A nearby group of students watches her work, one of them jokingly saying, Tina, you’re gonna live in the art studio at this rate.

Tina laughs without looking up. Tina’s Voice: Better than the real world, right?

Bette takes a step closer, her focus narrowing. James notices and raises an eyebrow.

James: (nudging Bette) See something you like?

Bette: (quietly) Who is she?

James shrugs. That’s Tina Kennard. She’s… well, Tina. Free spirit. Lives in her own world.

Tina finishes a stroke, then steps back, examining her work with a critical eye. She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, unknowingly smudging paint across her face. Sensing someone watching, she glances up and locks eyes with Bette.

For a moment, everything else fades. Bette’s composed exterior softens slightly as she takes in Tina’s vibrant presence. Tina, curious but amused, tilts her head, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Tina: (calling out) You like it?

Bette is caught off guard but quickly regains her composure.

Bette: (nodding) It’s bold. Passionate.

Tina grins, her eyes twinkling. Well, thanks. That’s kind of the point.

James, sensing the tension, leans toward Bette. Looks like you found your fun.

Bette ignores him, stepping closer to Tina.

Bette: (extending her hand) I’m Bette Porter. I’d love to hear more about your work.

Tina hesitates for a second before shaking her hand, her grip firm but warm.

Tina: Tina Kennard. And I’d love to tell you about it… if you don’t mind getting a little paint on you.

She gestures to a spare brush on the ground, her smile daring. Bette glances at the brush, clearly torn between staying in her comfort zone and accepting the challenge. Finally, she picks it up, smirking.

Bette awkwardly joins Tina, who laughs at her tentative strokes. The two women, opposites in so many ways, share a lighthearted moment against the backdrop of the festival, the spark of something deeper beginning to flicker.

Bette is holding the spare brush Tina handed her, hesitating before finally making a clumsy stroke on the wall. Tina watches, amused, her paint-speckled face glowing in the sunlight.

Tina: (grinning) Okay, not bad for a first-timer. You might have a future in abstract art.

Bette: (dryly) If abstract means ‘no clear direction,’ then I’m a natural.