Brush Strokes Read Free Page A

the
walls.
    His favorite, the one that caught his
eye every single time he entered her apartment, hung in a small
alcove. In the self-portrait, her eyes glistened with a realism
that mesmerized him. If the eyes were a window to the soul, in this
painting, he saw every act of kindness, every ounce of caring,
every burden of hurt coloring her spirit within. Her smile rivaled
the Mona Lisa’s, her mysteriousness a riddle never meant to be
solved. She looked off-painting, her attention on something in the
distance the viewer did not have the privilege to see. Whatever it
was both amused and aroused her. At least the healthy flush in her
cheeks betrayed her heightened state. Hell, it might have just been
his own wishful fantasy projected onto the painting. Nonetheless,
it was there whenever he looked.
    He scanned the different booths as he
walked, trying to sort in his mind what single item she might
prefer. Plants, beat-up electronics, sunshades and cellular phones
passed in front of him. Jewelry…
    Jewelry.
    He slowed to a stop. The diamond
solitaire stage hadn’t been broached; he wasn’t even in the same
zip code as that thought, but perhaps something else here might
suit his artist. Standing before the glass-enclosed stands, he
sought a suitable match for her capricious nature. Her sense of
spirit. The whimsy in her eyes, the infectious nature of her
laugh.
    Wait…whimsy? Yeah, maybe he ought to
spend a little less time in bourgeois coffee shops and a little
more time riding Harleys and spitting.
    Stifling a chuckle, Joe leaned closer
to the glass, noting with some dismay that the grime covering its
surface forced him to peer harder at the contents. He flattened his
hand across its dinginess, pushing down a wince. The eager gaze of
the make-shift stand’s proprietor was like a weight on his
shoulders. The man’s ample size shuffled forward surprisingly fast,
but considering how empty most of the aisles were, maybe not.
Business must not be as brisk as he would have liked.
    “ May I help
you?”
    Joe kept his gaze down, still scanning
the neat rows. “Just looking,” he mumbled.
    “ Anything in
particular?”
    He pressed his lips together before
releasing them. A quick glance into the owner's face proved just
how desperate the poor man was for a sale. He shouldn't begrudge
the guy for trying to provide customer service in an age when most
businesses lacked that nicety. “I, uh...” Joe blew out a breath,
shaking his head. “I don’t know. Something nice, but not too nice.
Something that’ll make someone notice me, you know?”
    “ What kind of jewelry does
she like?” His eyes twinkled.
    “ I don’t know, even. I
guess something unique. Something that no one else would be
wearing.” He swiped a streak through the dust and leaned closer.
“Do you have anything like that in here?”
    “ Come with me, down to this
part.”
    He paralleled the vendor toward the
other end of the counter where Joe hadn't yet ventured. While
seemingly impossible, the dirt of ages covered the glass, making it
seem in even worse repair than where they’d just left. Dear God,
had the man never heard of Windex?
    Thanking his lucky stars for small
mercies, his eyebrows did a slow rise when the man reached into the
counter and pulled out a small velvet-lined tray. Nestled against
the wine-colored material, a dozen or so necklaces and matching
bracelets rested. These weren’t gold-plated, guaranteed to turn her
neck green, atrocities. What lay before him were well-crafted,
genuine works of art. The result of someone’s labor, someone’s
fevered creativity brought to life. And they were
perfect.
    Without thinking, he reached for one
in particular. He ignored the soft brown twist of material holding
a dangling pendant. The artistry caught his eye. Copper wire
braided in intricate knots, subtly infused with some other type of
wire, some silver, some red, reflected the sunlight. When he let
the design dangle, the pendant rotated and