“What the hell does that even mean?” I whisper to Tucker, whose entire face is flushed from laughing so hard.

“Like this!” Aria declares suddenly. “This is interpretation!”

I glance over to find her swiping Fitzy’s canvas off his easel. The big guy rumbles in protest, but she ignores him and holds up the painting with a grand flourish.

My jaw drops when I see what Tucker’s friend has painted. It’s Spector, but a badass version of him in a helmet and wielding a shield. Instead of the much talked about penis, Fitzy painted an elaborate-looking sword jutting from the guy’s crotch. Like, a sword worthy of Game of Thrones.

“Dude,” Tucker exclaims, suitably impressed.

“That’s amazing!” a wide-eyed Carin gushes to her date.

He shrugs. “It’s all right.”

His modesty makes me smile. I only grin harder when Aria gives him back the canvas and then begs him to leave it with her instead of taking it home with him.

We resume our painting, cracking jokes and sipping our wine. Every so often, Tucker leans toward the elderly gentleman beside him and helps the poor guy out.

“Naw, man, you want to shade under here,” he advises. “Imagine that the light is hitting his arm from up there. So the shadow would be down here.”

The old man harrumphs loudly. “This whole thing is a waste of time.”

“Hiram!” his wife scolds.

“What? It’s true,” he says in a crabby voice, then gives Tucker and me a surly look. “This was her idea.”

“Because I thought you would enjoy it,” the gray-haired woman protests. “You’ve always told me how much you envy my artistic skills.”

The couple appears to be in their late sixties. Or hell, maybe their late seventies. I’ve never been a good judge of age. Besides, seniors look so young these days. Nana could pass for my older sister.

“Gee, I’m sorry, Doris, but I never learned how to draw naked folks when I was getting shot at in ’Nam!”

Doris slams her brush on the table. “We talked about this! Dr. Phillips said you weren’t allowed to discuss Vietnam anymore. It’s destructive to our relationship.”

“It was the most taxing time of my life,” he says stubbornly.

“And you think it was easy for me?” she challenges. “Being at home and raising two children in diapers while you were off hunting Charlie?”

He squawks in outrage. “You were wiping bottoms! I was killing human beings!”

I bite my lip to stop from laughing, even though this isn’t a particularly funny conversation. Maybe the wine has gone to my head.

“Now, now,” Tucker drawls. “Hiram, my man, your wife is gorgeous and obviously devoted to you. And Doris, Hiram here fought for his country to keep you and your children safe—think of how much he must love you for him to have done that. So let’s not fight, huh? Why don’t we just focus on painting this nice fellow over there and doing justice to his equipment?”

Fitzy snorts from the other side of Carin.

So does Hiram, whose voice becomes gruff as he addresses his wife. “I’m sorry, Dorrie. You’re right—this was a lovely idea.”

“And you were very brave in the war,” she says magnanimously.

Hiram leans over and pats Tucker on the shoulder. “All right. Show me that shadow trick.”

My heart melts as I watch Tucker help the older man. Doris, meanwhile, is blushing prettily, probably thinking about how he called her gorgeous before.

“I like you, kid,” Hiram tells my date.

Yeah. I like him too.

*

Tucker

We’re all feeling stupid and giddy when we troop out of the bar with our wrapped-up canvases tucked under our arms. Well, except for Fitzy—our instructor made him leave his masterpiece behind so she could show it to future classes.

Outside, the air is frigid, but that doesn’t stop Hiram from saying, “I saw an ice cream parlor down the road. Let’s check if it’s still open.”

And yup, our double date has turned into a triple date and suddenly we’re going out for ice cream with an old war vet and his sweet-as-molasses wife.

I hold Sabrina’s hand as we amble down the sidewalk. I honestly didn’t expect to have this much fun tonight. I mean, a painting class? There are a million—dirtier—things I would’ve rather done, but this wasn’t bad at all. Even Fitzy has laughed more times tonight than I’ve ever heard in the past.

The ice cream place is just closing when we arrive, but the kid who’s about to lock the door takes pity on us and opens the cash register. Thanking him profusely, we order waffle cones and then head back to the bar parking lot.

Now that they’re no longer bickering, Hiram and Doris regale us with stories about their forty-six years together. They’ve lived through some pretty harrowing times, but I’m more interested in the happy memories they describe.

Forty-six years. It’s fucking surreal to think of being with someone for that long. Am I totally nuts for wanting that?

Sabrina seems equally mesmerized by their tales, and when the elderly couple climbs into their little car and drives off, she seems genuinely disappointed to see them go.

“We’re going to finish our ice cream in my car,” Carin announces, and there’s nothing stealthy about the way she says it. With a mischievous smile, she tugs on Fitzy’s hand and drags him toward the blue hatchback parked across the lot.

He glances over his shoulder and grins at me.

“They’re totally going to hook up,” Sabrina says.

“Yup.”

I drag her toward my own vehicle. Once we’re settled in the front seat, I flick the ignition and blast the heat. Ice cream was probably a bad idea—Sabrina is visibly shivering as we wait for the truck to warm up.

“So,” I say.

“So.”

“That was entertaining.”

“Which part? When the Red Sox guy painted ants for pubes? Or when Hiram and Doris described what it was like to live through the boob job craze in the eighties?”

“Holy fuck. When she said she’d considered getting her ‘bosom done’?”

“Oh my God. I died!” Sabrina is in stitches beside me, the sound of her high-pitched giggles bringing a rush of warmth to my chest.

Damn. I really like this girl. She’s…incredible. She’s not the ice queen Dean insists that she is, not in the slightest. She’s smart and funny and caring and—