“Not, like, a real one. Just a little… side thing.”
“Every business is a real business,” he says.
“That’s not something I would have thought you’d say.”
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s the truth. Anyone brave enough to put themselves out there, to try and build something out of nothing, whether it be a huge corporation or something small, is impressive. So what’s yours?”
“Art,” I admit on a sigh. “Paintings, mostly. My friends want me to start selling them.”
“Are you any good?” he asks, and I lift a shoulder. “Show me.”
It’s a demand, one I should argue, but instead I find myself grabbing my phone, scrolling through until I find the photos I took to upload to the shop. He accepts the device, and my heart pounds as he swipes through, assessing each one slowly and methodically. After what feels like an eternity, he lifts his head to look at me, nothing but pure awe and sincerity written across his face.
“These are...wow. June, these are amazing.” A blush creeps down my cheeks and over my neck, and I bite my lip. “Did you ever take classes?” He turns back to my phone, swiping again, pausing on one and zooming in a bit, taking in the small details of a wave curling, about to crash on the shore.
“Not formally,” I say, hating the attention being on me like this. “My grandma gave me lessons.”
“Was she a teacher, too?”
“Not exactly,” I say, and this time, my lips tip with a small smile. He lifts his head from my phone and looks at me quizically. “She taught art at the senior center and at the jail,” I explain, and his eyes widen. “It was funny, this cute little old lady going into the county jail, teaching the basics once a week, but she loved it. She loved teaching, and she told me that everyone deserves to have some beauty in their life, even if they have to make it themselves. That’s what art was to her: a bit of joy you make yourself and get to keep.” He stares at me for long moments, setting my phone onto the towel before he finally speaks.
“Explains you, I suppose.”
“How so?” He leans back onto his hands again, but his face has gone soft in a way I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing. Partof me is glad I haven’t, because it would only make the seemingly constant warring feelings in my chest even more confusing. When he speaks, I expect him to mention that I am a teacher, but he surprises me.
“I’ve never met anyone who takes low points and sees them as opportunities, constantly looking the bright side, determined to make the best of everything. It’s admirable. I’ve never met anyone who tries to bring more beauty into the world, even though you’ve been shown time and time again that it can be anything but.”
I smile softly.
“I get that from her, too. She was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, but whether it was good or bad depended solely on how you responded to it, whether you saw it as a curse or an opportunity. She used to say that even if you can’t see them, you have to chase the rainbows, to keep going through the storm until you hit the sunshine. There’s always something better waiting for you; you just have to look for it.” He stares at me for long moments, reading me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has before.
“Okay, Miss Optimism, so what’s the holdup? I know a dozen people who would pay good money to have original art like this in their homes.”
I bite my lip, and for some reason, I find myself sharing more with him.
“Art is…complicated in my family. My parents went off to pursue it. They were always chasing some dream, and most of the time, my brother and I didn’t fit into that vision; our grandparents had to raise us because of it. I’m very logical in that regard because of that. I know art is fun and cool and admirable, but I also am aware that the number of people who actually manage to make a living from it is so microscopic, it’s not areliable form of work.” I expect him to agree, but he surprises me by shaking his head fervently.
“Not anymore. Maybe in the nineties and early thousands, but these days, with anyone able to make a website and use free marketing tactics on social media? It’s much more attainable.” He tips his chin to where I’m still playing with the clovers absentmindedly. “You’re always trying to collect luck,” he says, the change of subject feeling abrupt. “What’s the point of being lucky if you’re never going to use it? Who knows? You could get lucky, get your piece into the right hands, and your business could blow up.”
My pulse picks up with his words.
If even straight and narrow, logical Graham, who definitely wouldn’t sugarcoat something to make me feel better, thinks I should go for it, what’s stopping me? I run my hand over the grass, contemplating how to reply to his question, but before I can formulate a response, I spot something, and my hand pauses. I shift my fingers again and gasp.
Quickly, I move to my knees, bend over the grassy area, and gently spread the blades apart with my hands, looking more closely. “Oh my god!” I shout, then glance over my shoulder at him. He’s looking at me, panic-stricken, and if I weren't so excited, it would be funny.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“A four-leaf clover! I found a four-leaf clover!” My eyes go wide as I look at him, anxiousness setting in. “What do I do now? Is it bad luck to pull it out?” Graham looks at me, confused as ever. “I’ve never found one! I don’t know the procedure!”
“I think you just pull it out gently,” he says, his voice calm and a bit entertained.
I take in a deep breath, nod, and do as he instructed. A moment later, I have a full, bright green four-leaf clover in the palm of my hand, the roots coming out with it easily.
“I can’t believe it. I found one!” I look at him with a wide grin, one I couldn’t dim if I tried. I know I must look out of my mind, but I can’t find it in me to care. “You know, I think you might be good luck, Graham.”
He gives me that soft look once more, and I think I might like seeing this more than the tiny hints of a smile I’ve been chasing.
“What are you going to do with this newfound luck?” he asks, and I take in a deep breath, the clover still in my hand.
