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feeling oddly protective of this stranger. “Nell,” Jesse said.
    I nodded and followed him out of the room and out of the building. After the chill of the morgue, even the frigid January temperatures didn’t seem so bad. I stood just outside the door and took a deep breath.
    “I’d tell you that you get used to it, but you don’t really. You just pretend to,” Jesse said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken you here.”
    “No. I’m glad you did. I like seeing you at work. You’re so sure of yourself.”
    Jesse blushed. “It’s a nice contrast to how unsure I am everywhere else.”
    He stepped closer and took my hand. We had barely moved off the steps of the morgue before Jesse stopped and turned toward me. He swept my hair off my face and smiled. I knew what was coming, and suddenly I felt out of breath. He leaned in and bumped my nose.
    “Ouch,” I laughed.
    “That was supposed to go better.” He pulled away slightly. His right hand was cradling my head, so I knew he wasn’t going too far.
    “You can give it another shot,” I said. “And if you—”
    He leaned in again. “Shh.” He planted his lips on mine.
    We kissed for five minutes, until the sounds of a coroner’s van reminded us of where we were.

CHAPTER 6
     
     
     
     
    “I f I talk to the registrar again, maybe I can imply that Oliver White wants me in the class,” I said to my grandmother over breakfast on Thursday morning. “It wouldn’t exactly be a lie.” I took a bite of toast and swallowed some coffee before I changed my plan again. “Or I could go to the class today and see if anyone’s dropped out.”
    “Or you could ask him,” Eleanor said flatly.
    I looked up from my toast. “I can’t do that.” I searched for a reason why not and only came up with, “It’s too simple.”
    Eleanor shook her head. “I forgot. You like to keep things complicated.”
    “Well you can’t really spare me at the shop anyway,” I added. “It gets busy enough for two full-time people.”
    “Don’t use me as your excuse.”
    Eleanor got up and took my half-finished breakfast, giving the lone slice of bacon to Barney. My grandmother was about to celebrate her seventy-fourth birthday, but she had more energy and nerve than I ever did. She’d had a rough life. She lost her husband in a car accident and was left with two small children to raise and no money. Yet she built a successful business and a good life. Maybe she had learned somewhere along the way that, sometimes, you just have to ask.

    “I’d like to join your class, Mr. White—Professor White.” I stumbled on my words, but my feet were planted firmly in front of the door to his classroom, blocking his way.
    He smiled and peered down at me through his glasses and beard. “Oliver,” he said. “It’s just Oliver.” He looked me up and down in what was either a creepy old man’s assessment or a way to amuse himself while adding to my tension. “What makes you think that you can just join my class?” he finally said.
    “Why not? I want to learn how to paint and you want to teach. It seems like the perfect arrangement,” I blurted out, echoing White’s words in the parking lot.
    His smile widened into a Cheshire-cat grin. “I’m sure you can find a spot.”
    As I entered the studio I saw nearly twenty students, more than were supposed to be allowed in the class. Including, I noticed, the pushy girl from the day of registration. I guess I wasn’t the only one with a grandmother.
    Everyone was standing behind an easel, arranging their drawing pads and nervously shifting their feet. I quickly found an empty space, wondering if I looked as excited as everyone else.
    “How many of you are artists?” Oliver asked the class. A few hands went up. Oliver nodded. “Well, I can tell you right now that I doubt any of you are really artists. Being an artist takes time, patience, work, study, and sacrifice. By the end of this class you’ll have a taste of what I mean, and