Tea, Rain, and a Little Green Door

The rain was steady, the kind that makes the air hum softly. We spread newspapers over the kitchen table, set down mugs of tea, and opened the paint box.

No plan. No rules. Just a “Let’s see where this goes” kind of day. She painted a cobblestone street; I added a row of crooked windows. She painted a cat; I gave it a red scarf. Somewhere near the corner of the canvas, I painted a tiny green door. She didn’t notice it at first.

When she finally did, she laughed. “Where does it lead?”

I shrugged. “Somewhere better.”

We never finished that painting. It still sits propped against my bookshelf, a little damp from the rain that day. But every time I see that tiny green door, I think about how some doors only appear when you paint with someone else.