“Why else do people decide to get married? I met a nice lady. I’m happy. I woke up one day and realized I didn’t want to know what living without her was like.” Skip clicked his fingers. “That was it. Love. Asked her that night and she said yes. Best thing I ever did. Don’t know what I was so afraid of.”
“Divorce? Being miserable?”
“Never happening,” Skip said, and then nudged Matthew with an elbow. “I want you to be my best man. Nothing fancy. You can wear your khakis and flip-flops. We’re going to get married right on the beach at my place.”
“Wow. This is great.” Matthew was still shocked, though. Everyone thought Skip would be the last to ever marry. “Of course I’ll be your best man.”
“And I guess that leaves you the only lonely, grumpy artist out of our old group to still be single.” Skip cocked his head with a smirk.
“That’s not very nice, and not true. I’m not lonely or grumpy,” Matthew insisted. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“Whatever.” Skip opened his arms. “Remember me? I used to say that too. You might want to start paying attention. It’s possible there’s a perfect someone for you out there too.”
“I’m not looking, but I did run into a woman I’d ask out; that is, if our paths cross again, which is sort of doubtful.”
“Why is it doubtful?”
Matthew couldn’t deny she’d been on his mind all night. “It was brief, and I didn’t even get her name. She might not even be from around here.”
“Pretty?”
“Eyes so blue I didn’t want to look away,” Matthew admitted.
“Nice. Did you at least tell her who you were?” Skip asked.
“Nope.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s a long story. She dropped her bracelet, though. If she’s looking for it, I guess that might be the one possibility that we’ll cross paths again.” He shrugged. “Doubtful.”
Skip raised his hand to fist bump him. “The city’s not too big for you to bump into the right woman if it’s meant to be.”
“You’re an idiot.” He fist bumped him anyway but felt stupid for even mentioning the woman or the bracelet now.
“Where did you see her?” Skip asked.
“I was out working on a new project and a storm hit. I literally bumped into her while running to my truck.”
“Man, you’ve got all this going on, and you’re still painting those murals?”
Matthew shrugged. “It’s what I love.” He looked around at all the pomp and circumstance. “This might be where the money is, but my heart is outdoors painting larger-than-life scenes on imperfect brick. It gives me a chance to bring on young talent and let them be a part of it too. Encouraging the next generation of artists is satisfying to me, but I don’t see myself as a high school teacher. Doing all of this allows me to do that, and it works for me.”
Skip spread his arms and turned around. “Look at your work. It’s amazing. Don’t waste it on a building. Leave that to the taggers.”
“You worry about your own art.”
Skip shook his head. “I’m not complaining. Sales are good, but if I could only do serious work, you wouldn’t see me doing all those paintings from photographs on Christmas ornaments to put money aside for a rainy day.”
“You are doing just fine and don’t try to tell me you don’t like doing those Christmas ornaments. You can paint those in your sleep.”
“It’s easy money. I don’t even have to think to do those. Somehow I think these buyers might not see your mural work as comparable to this.”
“Well, I don’t exactly advertise the mural work, but you can’t compare our paths. Your work is getting amazing attention. I saw the spread inSouthern Livingthat mentioned your stuff. You have a great reputation and a steady following. I promise you, no matter what path we choose, it’ll have its ups and downs. We just have to balance it. We might not be starving artists, but making it a career isn’t easy.”
Skip looked around. “As much as I complain about those little jobs, theyaresatisfying. Not everyone can afford this kind of art. The little stuff is meaningful. Plus, I love Christmas. I guess that’s equivalent to how you feel about painting murals. Thatispretty cool, except for when a storm pops up, I suppose. I’ve never once been rained on painting one of those Christmas balls.”
“Yeah. Mother Nature, like most of the women I’ve dated, has a knack for raining on my parade.”
