Joaquin paused halfway up the walkway to the classroom and shifted the drawing board under her arm, her box of supplies clutched tightly in the other hand. Despite Adele’s teasing and having to lug around supplies, Joaquin’s art classes were always the highlight of her day. Not that she necessarily needed them, and not that they were necessarily challenging, but they reminded her that she was indeed a real artist with a modicum of talent, not a glorified typesetter like most of the people she worked with. It felt good to push around a bit of charcoal instead of pushing around pixels.

She wrenched the door open and slipped inside the drafty classroom, not surprised to see that Maureen and Kelly, a pair of housewives who had obviously signed up for the class to avoid their husbands, were already set up at adjoining easels and gossiping animatedly. Of course the best part of her Advanced Art Techniques class, she thought to herself with a smile as the teacher appeared from the storeroom, was Aidan. He dropped a large box on the floor next to the table set up in the middle of the room with a spotlight nearby but not turned on.

“Hey Jo,” Aidan perked as he noticed her scurrying to a nearby easel as he crouched down to rifle through his box.

“Hi,” she squeaked, and watched intently as he spread out a red and white checked cloth over the table.

“What’s the lesson plan for today, Mr. Murdoch?” Maureen asked.

“Thought we’d pull out the old acrylics and do a bit of limited palette work,” Aidan announced, bending over to pull two apples from the box. Joaquin shook her head and silently cursed Adele as she tried very hard not to look at the teacher — all she was going to be able to think of for the next two hours would be testicles.

“Felicia, it’s Adele, I just got your message. Yeah, next Thursday. That was last Tuesday.” She shouldered the phone and opened the refrigerator to pull out the milk. “Yeah, of course. I know.” She rolled her eyes as the publicist on the other end of the line babbled. “Yeah.” Adele pulled out the chocolate milk mix and a glass. “The print ads start going out next week. What? No, all the suitable publications, we discussed it before. Have you read the book? Do I need to remind you that it’s an allegory about the plight of the baboon? Right. No, I’m just saying that maybe Cosmo isn’t the type of magazine you’d want to spend good advertising money on for such a socially aware text. The people who read it would be more concerned with covering up the unsightly red skin on the primate’s bum than trying to stop the destruction of their natural habitat. I know.” She took a long gulp of her chocolate milk. “The—I have no idea about the reviews, I haven’t seen any yet. Right. He’s always been a prick.”

There was a knock at the door and Adele jumped up to answer it, anxious for any distraction. “I don’t know anything about the catering actually. I especially don’t know anything about the wine.” She threw the door open and was relieved to see Joel on the other side. She gestured for him to come in, and as he flopped on the couch she decided to make her escape. “Well look Felicia, why don’t you call me at my office tomorrow, I’ll see if I can work out all the details then, I’ve really got to go, I’ve got company. Right. Of course. Bye.”

Adele clicked off the phone and flumped on the couch next to Joel. “I never thought I’d say this, but thank god you’re here,” she teased. “Actually I don’t remember the last time you bothered to knock and then waited for me to answer the door.”

“Well I heard you talking and I was deathly afraid of walking in on you and Jo discussing things of an overly girlish nature.”

“No, she found out her parents’ sex life is better than hers so she’s gone to her art class to pine over the teacher.”

Joel cocked his head and scowled at her. “Yeah, see, that’s the sort of thing I’m trying not to have to hear.”

Adele shrugged at him and got up to retrieve her chocolate milk from the kitchen. “Is there actually a reason for your being here?” she asked between gulps from her glass as he leaned against the counter next to her.

“I’m bored and hungry?”

“And it’s my responsibility to keep you fed and entertained?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Not gonna happen. I’ve got plans.”

“Come on woman, you’ve already had a romp in a supply cupboard, how insatiable can your sexual appetite be?”

“I’ve got plans with Jo, and before the thought even creeps into your filthy mind, I’m going to pick her up at her art class and try to meet this teacher she’s obsessing over.”

“That’s just mean,” Joel chastised.

“What?”

“You’re going to seduce the only man poor Jo’s got in her life?”

“Of course I’m not. He’s probably a weedy little man in a cardigan and stringy hair anyway.”

“What if he’s the hunky model type?”

Adele leveled an even stare on him. “When’s the last time you’ve ever seen a hunky artist?”

“Good point,” Joel agreed.

“But if he is, could be fun,” she mumbled into her glass with a smile.

