Page 28 of Falling Slowly
She looked up at me, a little startled. “Oh. Yeah.”
Was she so used to doing my bidding she didn’t even consider her own creative challenge?
“What are you going to use for storing them? I know she said bags, but leaves are fragile.”
She hugged herself, rubbing her arms. “I don’t even have a bag. I was going to take a look at their recycling bin. If I find a good box, I’ll grab that.”
I stopped myself just in time. She’d already caught me flying my privilege flag. I wasn’t going to do it again by throwing money at a problem. “That’s a good idea. But also… I brought a pair of shoes that are still in the box. You can have the box if you want? And speaking of shopping, shall we get that bikini for you?”
“Swimsuit,” she corrected.
“Worth a shot.” I grinned and she relaxed, giving me a reproaching glare as she flicked a pinecone at me. It hit my leg, delivering no pain.
“Trust me, this is awkward enough.”
“Why?” I threw out my arms. “We’re friends. Colleagues. Designers… with eyes.”
“So you’re coming to give me your artistic opinion? What happened to you driving me there and handing me a credit card?”
I shrugged, slowly and exaggeratedly. “I mean… if that’s what you want. But you can also think of me as a friend. A gay friend if that makes you more comfortable. I’m great at picking out clothes.”
“Great. Except… are you gay?”
I sighed. “I’ll stare at your boobs and ass the whole time. So… no.”
She rewarded my honesty with a huff and a smile. “Okay, I’m freezing now. To the point that I’ll go anywhere with you if your car has a heater.”
I gestured at the parking lot, excitement building in my chest like silent laughter. I was winning. “How about a seat warmer?”
Her eye roll was undermined by a brewing smile. “Well, that’s just excessive.”
Chapter Thirteen
Bess
Charlie parked along Cozy Creek Main Street and I gasped. It was late afternoon, like on Sunday when I’d first arrived, and the pretty postcard scene was no less magical. If anything, it had taken on new golden hues, like those final touches we’d do on Photoshop before prepping for print.
“I’m not entirely convinced this town is real,” I said, my gaze brushing across the intricately decorated houses. The red brick and striped awnings glowed in the warm sunlight. “Even the lighting feels deliberate, doesn’t it? This perfect glow to make the tourists look amazing in their own photos.”
I caught Charlie looking at me. “Your hair looks like it’s on fire.”
I instinctively brushed my flaming locks behind my ears. Cheap home colors were garish. From the heat creeping up my neck, I knew my face was starting to match my unnaturally red hair.
“I’m not criticizing you. You know that, right? The color suits you. Trust me. I’m a designer.”
“Haha.” I jumped out of the car before he could say anything else.
I’d told him about my financial woes and now he felt bad for me. I’d have to listen to these lame compliments for the rest of the week as Charlie grappled with the giant wealth gap between us. Why was life like this?
We walked down Main Street, browsing the shop windows, all decorated in fall and harvest themes, some with early Halloween displays. I caught a poster advertising the Fall Festival with a hay maze, live music and games for kids. Celia would have loved that.
We passed a bar called Bookers, a general store and an adorable cafe with a sign ‘Cozy Creek Confectionery’. I felt like I was walking through the set of Gilmore Girls. A few steps down the road, we found the first clothing shop. The selection was geared towards mountaineering, with no swimsuits of any kind. Charlie asked for help from the young shop assistant who guided us to the only place he could think of—a thrift store around the corner.
“Oh, no. I meant new clothing.” Charlie looked horrified.
The shop assistant shrugged. “Well, the closest place is… Denver, I suppose. Swimming suits aren’t really in season right now.”
“Why not?” Charlie demanded. “It’s hot tub season.”
