Kensie and my brother, August, didn’t waste any time in planning their wedding. Although Kensie and I had been friends for three years now, she and August just met a few months ago. I tended to steer clear of spending time with August and Wes, but after he had found out I knew Kensie, the five of us often ended up in cahoots.

Engaged for only six weeks, they had a wedding happening in another few weeks. I couldn’t blame them, though. I found it completely romantic that, once finding each other and falling in love, they didn’t hesitate to make a lifelong commitment. Life was too precious to live without purpose, and memories were too fleeting to not cherish each moment. We’d all learned that when we lost my niece and August’s daughter, Ella, in a tragic car accident five years ago. It changed life for us all.

I walked to my closet and pulled out the black portfolio case I kept hidden behind my longer dresses. The amount of paintings and drawings I had collected in this thing was embarrassing. It was almost like a diary for me, or maybe a graveyard. Everything that I needed to purge from my head and bury wound up collected in it. I walked back to the desk and leaned the portfolio against it on the floor. As soon as this painting was dry, it would join the rest.

“What do you guys think? Mint green or coral?” Kensie asked, pinching her straw between her fingers and taking a sip of her iced tea. We’d spent a few hours at the bridal shop trying on a variety of dresses in both long and short styles. Kensie ultimately decided on the short ones to keep with their casual wedding but couldn’t choose between the two colors she liked best.

“Mint green. I can’t wear coral with my red hair. I’ll look like a Crayola reject.” Lennon voiced her opinion from across the table first. We’d decided to come to Tommy’s afterward for a little post bridal shopping rendezvous to help Kensie finalize her choices.

“Scarlet Spice,” I said taking a sip of my Cosmo and nodding toward Lennon.

“What’d you call me?” She arched her eyebrow up into her hairline.

“That could be your Crayola name. Scarlet Spice,” I said adjusting the strap on my white tank.

“Oh, I like it.” Lennon waggled her eyebrows at me.

“Sounds more like a stripper name.” Kensie laughed, and Lennon and I joined in.

“Even better,” Lennon said. “I’d have to dye the downstairs to match,” she spit out, making Kensie choke on her tea. I shook my head. That was Lennon. No shame. Sometimes I wish I had her moxie. Then I might be in a completely different place in my life now. One I’d always wanted to be in.

“What do you think, Capri?” Kensie asked me after her choking fit.

“I’m good with whatever you want, Kenz.”

“You have to have an opinion,” Lennon said taking a healthy chug from her bottle. I did have an opinion. I liked the way the longer dress fit the shape of my slight curves the best, but this was Kensie’s wedding. I would happily wear whatever she chose. I had complete confidence in her choosing something we would both look great in.

I shrugged my shoulders, keeping my thoughts to myself. “I’m cool with any of the dresses.”

“Oh, bullshit. It may be your wedding, but I want the green,” Lennon told her pointedly.

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Kensie ran her hands through her dark hair. I admired how full and soft it always looked. Even after an afternoon dancing at the youth center, it was full of volume. My pale hair tended to fall limply over my shoulders. The heat of the bar didn’t help any, either.

“What don’t you know?” a familiar voice spoke from behind me. August stood behind Kensie and wrapped his arms around her giving her a tender kiss on the lips that lingered a bit too long for a sister to witness. I averted my eyes and looked at Lennon, who was curling her lips in mock disgust.

“What colors to choose for the wedding,” Kensie told him once they’d finally parted.

“What’d you think, Capri?” August asked. “You are the artist.”

I twisted my lips. “I’m not an artist. I used to paint a little.”

“A little?” I flinched as the unmistakable voice bounded up to me. “Dude, Augustus, remember when she painted her entire bedroom black? Steve’s pissivity level was off the charts.” Wes slid comfortably into the chair next to me, as I slunk back into mine.

Lennon slapped her palms on the table and leaned toward me. “You painted your room black?”

I pushed back further until the tiny splinters of wood in the chair back forced their way through my thin shirt and jabbed at my spine. “It’s not a big deal,” I said directing my attention around the room to avoid the four sets of eyes focusing on me. My pulse was quickening by the millisecond.

“Not a big deal? I feel like I just found out T-Swift sings death metal!” Lennon shouted above the bar noise.

“No, noo, nooo,” Wes whined dramatically, thumping his head on the table next to me. I almost laughed at him when Lennon’s own dramatics lingered.

“Or that rainbows don’t exist!” The words fell from her mouth so casually.

I flinched.

I blinked. Hard.

I kept my eyes trained on everything except the group. They bounced around the room with each thrum of my pulse pressing against my neck.

Thrum. Rainbows.

Thrum. Don’t.

Thrum. Exist.

My ears picked up on the groan of voices carrying on around me, but I could only hear those three words. This was exactly why I didn’t like being in the forefront. I’d much prefer to fade into the background where I was unnoticed. Where people didn’t ask questions. Where I didn’t have to avoid giving answers.

On so many occasions in my life, I’d felt just like this—like a chameleon seeking escape and blending into the surrounding four walls, only to be forgotten.

“Actually, dude, speaking of paint.” Wes’ voice broke through the fog in my head. I turned my attention back toward my friends but kept my eyes fixed on the martini glass between my fingertips.

Wes settled back into his chair and let his oversized legs sprawl out underneath the table. His thigh brushed against mine so faintly most wouldn’t have noticed, but I was keenly aware of everything around me. I inhaled a shuddered breath and pulled my thigh away immediately as he continued to talk. “I need to push back working on the mural. Rocco from the shop was going to help me, but he broke his arm last weekend in some bar fight.”

“Shit.” August tilted his head back in a hiss.

“Sorry, dude, it’s just too much to do on my own.”

“I need this thing done before the reopening,” August said leaning into Kensie, who moved her hand to rub his back. August was in the process of taking over as director of the San Diego Youth Center, or SYC. Upon his boss’s retirement, August had planned a grand reopening of sorts and had a list of upgrades he was making in the center in preparation. One of those was a giant mural on the wall of the gym he had asked Wes to paint.

“Why doesn’t Capri help him?” I stiffened at Lennon’s suggestion from across the table. “You said she used to paint.”

I shook my head quickly. No.

“That’s a great idea. Why didn’t I think of that to begin with?” August said throwing his arms up in the air.

“No, no, no,” I said waving my own hands out in front of me. Please, no. I couldn’t do this. Not with Wes.

“C’mon, C.” Wes nudged me with his leg under the table. My head snapped in his direction. “You’re a great artist, one of the best I’ve seen.”

My narrowed eyes widened when I saw it. The warmth. It was there again in his eyes. I studied the downturn of their corners while his voice rumbled on. The different shades in his eyes seemed to be in stumbled strokes throughout his irises. Could that be where the warmth came from? Or was it from the way the darkened hues separated, almost like the dry stroke of a brush to allow lighter hues to shine through?