Paint Me Beautiful

only girl in the line of hopefuls that gave him a second glance that day next to the Super Smoothie. My brain automatically tries to calculate the amount of calories that will be in our final omelet. A tablespoon of chopped vegetables is almost negligible. I guess that the whole colorful concoction will end up adding less than thirty calories.
    Emmett takes up the whisking while I examine the teacher's movements and emulate them, carefully following her instructions as I slice the top of the bell pepper off.
    “ So how exactly does one become a model?” Emmett asks, and since he is honestly the first person in my entire life to ask me that question, I have to pause and think about my answer for a moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Jenn and Leanne are watching me carefully.
    “ You work your ass off,” I tell him, and he laughs, pausing a moment to reach over and steal a stalk of celery. As he slides it between his lips, I feel butterflies flapping their gentle wings against the sides of my stomach.
    “ So, basically, it's like anything else in life? You want it, you work for it, am I right?”
    “ Frighteningly so,” I tell him, trying not to think about how cold I am right now and how much I'd like to lie down. Next to Emmett specifically, but that's another story altogether. “If you're asking for specifics, you put yourself out there and accept that the majority of the people you meet are going to think you're not good enough.”
    “ I think you're better than good enough,” Emmett responds, leaning away from his eggs for just a moment to press a kiss to the side of my head. The gesture makes me still, pauses my hand in the gentle rise and fall that I've already adapted to. Apparently, I do have a knack for cooking. “I think you're the prettiest damn model I have ever seen.” He pauses. “Scratch that, prettiest damn girl. Prettiest damn human being. ” I notice Jenn rolling her eyes; Leanne winks at me.
    “ Liar,” I say, but I can't help but enjoy the compliments. They've been few and far between lately. If living with Emmett Sinclair is half as pleasurable as hanging out with him in this class, then I should have no problem finding time to meet my goals. He's just cool like that. “Emmett,” I begin as he puts a bit of oil into our skillet. Forty calories. “I want to.”
    “ Hmm?” he asks, watching me carefully as I push the colorful flow of veggies off of my cutting board and into the pan.
    “ To move in with you. I'd like that.” He looks up at me and then this giant grin breaks across his face. He grabs me suddenly around the waist and lifts me up, moving me back from the stove just far enough that he can spin me around. The chiffon of my dress floats like petals in the wind. When Emmett sets me down, he kisses me soft and sweet, and when he pulls away, I see that the entire class is staring. I forget to care that his hands are touching my waist and that there are people looking at my makeup-free face. I find that all I can see for the moment is his smile.
    “ Glad to have you, roomie,” he says and kisses me again. Our vegetables burn in the pan but neither of us cares because we're looking into one other's eyes and the rest just falls away.

 

    I don't tell my parents that I'm moving out. I don't have to. I have every right to leave. In fact, if they're honest with themselves, they'll remember that they've spent the last few weeks pushing me to move forward with my life. If they have a problem with it, they're the hypocrites, not me.
    My parents weren't home when Emmett dropped me off last night (after a very long and protracted make out session that I only wish had become more). I figure there's plenty of time for me to get to know Emmett Sinclair when we're living together. That's the best way to really understand someone anyhow. People are at their worst at home, so if Emmett and I can handle each other's dark sides, maybe then I'll know for sure that exploring what's happening between us is not a mistake. Maybe it could even help with my career? He seems pretty supportive, and support is exactly what I need right now.
    “ Are those Goodwill donations?” my mom asks as I parade past her with a brown box full of clothes. My sister and father sit in the living room, purposely looking at everything but me. I overhead them in the hall this morning and know that they've got my appointment set for two o'clock. I asked Emmett to be here at noon. He said he could