“No, see, that’s why the exercise is called ‘limited palate,’ you can only work with a limited number of colors.”

“But the apple’s green.”

“I know it is. And you might remember me explaining to the class that you can get a beautiful soft green by mixing the yellow and the black.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, Michael. Trust me on this one. And don’t forget to pay close attention to the reflected highlights.”

Joaquin listened carefully to Aidan’s comments as he made his way around to each easel, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he screwed the cap firmly onto Michael’s tube of green paint and slipped it into the pocket of his paint-smeared jeans, promising to return it at the end of class.

He took a few steps towards her and she stepped away from her easel, partly because she was anxious for his critique, partly because she was incapable of painting under his scrutiny.

“Coming along nicely, isn’t it Jo,” Aidan grinned, squinting at her painting. She managed only a short nervous humming noise in response. “You’ve got a nice rich green, and you’ve really captured the empty space with that cast shadow there.” Jo nodded mutely and wondered if she was blushing as red as she felt. “With your glazing the crimson over the green, are you using water?”

“Oh, no, it’s a matte medium actually.”

“Have you got any gloss medium?” he asked as he turned to her. Her heart fluttered and she felt like a completely idiotic schoolgirl. “I think that might help a bit to get that kind of apple-y sort of uncertain color variation.”

“Right, yeah, absolutely, let me see if I’ve got any,” she agreed and moved to her box of supplies to see if she still had her bottle of gloss medium. She tripped over one leg of the easel, knocking the piece of masonite from its shelf towards the floor. She grabbed for it reflexively as she regained her balance, and froze, as did everyone else in the room. “Crap,” she breathed as she recognized the wet, sticky feeling under her thumb as smeared acrylic paint. She gingerly set the painting back onto the easel, and upon seeing the green-black smudge that ran from the top of one apple to the bottom of the tablecloth, she decided she wanted to cry.

“Oh Jo,” Aidan sighed with a sympathetic smile. “You’ve got plenty of time to fix it.” He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly before heading to the next student’s easel.

She sat heavily on her stool and glared at the painting. “Where’s an aneurysm when you need one,” she breathed.

Adele had been standing outside the classroom for five minutes when the doors finally opened and students began pouring out. Pretty much the sort of people she expected to see: a few retired people, a couple bored mothers and several young artsy types who didn’t have the money or work ethic to go to a real university to study art. And, oddly enough, no Joaquin.

When it became apparent no one else was going to come out of the classroom, Adele opened the door and stepped inside to find two figures standing in front of a wall covered in small square paintings of apples. Obviously Joaquin and the infamous Aidan Murdoch. As she approached from the side she was a bit surprised to find that he was actually quite gorgeous. Dark hair, soft sincere eyes, an adorable smile and, despite the bulky woolen jumper, a very nice body.

The conversation, which Adele probably couldn’t have followed had she actually been paying attention, stopped abruptly and Joaquin sauntered to the other side of the room without noticing her, while Aidan turned and welcomed her with a friendly smile. “Hi, can I help you with something?”

“I just came by to pick up Jo actually,” Adele perked and smiled as she saw Joaquin turn abruptly in their direction, obviously mortified. “I’m Adele, by the way,” she added, holding out her hand which he promptly shook, “Jo’s flatmate.”

“Aidan Murdoch, Jo’s teacher.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, she talks about this class all the time.” Adele smiled as she thought she could hear Joaquin murmur “Oh god” under her breath.

“Does she really?” Aidan asked, obviously amused.

“All the time,” she reiterated.

“I’m glad she enjoys the class.” He glanced over his shoulder at Joaquin who tried to look inconspicuous as she packed away her supplies.

“It would be wonderful if you’d come to our place for dinner, maybe this weekend? Our way of thanking you.”

“What have you got to thank me for?” he asked, cocking his head slightly in curiosity.

“Keeping Jo occupied for a few hours.” She heard Jo whimper, then try to cover it with a cough.

“I’d like that, yeah,” Aidan said with a smirk.

“Great,” Adele perked. “Saturday at seven maybe?”

“Sounds good. Let me just get something to write that down, and I’ll get your address.” He scurried to the other end of the room to his desk where he pulled out a well worn sketchbook.

“Please,” Joaquin breathed, gazing up to the poorly tiled ceiling as Adele gave him quick directions to their apartment, “I don’t ask for much. An aneurysm, that’s all I need. Either for me or her, I’m really not picky.”