The Tile Painter – Part 2: Glaze

The panel was installed in the cloister on a bright Friday in May.

Sara stood in the cool arcade, craning her neck. A thousand tiles formed a vast, shimmering sea, with ships and gulls and an impossible, living sky in two shades of blue. Sunlight fell across it in a long gold slant. Tourists murmured. A small child pointed up in awe.

"It's perfect," whispered Beatriz.

"It's ours."

"It's your design."

"It's your blue."

They looked at each other, and neither said anything for a while. Water dripped softly from a fountain in the courtyard. Swifts darted round the roof.

In the evening, after everyone had gone, they sat on the edge of the fountain with a bottle of vinho verde and two paper cups. The tiles glowed in the dusk like a window into another world.

"Can I ask you something?" said Sara.

"Yes."

"Will you stay? When the apprenticeship ends?"

"I was going to ask you," said Beatriz, "if I could."

"Then yes."

"Then yes."

They both laughed, relieved. Sara's hands were trembling a little. She set down her cup.

"May I kiss you?" she said.

"Yes," said Beatriz. "And if you say stop, you must repaint the whole cloister by hand."

"That would take a lifetime."

"I know."

Sara kissed her, softly, one glaze-stained hand rising to her cheek. Beatriz kissed her back with unhurried sweetness, tasting of wine and lemon, her fingers curling in Sara's collar. Above them the great panel shimmered, and the swifts wheeled home.

When they parted, both of them were smiling.

"Green?" asked Beatriz.

"Green," said Sara. "Very green."

The workshop has a new sign now, painted in two blues: Sara & Beatriz. Azulejos, restored and imagined.

More lesbian romance stories: Tea at the Conservatory · Bookshop at Midnight · Ballroom Rivals