He grinned, as he lifted a strand of curled hair and dipped it in the paint. “Why, Miss Tyndale, you seem to be blushing again,” he teased.

“I didn’t realize I would be this close to the model,” I said softly, feeling odd that the girl could hear me. Jack dipped another piece of hair, and I took it from him, holding it away from the girl’s naked body. Awkwardness consumed me. This was beyond weird. Seeing other girls naked in the locker room was one thing, seeing a nude woman in a painting was another—and this by comparison, well there was no comparison. It was just really strange.

“I don’t bite,” the girl said, trying not to smile and ruin her paint. Jack grinned.

“That’s not what I meant, but thank you for not biting me,” I replied, feeling like a dork.

Jack laughed, shaking his head. Continuing, he dipped each tendril in paint until her whole head was dripping. It took about five more minutes and he was done. The girl was a monochromatic rainbow of white. “Okay, this is the tricky part,” Jack said. “We need to help her move from the stool, to the canvas. She only has one chance to lay on this correctly. If she messes it up, we start over. If we drop her, we start over. Got it?”

“If we drop her?” I squealed. “Jack, what the hell? You said no touching!”

The model laughed, glancing at Jack, “Your nun cursed!”

“I think she’s allowed to say Hell, Cheri. It’s a noun and it’s in the Bible,” the corners of his mouth lifted, laughingly.

“Shut up,” I laughed back, shaking my head. I’d been around New Yorkers for less than two days and my mouth was already regressing to its former sailor-like state. “How do I help her?”

“Her right hand has no paint. If she were a lefty, it’d be her left. She’s going to put her other hand on the canvas as you lower her holding the paint-free hand. It’ll keep her from slipping or hitting the canvas too hard.”

Emily spoke up from her seat by the table, “Do you want help, Jack?”

Without looking at her, Jack answered, “Sure, but you stay there. You can tell Abby if you see her doing something wrong,” Jack answered.

While they spoke my mind replayed, I can’t believe I’m doing this over and over. There was nothing wrong with helping a naked woman covered in paint lay down on a canvas, but it felt really weird. I held up her hair with one hand and took her dry hand with my other. “What about her hair? I won’t be able to hold her hand and her hair once she leans back onto the canvas.”

“You don’t have to,” Emily said. “Once her hair is over the canvas, let go. It’ll fall where it’s supposed to go. Basically, you’re making a snow angel here, Abby. You’ll get a crappy one if she hits the canvas wrong.” I nodded.

Jack looked at me, a small grin on his lips. “Ready?” The model was positioned at the edge of the canvas, her bare feet next to it. Cheri nodded and took my hand in hers. Jack began to tell Cheri what he wanted her to do. “Go down on your side. I want your face to press into the canvas, and then roll back. Make sure your arm is at shoulder height, so there is a clear impression of the side of your breast. Abby will fan your hair and then we’ll do the rest.”

Swallowing hard, I did as he asked, and lowered the girl without dropping her. Cheri’s hand was about shoulder height when I finished lowering her to the floor. Her skin slid over the canvas like the paint was still totally wet.

“How long does it take for the paint to dry?” I thought it should have been tacky by now.

Jack watched Cheri closely as he answered, “A few hours. There’s something in it to keep it from drying too fast.” He said to Cheri, “Good. That’s perfect. Now roll back and Abby will fan your hair.” He looked up at me when Cheri stopped moving. This was weird. There was a naked girl at my feet, but he didn’t look at her the way he was looking at me. “Take off your shoes so you don’t get dirt onto the canvas.” I did as he said and padded past the naked woman, to her head.

Jack gave more directions, “Take each strand of hair and fan it that way, like the wind is blowing.” I nodded and moved the pieces were he told me to put them. “That looks perfect. Okay, before you come back, press her hair down with your hands to make sure it left the impression. Be careful not to leave handprints.” Her hair was filled with paint, each twisting curl left a multi-tonal impression on the canvas.

The rest of the shoot went well. Jack shot a few pictures before the model moved. He told her what to do and exactly how to position her body. The paint smeared under her, leaving impressions of her curves as she went. I stood next to Emily, watching Jack for the next hour. He knew exactly what he wanted, and didn’t stop until he got it. When Jack was done, Emily reached for Cheri and hoisted her up.

Cheri looked down at her body, smeared with paint. Then she said, “Good night, Jack. Good luck.” She smiled warmly at all of us before leaving through a side door. The water turned on in the back when Cheri jumped in the shower to wash off.

