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I know I’ll give her an experience neither of us will ever forget.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Carrie
I take the plunge and ask the question that has been nagging at me since I woke up this morning. “Is Rook planning on stopping by to help out?”
Posey’s head snaps in my direction. “I think he’s hanging out with his daughter today, so I’m guessing no.”
I nod as a twinge of disappointment tugs at me. A sense of relief overshadows it, though, since I want Rook to forget about what happened at the wedding.
It’s late Saturday morning, and since Posey has been hard at work on the mural for a few days, it’s becoming more vibrant with each moment that passes.
I was up at my regular time of five this morning.
Instead of stepping into the shower the way I usually do, I took a walk. This part of the city is breathtaking, and as I walked along Central Park West, I gazed into the park at the majesty of the trees and the rich history that can be found beyond that.
Living in Brooklyn is a treat, but being here, in the epicenter of the city I work in, feels like a different world.
After a short detour to Columbus Ave, I picked up a coffee and a bagel with cream cheese before I came back to feed Cindy.
Once I showered, I tugged on a pair of button-fly faded jeans and a green T-shirt that bears the logo of the company I work for.
I decided on comfort and convenience since I knew I’d be lending Posey a hand with painting today. She’s the one being paid for her work on it, but when I visit Abby and the baby, I want to glance at the mural and know that I contributed to it, too, even if I’m not a true artist like Posey.
An hour ago, she accidentally blurted out the amount she’s making on this side gig. It made me seriously question why I dropped out of my elective art class during my sophomore year of college.
She tucks the handle of one of her freshly washed paintbrushes into the front pocket of her denim overalls. She has at least a half dozen in there with all the bristles exposed so they can dry. Each is a different size and serves a unique purpose. She explained it all to me when I offered to help.
So far, I’ve been gifted with the task of filling in the petals of a yellow flower in the bottom right portion of the mural.
“I’ll order us lunch in an hour or so,” I offer. What are you in the mood for?”
Her blue eyes shine as she steals a glance in my direction. “Why don’t I handle that? I’d love to surprise you with something special.”
I’m not the most adventurous person when it comes to food, but I’ll give almost anything a go at least once.
“That sounds good to me.”
“When you’re done with the yellow paint, I’ll upgrade you to blue.” She winks. “A cute little bluebird in the corner could use your magic touch.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I have a steady hand, not a magic touch.”
She tugs one of her paintbrushes out of her pocket. “I happen to think you have both.”
“You’re Carrie, aren’t you?” Elio Franzini looks down at me.
Holy smokes…he’s tall and handsome in a bad boy, messy hair and tattooed way.
He’s not my type, but I understand the appeal.
Usually, when I see him at his restaurant, he’s wearing a chef’s coat and is embroiled in a discussion with one of his staff.
Right now, his focus is solely on me.
Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I smile. “That’s me. I live a couple of blocks from your restaurant.”
“I know,” he says.
