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“The project,” she complains. “There is a lot to be done.”
“A lot that you haven’t done yet? You are the hardest working person I know, Harper, which means that whatever you want to do, you have done it already. Maybe ten times already.”
She pulls her arm, but I don’t let go.
“Please? I’m worried you’re overworking yourself, and I need you. My company needs you. Take the rest of the day off. Let’s go somewhere fun.”
“Where is somewhere fun?” she asks.
***
Two hours later, we arrive at an old industrial building. I rush to her side to open the door and offer my hand.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Harper comments. “This place is very cool but I doubt if anybody can see us here. What is this place, though?”
“Paint and sip,” I answer, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. “I was thinking we could paint and drink at the same time. I need you to relax as we see who paints the best while we enjoy a bottle of fine wine.”
That’s all it takes to get Harper into a competitive, eager mood. Since I rented the place for the entire day, we head to the main room, where easels, papers, and paints await us.
She sits down and looks at me, pointing two fingers at her eyes, then mine. “Let’s bet something.”
I laugh. “You want to bet?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay. What are the terms of the bet?”
“First, we pick something to draw. Then we time ourselves. The person whose drawing looks less like the real thing will do what the other person wants.”
I can think of a few things I would like Harper to do, but doing whatever she asks makes me happy. I give a half-nod.
“You got it.”
She grins menacingly. “My mother made me take lessons because she thought they would be useful someday. I’m sure you did not have time for that, so I’ll let you pick what we’ll draw.”
We settle on something simple—an orchid flower. I let Harper go first and I spent the first fifteen minutes watching her paint with much enthusiasm. Until she catches me looking before I start on mine. Halfway through my painting, I hear a gasp and turn around to see her standing with eyes widened.
“This,” she points at my easel,” is unfair. You did not tell me that you can paint like that…it is almost as good as the original picture.”
I know.
“I didn’t want to brag,” I reply, turning to face her completely. “But you’re doing well too.”
Then, she does the unthinkable. Before I can react, a container of paint lands on my easel.
“What?”
Harper picks up my paint and does the same to her drawing. Then she grins. “There, we are even. There are no winners or losers.”
I give her three seconds to leave the room before I begin chasing Harper around the place, putting in just enough effort that she thinks I will get her, but I deliberately keep the distance between us to keep the chase going.
“Fine,” she stops at some point, breathing heavily with her hands on her knees, “I give up. I shouldn’t have spoiled your painting. I guess I’m a sore loser.”
“Then you agree that you’ve lost?”
She nods. I chuckle. “Good. You said the winner gets to ask something from the loser. Which means you do whatever I say.”
Competitive Harper doesn’t look happy, but she nods and waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Tell me to finally let you into my apartment or some other weird thing. I might be a sore loser, but I don’t go back on my word.”
