“Yes, it is.” He hugged her tightly. “Thanks for the wine. Since you’re kicking me out, I’m taking the crackers.”
When he left, only silence remained. And in that space, void of sound or distraction, her mind wandered again to Casey’s hazel eyes. This couldn’t be happening. Her expectations for the day had been so high. And now this.
Chapter Seven
Casey ignored the pile of dirty dishes in her kitchen sink, opting instead to spend a few minutes with Andy while he ate his snack. She glanced around her. In truth, the apartment could use a good cleaning before she and Mark got busier with the addition of classes and studio time at the atelier. But then, it wasn’t like the place ever appeared much cleaner after a thorough scrubbing. The marred linoleum that looked like it was from the eighties and might once have been white stayed a grayish beige, and the brown splotch in the center of the green Formica-topped table never got any better no matter what they used on it.
When they’d first moved in, she’d quickly grown tired of balancing her meals on her knees, so she’d been grateful when they’d found the discarded table on the sidewalk with a FREE sign taped to it. It served their purposes nicely as long as they kept the folded matchbox under one leg and the back edge shoved against the wall.
“Here, let me cut that for you.” She tried to take the half-banana from Andy’s grasp.
“No.” He leaned away and dug his fingers deeper into the soft yellow flesh.
She gave in, worried he might tip over the chair on which she’d strapped him and his new booster seat. Well, not new, but new to them. Erica’s friend had offered it to Casey when his daughter outgrew it.
“Do you want orange juice?” She finger-combed his unruly hair that showed evidence of his nap. His cowlicks curled when wet or sweaty, and she hoped that wouldn’t change as he got older.
“No.” He gnawed on the gooey piece of fruit.
From the safety of the far corner of the table, the syllabus Leighton had handed out earlier taunted her. She yearned to read it, but she wanted to save it for when she had uninterrupted time. It outlined the curriculum for the semester, but it contained far more. It’d give her a much-desired glimpse into Leighton. With all the strength she had in her, she returned her attention to Andy.
“When you’re done, we’ll read a book.” She picked up a sticky bit of banana from the floor, then squished it into a napkin.
“No.”
“What? You like books.” This argumentative streak better be a phase.
He shook his head with vigor. “No.”
“Yes, you do, funny boy.” She tickled his side.
As much as she tired of hearing no, it was part of his language development, and she enjoyed watching him learn how to express his thoughts as his vocabulary expanded and he began stringing together two or three words.
“Milk, please.”
Right on cue. She smiled, adoring everything about him. He might have inherited her coloring and bone structure, but his dark eyes and lashes were his daddy’s. She kissed him on the forehead. “You got it.”
As she rose, the syllabus beckoned her again. Waiting to read it ate at her. She filled Andy’s sippy cup, then returned to the table. If Mark hadn’t been with her when she’d left the atelier, she’d have pored over it on the train ride home. She handed Andy his milk.
He grabbed it with one hand, waving his mangled banana in the other.
What the hell. She snatched up the syllabus.
As she read, she heard Leighton’s voice in her head. Her speech patterns, and somehow even her tone, came through in her writing, but the content impressed Casey even more.
In particular, the section that detailed Atelier Vaughn’s evaluation system stood out. Above all, Leighton deemed critiques the most valuable part of the learning process. The lack of any formal grading system surprised Casey. Leighton envisioned success for every student, so she’d structured her school to avoid comparing the progress of one against another. Both instructors would critique each work, and the artist could anticipate acclaim as well as constructive criticism.
In addition, Leighton expected students to turn in every assignment, but the atelier operated under the presumption they were adults and, therefore, would take responsibility for their learning. Casey almost chuckled as she translated what Leighton hadn’t written. It was their money. If they paid to attend Atelier Vaughn and wasted the opportunity, that was on them.
Wasting money wasn’t a problem in Casey’s case since she had none. However, as a scholarship recipient, she didn’t intend to squander the opportunity Maxine had given her, the best chance to give Andy a better life.
As she continued through the syllabus, Casey almost bounced in her seat when she read what she’d be studying. If they had a Make-A-Wish foundation for artists like herself, the syllabus read like a fairytale dream come true. Plus, she’d be doing it alongside Leighton.
“Done.” Andy splayed his glistening hands, banana smeared all over his face, in his hair, down his shirt, and across the table in front of him.
Casey blinked. Was that all from half of a banana? The sippy cup lay in a puddle of milk on the floor, the lid beside it. So much for spill-proof. But it was worth every second she’d been able to spend devouring her course curriculum.
“Okay, I guess you need a bath instead of a book.” She laughed.
“Bath!” Andy’s squeal matched the enthusiastic smile that lit his face.
Finally, something other than a no.
In the bathroom, Casey’s thoughts wandered as she tested the water temperature. What was it about Leighton? Why was she so captivated by her? She tried to distinguish whether her fascination stemmed from the sheer talent Leighton possessed, or Casey’s admiration of her as a person. It was difficult to untangle the two.
She’d known about Leighton as an artist through her works and websites, as well as the articles Casey had read. Now that she’d met her, Leighton seemed just as impressive as a woman without factoring art into the equation at all. She’d understood the struggles in Casey’s life and had shown her acceptance and kindness by welcoming Andy to the gallery while Casey volunteered.
Beautiful, thoughtful, funny—what wasn’t there to like?
* * *
The next morning, excited about her first actual class, Casey stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. Since she’d left early, she assumed she’d be the first to arrive, but light flooded the studio. Movement in the kitchen caught her attention, and Devin looked up from a stack of coffee filters he struggled to separate. Beside him, Stefan read a paper at the table. Who read real newspapers anymore?
“Good morning!”
Devin’s cheeriness grated on her. She wished she could ignore him, but maintaining a level of civility would make things easier while they were students together. Leighton wanted a familial atmosphere, so Casey would do her best to oblige. Even after only a day, she yearned to make Leighton happy. If difficulties arose between her and Devin, it wouldn’t be because of any attitude on her part.
“Hi. You’re here early.” When she extended her hand, he gave her the filters. They were difficult to separate with her short nails, but she managed.
“I wanted to get a start on my sketchbook assignments, and I figured it’d be quiet here. It never is at my house, as you know.” He flashed her a wry smile.
Casey remembered his large, jovial family. The laughter, jokes, banter, and decibel level never subsided.
“Want some coffee?” He dropped the filter she gave him into its holder and scooped some grounds into it.
“Sure, thanks.” She headed for her easel. No sooner had she hung up her jacket than the elevator ding signaled a new arrival.
“Good morning.” Leighton greeted Devin as she breezed in wearing dark blue jeans and a tan blouse, her shirt untucked. “Stefan.” As she crossed the open room, she ran her fingers through her damp hair.
Casey couldn’t distinguish their murmured responses.