Emily nodded to Jack, picking up a granny sweater and wrapping it around her shoulders. “It was wonderful to meet you, Abby. Best of luck, Jack.” She smiled at him, before leaving the studio.

Jack wiped his hands on a towel, before tossing it to me. “So, what’d you think?”

I caught the towel and wiped the paint off my hands. “It made me blush more than I thought it would.”

“Everything makes you blush, Tyndale,” he smiled, “but do you think it’s something you could do?” He leaned back against the stool, flexing his arms. The curves of his chest pressed tightly against his tee shirt.

My throat felt tight. “Maybe, but...”

“But what?” Jack’s expression shifted from playful to careful. “Abby, it’s clean. You saw me. When I’m painting, it’s not a naked woman. Everything is shadow and light. Lines and curves. Tell me you saw that on my face. You had to see it.”

“I did,” I answered looking down, my hair spilling over my shoulders. “I’m not sure what was going through your mind, but it probably wasn’t the look of a man filled with lust.” He was a few steps away from me, watching me while I spoke.

Pushing off the stool, he stepped toward me, folding his arms over his chest, “Probably?” he asked, tilting his head. I bit my bottom lip. I didn’t mean to tell him that. Kate knew that I was a virgin because she guessed. I blushed, feeling his gaze on my face. Jack inched closer, “Preacher girl, have you been alone all these years?”

Cheri chose that moment to throw open the changing room door. Jack stepped back, looking at me oddly. Cheri smiled, fully clothed, wet hair drawn back by a headband. “You did great Abby. Really. I’ve worked with several painters and I was dying to work with Jack. When Emily told me she wouldn’t be assisting, I was a little worried, but you did great.” She pressed her hands together, and turned to Jack, “I hope you pick mine, Jack! You’ll let me know, right?”

Jack nodded, his eyes drifting off my face slowly, like he didn’t want to. Turning toward Cheri he said, “Yeah, the office will tell you if it gets hung in the gallery. Be sure to pick up your check from Linda on the way out, and there’s a referral slip there for you, too.”

The girl beamed. “You have no idea how badly I wanted that referral! Thank you, Mr. Gray!” she went to hug him, and stopped herself, “Sorry! I forgot. Have a good night!” She beamed and practically ran through the door.

Surprised, I looked at Jack. “Referral slip?”

He nodded, wandering through the room, shutting off the lights. “Yeah, it makes it easier for them to get better gigs if they have a slip from me. As long as they don’t fall or creep me out, I give them one. Good job not dropping her. She would have been pissed,” a grin lit up his face as he turned.

“Jack, wait.” I followed him to the back of the room. He was rimmed in light as he turned his head toward me. “I can’t do this. I can’t take this job. I won’t be able to go back to work when I’m done if I take it. It’ll kill my career.” Actually, I wasn’t sure if I cared if it killed my career, but those loans weren’t going away, and the only way to get rid of them was to remain in my current profession.

Jack looked down at the tiled floor in the changing room. Dark hair obscured his face so I couldn’t quite see him. His voice was soft, “You’re not here for good?”

“I hope not,” I answered a little too eagerly, hastily adding, “I’m on sabbatical.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together tightly before looking up at me. “You think that they wouldn’t have you back after working for me? Like this? That it’s wrong?” His eyes bore into me, searching for an answer. What people thought of him seemed to matter more than I had thought it did.

I stepped toward him, keeping my eyes on his. My voice soft, “It’s not wrong, Jack. It’s art. And art’s subjective. But, I live in the middle of nowhere, in one of the most conservative states in the country. I have to pay attention to what people think.”

His voice was cold, “Okay.” Turning, Jack flipped off the light. The room was pitch-black. He flicked the switch and the blinds pulled up, letting moon light spill into the room, before moving toward the door to leave.

“Don’t sound like that. Jack, wait.” His back was turned toward me; he was walking away. I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t mean to. I reached out for his shoulder. When my fingers rested there, he froze. Shoulders tense, he turned, looking down at me.

“What’s right, Abby? It’s not a hard question. Either condemn me or condone me, but don’t sit on the fence and pretend to be something you’re not.” His words were sharp, the muscle in his jaw tightening.

I shook my head, “You don’t understand.”

His voice remained frigid. “No, Abby, I do. I really do.” Jack turned and started to walk. My brain played flashbacks, assaulting me with memories that plagued my dreams, turning them into nightmares. And I didn’t think he was wrong. There was nothing bad about this. In moments of panic people do stupid things. They have a split second to make a decision and you can tell exactly how crazy they really were, and I was bat-shit crazy. I solved one problem and flirted with a million more.