“Don’t touch it!” she shrieks at him. He pulls his hand away from the canvas as if realizing, for the first time, that it’s a poisonous snake. “It’s not dry yet!”

“I thought it looked glossy,” he comments.

“We’ve got a genius on our hands here.” She turns back to her brush collection: fan brushes go here, the rounded ones up there…

He’s still staring at the artwork, a slight frown in his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Don’t you like it?

“I do.” He scratches his ear. “I just never realized how much paint is in your blood.”