September Canvas Read Online Free PDF

bag to put my wet clothes in? I should have the key to Nellie’s house tucked away in a jacket pocket. I hope.”
    “Of course.” Deanna rose and fetched two empty grocery sacks from the kitchen. “Will these do?”
    “Sure thing.” Faythe went back into the bathroom and returned seconds later with her clothes jammed into the bags, wiggling the key in her other hand. “See you at seven thirty? I should go home and wash my clothes. Maybe I can save the jacket.”
    “All right. Should I bring anything?”
    “If you have some red wine, that’d be great.”
    “I’ll look. I may have something in the basement.” She’d been so intent on turning Faythe’s offer down, she was taken aback by her urge to follow through with the invitation. A small voice in the back of her mind kept saying that nothing good would come from this. Perhaps she could still devise a plausible excuse, one that didn’t offend Faythe.
    Deanna looked straight into Faythe’s green eyes and opened her mouth to verbalize her apology. “See you at seven thirty.”

Chapter Four
    Faythe tasted the meat sauce from the pot on the stove and frowned. It needed something. Black pepper? She ground some into the simmering sauce and left it for a few moments as she put a pot of water on another burner. Aunt Nellie had plenty of cooking appliances and utensils. Shaking her head, Faythe tried to remember ever actually seeing her aunt make anything more than toast with marmalade.
    “Am I early?”
    Faythe wheeled around. Deanna stood in the doorway, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and what looked like an envelope in the other. “I…um, well, I knocked.”
    “You did.” Faythe took a deep breath and refused to press a hand against her chest like some damsel in distress. “You did? Obviously I didn’t hear you.”
    “That’s pretty clear.” Deanna’s dark eyes glittered with telltale mirth. “I hope this wine will do. It’s a Pepperwood Grove.”
    “Ah, a domestic wine. Zinfandel grapes.” The bottle looked worn, its label nearly rubbed off in places. “Goodness, it’s a 2001!”
    “It’s been sitting in the basement since then. Hope it’s still good.”“Guess we’ll find out.” Faythe grabbed a corkscrew and easily uncorked the bottle. “Some say a red wine should breathe, some say it doesn’t matter. Let’s not risk anything.” She set the open bottle on the counter and checked on the pasta sauce. “I hope you’re not allergic to garlic.”
    “No allergies.” Deanna remained by the door, looking reluctant.
    “Don’t just stand over there. Come in and I’ll pour us some wine in a minute. I have a fire going in the living room. At least I hope I do. It looked a bit weak when I left it.”
    “I’ll check on it.” Deanna seemed relieved to excuse herself, and Faythe in turn had a hard time reconciling the different images she now had of Deanna. At first she had mostly appeared aloof and shy, even annoyed at Faythe’s presence. Deanna clearly wasn’t the easygoing, open-natured type, but Faythe had spotted signs of humor and repressed laughter, if only briefly.
    Deanna returned, brushing her hands off. “I added a log and some more kindling.”
    “Thanks. Need to wash up? Hand soap’s over there.” Faythe pointed at the sink.
    “I better.” Deanne brushed by Faythe and her lingering scent of soap mingled with faint musk. Faythe inhaled greedily and hoped Deanna hadn’t heard her sharp intake of air. Faythe glanced at Deanna’s back, admiring her slender frame. She was dressed in black jeans and a white cotton shirt, and her black hair hung loose around her shoulders, shiny, but a little unruly. Wondering what Deanna’s story was, since she was so clearly on guard, Faythe dumped the spaghetti into a large pot of boiling water. She moved too fast, splashing the hot water onto her hand.
    “Ow!” Faythe yanked her hand back, rubbing the stinging spot on her wrist.
    “Did you burn yourself?” Deanna quickly