Page 17 of Artfully Wild
“And since paint doesn’t exactly come cheap, I figured this would be our best option. And this would go a lot quicker if you’d focus more on the colors and not coming up with puns to go with them,” she mutters. Her eyebrows are scrunched together as she continues to browse the shades, deep in concentration. I consider ignoring her mumbling, but quickly decide against it.
Instead, I take a step closer to her, leaning in until my face is a few inches from hers, ready to make some kind of snide comment about it being her fault we’ve been in this aisle ofHector’s Hardware Storefor over twenty minutes. But when she doesn't shy away from my proximity and turns to me instead, I raise my eyebrows in surprise. There’s a look behind her eyes that I haven’t seen there before. At least, not when she’s looking at me. It’s a soft kind of look. One that has me wondering what exactly is going on behind the brown eyes currently flicking between mine and…my lips?
Why is she staring at my lips?
She’s never done that before, has she? No. I’d have noticed if she had. Right? I don’t think I’m that oblivious. Even if I had noticed, what would I have done? I’d have…what? Kissed her? There was that moment the other day in the storage room—the moment neither of us have addressed—when, for a split second, it looked as if she wanted to kiss me. But that’s something I have wished for so long that I figured it was all in my head. I added it to my other daydreams of the ways I’d kiss her for the first time—or more accurately—the way she’d kiss me for the first time. Because I know that if anything ever did happen between us, it would be on her terms. I’ve always known that deep down, so I’ve never really tried anything even though there have been many moments I’ve desperately wanted to.
Like now.
We are standing close enough, I can feel the heat from her fingertips as they brush against mine and I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or not, but her lips seem so much closer than before.
A vision of me closing the distance invades my mind and her lips are softer than I expected, her tongue sure of itself as she takes control of the kiss, backing me up until my shoulders thud against the samples, shades of blue cascading to the concrete floor creating our own river of color beneath us. I put my arms around her, pulling her closer, which she takes as a cue to jump and wrap her legs firmly around my waist. The loose fabric from her paint-covered overalls knock more blues to the ground and I imagine her laying on top of them, the shades in stark contrast with her light skin.
“Are you two finding everything okay?” a woman’s voice asks from the far end of the aisle. Skylar jumps back, snatching her hand away from mine, and I startle out of my daydream. She turns toward the employee I now recognize as Hector’s wife, Jan. Skylar’s neck and cheeks are flushed, probably embarrassed by almost kissing me, or getting caught almost kissing me—I don’t know. What I do know is my cheeks are flushed for an entirely different reason and I wish Jan would have come at least one minute later.
Would she have seen us kissing? Or would the image I had in my mind have played out at all?
I think about her on top of the shades of blue again, chest rising and falling rapidly until I decide to join her on the floor, not caring who could walk by.
“Yes, just fine. Thanks, Jan.”
I grab two random shades of blue—grizzlies blue and peacock blue—and hold them out.
She looks down at the samples, seemingly unfazed and chuckles before taking them and putting the grizzlies blue back in its spot. Always needing to have the upper-hand, she meets my eyes before finally speaking.
“What, no joke about your cock?” She gestures at the paint card in her hand and then looks down my face, eyes traveling to my chest until they finally reach the obvious bulge in my pants. The flush in my face deepens to a shade of red matching the rich carmine sample card. If I looked, I would probably look like a bright red strawberry.
She raises her eyebrows and it’s all I can do to gather the samples we need. In my haste, I’m pretty sure I grabbed colors we weren’t even looking for, but all I can think about is getting out of the hardware store.
Once we get all the supplies, Jan meets us at the check out and starts a conversation with Skylar about reserving the campground for a family reunion. I can’t focus much on the details though. My mind is too distracted by the way she can easily joke after what I thought was a tense moment between the two of us.
I have no idea what kind of game we are playing, but it’s a dangerous one. One that she is bound to win.
On the way toPictures in Blue,the studio Skylar owns with Charlotte and Avery, we dive into the details of everything weneed to do before the Winter Festival—after I manage to get past being so flustered earlier.
The main thing we need to focus on is getting the paintings finished, but there is also the marketing side of it too, which I suck at.
Hand me a scalpel and I can do a simple surgery on an animal with my eyes closed. But give me a computer and tell me to market an auction, and my brain completely disappears and all coherent thought with it.
“I don’t even know how to update a website, let alone even have one to update.”
“How can you not have a website? You have a business for Pete’s sake.”
“For Pete’s sake? How old are you?” I jest.
“Shut the fuck up. Is that better?” She gives me a sideways glance to let me know she’s joking.
“Yes, thank you,” I say with a sigh. “I just don’t do a lot of computer stuff. None of it makes any kind of sense to me.”
“And how old areyou, grandpa?”
“Yeah, yeah, make fun of the millennial who can’t figure out how to build a whole website from scratch. Definitely common knowledge. And I’m only two years older than you. So, I’m hardly a grandpa.”
“Still older.”
The silence stretches between us for a bit and I look out my window, trying to distract the overwhelming feeling settling in my chest, while watching the businesses slowly pass by. A small crowd is gathered outside ofFrank’s Bar,most huddled around an outdoor fireplace he had put in for the fall and winter months. A couple bundled up in as much winter gear as possible heads into Fran’s presumably to warm up with coffee or hot cocoa. I assume they’re tourists, since I haven’t seen them before, and their clothes make me think they didn’t expect it tobe this cold. Oregon always has colder winters and this year is no exception.
“Share your message.” Her voice pulls me from people watching as she continues the conversation.
