Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“I am not a prude.”
Frustration flashes on her face. “That’s not why I picked it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You could be Prudent.”
“That’s even closer to prude!”
“Fine then! Pamela!” Her hands are thrown hastily in the air. “There’s a name known for having a good time!”
“By making x-rated videos and banging rock stars.”
“She was a popular actress first.”
“Yet most remember her how?”
My best friend twitches me a glare seconds prior to a male voice piping up from behind her, “Hey, boss lady!”
I peer around her slim figure to greet my employee, Merrick McCoy, warmly back, “Hey you!”
He steps into the light revealing a face that I don’t mind seeing. “You good?”
I swear that he’s like a big, beautiful splash of paint in this overly primed environment. The kids themselves are quite lively and an interesting mixture of personalities, but their parents are basically carbon copies of one another. Same stale story on repeat from dawn ‘til dusk. He actually reminds me of myself in a lot of ways. Someone who doesn’t come from the world of tiaras and tuxes. Someone who has to work to live. Push to be invited. Push to be in the room. Someone who had to pull up her own chair and declare she was sitting at the table even if no one wanted to offer her a plate. Money absolutely fucking flows now – we’re talking like it never has in my entire life –; however, I don’t take it for granted. I don’t take any of this for granted. And by the way he smiles, I think it’s safe to assume that neither does he.
“Yup,” I joyfully reply. “How are you?”
“Won’t complain.”
“I love that answer.”
“I love not having to.”
With a soft smile, I inform, “All the classrooms are empty except for the Rainbow Bright room. That room only needs the clouds done. The Jungle Gym needs the cougars. There are also three ducks in The Pond that are in desperate need of a touch up. I know you’ve got a good eye, so take the liberties you need to fix anything else you spot.”
“You know,” he cockily smirks, “I could easily repaint all those murals.”
“And you will,” I inform him of a decision I’ve been toying with since right after Christmas. “Just not yet.”
His pout is as cute as he is.
“We’ll be closing for Spring Break this year, which is when you’ll do it.”
“Real talk?”
“Real talk, so don’t make plans for that time. You’re gonna be putting in a ton of hours.”
Merrick’s eyes light up alongside his smile. “Do you know what you want done?”
“I’ve got a few ideas, but I’m open to others. We can get together next week to discuss things. And I know you’re enrolled in the art program at Ashwin, which means you’ve got creativity just burning to get out. And I wanna see what that is. I wanna see your personal style. I wanna give it a fun space to be shown – assuming it can dulled down to be childlike appropriate.”
“Oh, you’re an art student?” Katherine casually joins the conversation.
“I am.” He cordially extends his hand. “Merrick McCoy.”
“Quite a name,” she coos at the time she shakes it.
“It’s one that’ll be remembered.”
Gah, where does he get that level of confidence?!
I mean I fucking run this joint and don’t have it.
“You like to paint?” my best friend needlessly points out, hand falling back to her waist.
His correction is polite but undeniably there. “Live to.”
“Merrick painted the Frozen mural we had on the building at Christmas,” I gently remind her. “He also helped paint the background for the family Christmas photos. I use him pretty much for every job that requires paint and a canvas.”
“You’re quite talented,” Katherine swiftly compliments.
“I like to think so.”
“I know so. Remind me to give you my card. There’s this whole updated look I wanna give to Angel’s nursery. Something less One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish and more The Little Mermaid meets Finding Nemo.”
Colors just throw up under the ocean sounds like what she’s going for.
“I can sketch some stuff up.” Merrick nods his comprehension of the description. “Fair warning, that many colors and that much time won’t be cheap.”
“And I’m not afraid to spend money.”
“True story,” I playfully interject, summoning her stare back to me.
“He seems to be a good grab. Where’d you find him?”
“He found me.”
“I was driving by and saw the Halloween mural. The painting wasn’t even. The artist had clearly painted at several different times of the day. I could tell between the varying shades of colors and shadowing. I told boss lady that the next time she needed one done, I could do it in one go and probably save her a few bucks.”
“And he did.”
Glancing at my cellphone that's vibrating, I internally debate whether or not to hit the answer button on my boyfriend. Every time I choose not to, I know I should feel guilty, yet I don’t. Truthfully? I don’t feel zilch. Nothing. Nada. And that’s part of the problem. I rarely feel anything as far as he’s concerned. Some of my married acquaintances say that just happens when you get “this comfortable” or when you’ve been together “this long” or when you’ve been around each other “for forever”. Despite the reassurance that the way I feel is “okay” and “normal”, it still doesn’t seem right. Something inside of me says it doesn’t have to be this way simply because of how long we’ve been a couple. That magic can still exist. Hell, that is it should still exist. Being together for the longevity doesn’t mean existing without passion.