RomCom Cliché

Chapter Eight

"Don't look," Freen cautioned Rebecca, shielding the canvas.

"So secretive," Rebecca pouted, shrinking back onto her stool and rinsing her paintbrush in the cup of dishwater grey.

Freen smiled over the top of her canvas, "it's a surprise."

"Is it for me?"

"Obviously it's for you," Freen softly sighed.

Grinning, Rebecca swiped more paint up from the palette and smeared it across her canvas, while Freen took a sip of her wine, concentrating intently as she delicately painted.

There were a dozen other people in the room, a low hum of chatter blanketing them as they all painted and drank, and they were coming to the end of the session now.

After another ten minutes of painting and drinking, Rebecca finished off the dregs of her wine and raised her eyebrows suggestively at Freen as people started moving, checking out each other's paintings.

"Ready?"

"You go first," Freen insisted.

Barely holding back a laugh, Rebecca slid off her stool and picked up the canvas, carefully turning it in her hands to show Freen the white painting.

She'd used the paint to texture it but the entire thing was white and Freen let out a snort of laughter as she rounded the long bench and walked over to Rebecca, reaching for it.

"Another one for your church?"

"No, this one's for your apartment. A little bit of emptiness to remind you of me."

Freen struggled to fight back a smile as she took the canvas, raising an eyebrow. "How thoughtful."

"Truthfully, I'm shit at art," Rebecca sheepishly admitted. "Now, show me yours."

Carefully setting the white canvas back down, as if it was a prized Van Gogh, Freen rounded the bench again and picked up her own canvas, hesitating before she turned it around.

She'd painted a scene of the harbour at sunset, trees creeping in at the edges of the painting and a stretch of grass at the bottom before it gave way to the sea wall. Smiling crookedly, Freen shrugged.

"It's from our picnic."

"Okay, so you're a secret artist?" Rebecca asked, surprise crossing her face as she took in the detailed painting.

"You saw the canvases at my apartment," Freen pointed out. "I like painting in my spare time."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd be good."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. You didn't strike me as a painter."

"Hm, so you've misjudged me too, then," Freen said with a slightly smug smile.

Rebecca grinned back, walking over to her and eyeing the painting up close, with the little dotted wildflowers on the grass and the wisps of clouds over the National City skyline. She met her eyes and smiled a little wider.

"I love it."

They left their paintings there to dry and stepped outside, the summer evening cloudy with a chill in the air as the forecasted rain swept in off the coast.

Freen had wanted to try a hotpot place and they walked the few blocks through the city, dodging late-night commuters and people heading out for dinner or drinks or to the gym, hand in hand with Rebecca briskly leading the way.

Rebecca had never tried hotpot before and she let Freen make up the sauce for her, adding sesame and satay and chilli, before they took it in turns dipping the slivers of their meat in for varying seconds, trying to find the perfect time.