Workbenches and tool chests were everywhere. Splotches of oil and grease covered the cement floor. The farther we walked in the long and wide building, the more cars we saw covered by thick canvas, and the heavier the scent of paint grew. It was darker back there.
Faint yellow light glanced off Rider’s cheeks as he looked over his shoulder. He stopped by a covered car. “I don’t have set hours here. Drew calls me when he has a job. Been lucky the last couple of months. Work’s been steady.”
Stretching up, he caught ahold of a chain. Muscles along his back tensed, and his shirt strained over his shoulders and biceps as he tugged it. That warm, heavy feeling infiltrated my veins.
Light flooded the space. The first thing I noticed was a large canvas draped across the wall. It was covered with paint. As if a hundred different colors had been tossed on the canvas in no particular pattern.
Rider followed my gaze. “That’s where I test out the colors. Sometimes I have to mix them before I put them in the sprayer.”
“Sprayer?”
Nodding, he turned toward a bench. Several silver canisters with nozzles were laid out across the top. He walked over, picking one up. “Paint goes in here.” He ran his finger along the canister fitted to the top of the sprayer. “And the bottom hooks up to a hose that runs to the air compressor.” He laughed, sounding a little off as he put the sprayer back on the workbench. “Not that you were asking for a lesson on a sprayer.”
“It’s okay.” I stepped closer. “It’s interesting.”
Rider laughed again as he walked away from the bench. He went past me, stopping in front of a covered car. “I’ve been working on this car for the last week.” He grabbed the canvas at the hood of the car and pulled it off. “Almost done.”
My mouth dropped open.
I didn’t know what kind of car it was. A white two-seater. Probably a coupe. It didn’t matter. It was what was painted across the hood and front fender that caught my attention.
It was the American flag. Now, that didn’t sound too special, but the detail of the flag took it to a whole new level. Not a single red line bled into the white lines. The stars were perfect bursts of white among deep navy blue. The flag wasn’t a stagnant square. It rippled as if it were a real cloth placed over the hood, draping the fender, and wind was washing over it. It made it look like the car was actually moving.
How could he do that with paint sprayed onto the surface?
“The guy wanted something Americana.” He stepped forward, brushing his hand along the fender, wiping away an imaginary speck of dirt. “We ended up settling on a flag.”
In awe, I shook my head as I placed my hand over my chest. I couldn’t believe it. I’d seen what he’d painted on the warehouse, and that had been awe-inspiring, but this was something else. “This is amazing.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” I looked at him, eyes wide. “How can you not see how amazing this is?”
Rider shrugged as he flipped his attention back to the car. “It’s just a flag.”
“It looks real!” My voice pitched, but I didn’t care. Rider came from nothing. Nothing. Was raised in darkness and violence, but he’d had this ability the entire time. What he’d experienced hadn’t snuffed out this talent. “Like I could walk over...and lift it up.”
“Huh.” There was a pause. “Thank you.”
“Do you...keep track of your work?”
He shook his head. “Not really.”
“You should have pictures of this,” I insisted. “Of all that you do.”
He lowered his chin. “I have some at the house. Not together or anything. Drew usually takes a picture. Puts it up on the website.”
“A portfolio book!” Excited, I rocked back. “That’s what you need.”
The corner of his lips tipped up and then he bent down, picking up the tarp. I watched him drape it back over the car, straightening it as he walked around the sides.
I inhaled softly. “I...I would like to see more of your stuff.”
“I can show you some later. Gather up the pics,” he said, tugging the material over the trunk of the coupe.
Smiling, I unfolded my arms. An idea formed while I watched him fix the other side of the tarp as he made his way back to me. Rider wouldn’t get a portfolio book. For some reason, he just couldn’t recognize his talent, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t help him.
“Want to try it?” he asked.
My eyes widened. “Try painting a car?”
Rider’s hazel eyes twinkled as he laughed. “No. Not painting a car, Mouse.” Walking toward me, he gestured at the canvas tacked to the wall. “Paint there.”
Turning, my gaze crawled across the canvas. There were spots untouched by paint. Mostly the lower half.
Rider walked to the bench and opened the drawer, pulling out two white masks. “Fumes can get a bit much.” He walked back to me. “So what do you think?”
Smiling, I nodded.
The twist of his lips kicked up higher and he placed the mask over my head, letting it dangle below my chin. His eyes met mine as he scooped my hair out from under the band. He hesitated, staring down at me. His mouth opened as if he wished to say something but then changed his mind. He slipped his own mask on, letting it hang as he pivoted around, approaching a tall plastic cabinet near the bench. He opened it, and out came regular-looking spray cans.
“Figured we’d start with this before we moved on to that stuff,” he explained, tone light as he handed over a can with a red top. “The color suits you.”