Marrying my secret admirer after my husband's fake death novel Chapter 173

Charlotte could only sigh in resignation. With the heat beating down, everyone else wanted to take a break, but Edith insisted on working until the job was done.

Maybe talent was a gift, Charlotte thought, but to achieve what most people couldn’t, you needed a kind of grit that most people simply didn’t have.

She let out a breath and grabbed a bottle of cold water, bringing it over to Edith.

As she got closer, she noticed Edith’s face was streaked with every color of paint imaginable–she looked as messy as the little panda she was painting on the wall.

“Come on, Edith, have some water. You’re sweating buckets. If you end up with

heatstroke, I’m not taking the blame.”

Edith took the bottle, twisted off the cap, and downed nearly the whole thing in one

1. go.

Charlotte glanced up at the graffiti on the wall, her admiration plain on her face.

“You really are the Monet of Northcrest University. The way you play with light and shadow is just incredible. And how did you manage to make this little panda munching on bamboo so darn cute?”

Edith smiled, clearly pleased by the praise. “Monet of Northcrest? That’s just a silly nickname people gave me. Please don’t compare me to Monet–I could never live up

to that.”

She glanced at the unfinished patch of wall. Time to add a bamboo grove, she thought.

But painting bamboo was a true test of skill. To get the light and shadows just right, so it didn’t look forced or stiff, took everything she had.

Edith studied her work. The panda really was adorable, all chubby cheeks and clumsy charm, hugging a stalk of bamboo with its legs sticking out.

But that wasn’t just talent. She’d spent hours last night studying videos of pandas to get it right.

After finishing her water, Edith picked up her paintbrush and got back to work.

The brush danced in her hand, and flecks of paint splattered across her dark jeans, turning them from plain to a work of art in their own right.

10.17

Chapter 173

The sun arced across the sky, and day slipped quietly into evening.

The pavement still radiated the day’s heat; the air felt thick and sticky, but at least the sun had softened, no longer burning with midday fury.

A blush of red crept across the horizon as Edith added the final stroke. The mural was complete.

Her cheeks, sun–kissed from hours outside, now mirrored the rosy glow in the sky.

As she finished, a small crowd had gathered behind her–other volunteers from the community project.

They’d been drawn over by Edith’s artwork, though no one wanted to admit it. In fact, a couple of them did their best to hide their interest, tossing out snide remarks

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