here is where it changes

Wash noticed the way her eyes moved around his place once she walked inside. She was checking his flat out. He didn't blame her, especially given the way they first met. She was trying to size him up since he knew that she had already been proven wrong by the sort of man he was. He took pleasure in knowing that she was looking around to see if he had the typical playboy bachelor pad.

He nodded when she asked for water, and he turned to head into the kitchen to get it. He returned with two glasses of ice water, placing both glasses down on the coasters he had on the table. He chuckled when she asked if this entire flat was him and that it wasn't what she expected to find. "Every piece was picked by me, though my sisters helped me arrange everything," he said. he wouldn't take all the credit.

He laughed a bit louder when she told him that she expected him to cancel with some excuse. "You don't scare me that much, Michelle," he told her honestly. Though he liked being up on her in the score, even if he didn't know they were keeping one. "Would you like me to go first? or did you wish to get yours out of the way?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. it didn't matter to him one way or another.

Having Shelly in his apartment scrutinizing it made him a bit uncomfortable, but he was not about to let her know that. He didn't usually entertain, as he had stopped bringing girls over on a semi-regular basis. He was done with all that bullshit. He was too old for that now. He arched an eyebrow when she told him that it was interesting that he had made all of the selections found in his apartment himself, though he wasn't going to ask her why she found it as such. He knew why.

He chuckled softly when she asked if she scared him, and then he laughed a bit harder when she admitted that he wouldn’t be the first to say as much. "Trust me, that I don't doubt," he told her. "But, to answer your question, yes, you do scare me a little," he admitted to her. he wouldn’t tell her why though, as that was something he didn't even want to admit to himself.

He asked if she wanted to go first or second and she seemed to prefer to go second. "All right then, I'll get my guitar," he told her as he moved over to the corner of the room and picked it up from where his guitar rested and then sat down on the couch. He did a quick tune of the instrument, to make sure that he had it all set up right before he started to play for her. "I guess I'll play you one of my favorite songs," he told her before he started to play. He sang along with it, though not nearly as loud as someone else more confident in their singing voice would.

As he sang and played, he did not look at Michelle once. He was afraid to. He didn’t want to let her face distract him from playing. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to see disgust or enjoyment in her eyes and he didn't want to falter during his performance and give her a reason to make fun of him later. When he finished, he didn't look up at her right away, his eyes remaining on the floor for a few extra minutes. He then took a deep breath and looked up at her, cautiously. "So… what did you think?" he asked timidly. He wasn't sure what to expect from her.

The only people who had ever seen or heard wash play were his sisters, his mother, and his cousin CAMDEN HAYNES. His father as well, but his father was dead, so he didn't get listed with the others. in fact, his father had been the one to teach him how to play.

He didn't think he was particularly good, which was why he didn't usually share his talent with anyone. He was usually this confident and outgoing man; it would seem odd if he was shy about this. That was why he was hesitant to share it with anyone, especially the woman sitting in his living room listening to him.

After he finished his performance, he took a moment before looking up at her to gauge her reaction. When she shook her head, he half expected her to tell him he sounded like shit and to not quit his day job, but, her response surprise him.

When she asked him why that was one of his favorite songs, he looked down again. He knew she hadn't meant anything by her question, but it still made him feel emotional. "My father taught me how to play. He loved music like this. Listened to it all the time," he said before taking a deep breath. "He's gone now, so this song makes me feel like he is still here, in his own way," he said before he lifted his eyes to look at her.

When Wash explained that his father had taught him how to play the guitar, he was sure he saw a hint of envy, and resentment, cross Michelle's face. But, as quick as it had been there, it was gone. Maybe she didn’t realize she'd let it show, or, perhaps, she was just used to keep it hidden from others. Regardless, he had seen it and filed that away to ask her about another time, when he felt he had more of a chance of getting an honest answer.

She spoke then, telling him that he was lucky her father had taught him and he saw that look again, which told him that there was a story there, though for another time. "Yeah, I guess, though I'd trade all of that for more time with him," he said before he shifted in his seat. He then stood from his seat and moved to place his guitar back in its resting place as she started to speak of her owed talent.

He watched her as she placed the water she was holding down on the table and then picked up the pad and the charcoal instead. She asked him what he wanted her to draw and he shrugged his shoulders as he padded back over to the sofa and sat down in his recently vacated seat. "You let me pick whatever I wanted to play, so you should do the same," he told her with a smile. "You said you were inspired, so draw whatever inspired you," he told her.

She didn’t seem thrilled by his suggestion that she chooses her own subject. He just didn't understand why. Wouldn’t it be easier for her to draw what she wanted than for him to dictate her subject? Clearly not, but she had already started so he just sat there and watched her.

That didn't seem to be the right thing either, as she told him that his staring at her while she worked was borderline disturbing. He chuckled at that and then turned his attention elsewhere. "sorry. I wasn't sure what else to look at," he told her with a soft shrug of his shoulders.

She then told him that her project felt rushed and that she didn't think it was very good. He was sure she was exaggerating when she also added that her drawing seemed like a toddler had done it. She then told him to promise that he'd be honest with his opinion and not laugh at her drawing before she handed him her sketchpad.

He took the pad and took in the drawing, his lips parting as he took in the lines on the page. The likeness was uncanny and he was blown away by her talent. He then looked up at her over the page and took in the uncertainty on her face. "If this is rushed, then I can’t even imagine how fantastic your work would be if you took your time," he told her. "This is brilliant," he added.

The way she asked him if he liked the work she had produced made him think that she was self-conscious about her talents as an artist. He didn't know why, as she had crazy talent, but he couldn’t force her to believe that. Not yet anyway. She probably had been told long ago that she was no good when it came to art, which had manifested into that self-doubt, but he knew that could change over time.

"I love it," he said as he placed the picture face up on the table in his living room. "I'm going to frame it and put it on my wall," he told her. Not because he wanted a picture of him on the wall, but he wanted a picture that she had done on his wall. "And who knows, maybe there will be more from you to join it in the future,' he said. If she was willing, of course.

When she asked if there was somewhere she could clean up, he let his gaze sweep over her, taking in the dark smudges on her hands and face. "the bathroom is just down the hall," he said as he pointed down the corridor that led to both his bathroom as well as his bedroom. "Though, you look kind of hot with those smudges all over you," he told her with a smirk. He wasn't trying to embarrass her. He was just telling it like it was.