Page 8 of Built to Last
I incline my head. “Cautious, then,” I concede.
“That’s fair.” She shrugs. “Since Aria wants more than one set piece for the show, it’s going to be a lot of work to get everything painted within the window she’s given us.”
“You don’t seem like the type to shy away from hard work.”
“I’m not,” she snaps. Clearly I’ve struck a nerve, although I’m not sure why. There’s obviously something about the words that set her off but no matter how curious I am, now is not the time to pry. The most important thing for the moment is getting this project off the ground.
“Alright.” I clap my hands together, dispelling the tension. “Like you said, we’re on a tight deadline so it’s best we get started right away. Is a week enough time for you to come up with a couple of design options?” Rose swallows hard but nods.
“That’s fine.”
“Great,” I reply with a tight smile, reaching into my rucksack for my diary. I brought it and a portfolio of my custom furniture work along just in case, but Aria said she had seen enough of my work at our first meeting. Still, better over prepared thancaught unaware—something my parents had drilled into my older brother and me from a young age. Flipping to this week’s spread I ask, “If you can email me your designs by the end of this week, I’ll make a list of materials we’ll need and we can go shopping for them on Monday if that works for you?” Rose pulls up the calendar app on her phone before confirming.
“That’s fine.” I’m starting to realise Rose is a woman of few words unless you’ve pissed her off. “Do you bake?” Confusion furrows my brow at her seemingly out of the blue question until I follow her gaze down to my diary.
“Oh, yeah, with my nephew. He added the cupcake stickers. Said a plain black diary was too boring.”
“Cute.” She rewards me with a small smile. Hopefully she’ll go back to full sentences once we start work or it will be a long few weeks stuck together.
“Here.” I offer her my phone. “Put your number and email in and I’ll text you so you have mine too.”
Our fingertips brush as the phone exchanges hands, and just like the other night, sparks shoot up my arm. Rose’s breath hitches and I’m pleased to know I’m not the only one affected. The whir of the coffee grinder breaks whatever lusty spell we’ve fallen under and she snatches her hand away, quickly typing in her contact information before opting to place the phone on the table in front of me instead of risking further physical contact by handing it back. Disappointed, I pick up the phone and make sure her information is saved correctly before firing off a quick text so she has my contact details too.
While I am definitely intrigued by Rose, she doesn’t seem to return that interest. There might be some attraction there but I don’t think she’s willing to do anything about it. It’s important she feels safe with me so I need to stay professional. That doesn’t mean I’m not hoping to grow on her over the course of the project.
“It was nice meeting you?—”
“This time?” she interrupts drily.
“Well, there wasn’t any yelling so I’d call this meeting a success.” I smirk. Usually I’d shake hands at the end of a meeting, but, after the tension ignited by a simple brush of our fingertips, minimal contact seems best. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. “See you soon,” I tell her, hoisting my bag onto my shoulder.
“Yeah,” she replies with a sharp bob of her head, picking up her bag.
I don’t wait to walk her out, something my mother would scold me for. Instead, I leave, removing the risk of saying anything else that might derail our working relationship before it’s truly begun.
With a jolt of surprise, I notice Aria sitting at the table closest to the door, watching me with a knowing smirk. I’d forgotten she was still here. I offer her a polite nod then head out into the early autumn chill. I’m looking forward to starting this project, perhaps more than I should be considering my new colleague is much more apprehensive. I’m just happy to be trying my hand at something new. My excitement only has a little to do with my beautiful, grumpy partner. Professional, I tell myself. I’m staying professional.
Chapter Four
Rose
My battery is drainedby the time Aria and I get home. Deciding to take some time to rest before attempting to tackle my new project, I grab a spoon and fish what’s left of my ice cream out of the freezer. Not the healthiest choice, but entirely necessary after realising I’m going to be stuck working with Phillip forweeks. While the meeting went surprisingly well, all things considered, that doesn’t mean I wasn’t freaking out for most of it.
I swap out my jeans for a pair of leggings and tug on a pair of fluffy socks, completing my transformation into someone who will not be leaving the house again today. I quietly munch my way through the minty deliciousness while listening to a playlist on my phone, when Taylor starts to sing about why we can’t have nice things. Seems a little on the nose right now.
Tub empty, I drift off into an ice cream induced sleep only to wake up two hours later, starving and with a crick in my neck because I didn’t lay out my pillows right before nodding off. Since I can’t live on ice cream alone (more’s the pity) I disentangle myself from my nest of blankets and head back to the kitchen in search of real sustenance.
Hunger satisfied thanks to last night’s leftovers, I head back to my room refreshed and ready to get to work. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, propped up by several pillows, I open up Aria’s inspiration board, eager to come up with a design she’ll be proud of.
A few hours later I’m feeling considerably less eager and a lot more stressed. I’ve come up with a few rough options to expand on but none of them feel quite right. With a frustrated groan, I toss my tablet to the end of my bed and bury my face in my pillows. I can’t let Aria down and Ineedto reconnect with my creativity. If I’m not an artist I don’t know what I am.
The bright grey light of early autumn shines across my bed where I lie snuggled under my duvet and an extra blanket. The blackout curtains I failed to close the night before do nothing to stop the outside world infiltrating my cosy sanctuary. Eyes gritty thanks to a restless night, I blink against the harsh morning light, wriggling free of my duvet cocoon to check the time on my phone. It’s still early and I don’t have to be anywhere, but my full bladder chases away any thoughts of rolling over and trying to get more sleep.
Thanks to my condition, I experience non-restorative sleep and need more sleep than the average person. Under the advice of pain management professionals, I practice mindfulness exercises and make sure to take a half-hour nap around eleven-thirty in the morning whenever possible, finding it does make a small difference to my energy levels. Still doesn’t mean I ever wake up feeling fully refreshed, but I’ll happily take this groggy re-entry into consciousness over the days I can barely keep my eyes open for more than ten minutes at a time.
Last night’s sleep only conjured up nightmares of all the ways I could potentially screw up the set project, so, after taking care of business in the bathroom, I decide to give myself a little confidence boost to start the day. Opening my emails, I move to the folder I created just for customer feedback—specificallyhappycustomer feedback. Reading through messages from past clients thanking me and sharing how happy they are with their new paintings has become part of my routine since the break-up. My confidence might be low right now, but seeing how happy my art made people in the past helps nudge me along the road to believing I can create something that will do that again in the future.
Dressed in a wool loungewear set, my shower-damp hair swept up into a messy bun, and fuelled by a healthy breakfast, I settle on top of my freshly made bed with a mug of coffee and a renewed sense of determination. Taking a calming breath, I open up my tablet, trying to objectively look at the designs I started last night. Fresh eyes have me feeling considerably better about the previous evening’s attempts. Some are clearly destined for the slush pile—the one with snarled and twisted trees that looks more like it belongs in a horror film is a goner for sure, but a couple of others have potential.
