“I think this means you should submit your proposal,” Graham says, putting a hand on my thigh.
I glare at him.
“That is not what it means.” I roll my eyes, then turn my attention to the bug.
“You found a four-leaf clover and made your shop live. This is basically the same thing.”
I scrunch my nose but don’t respond.
“You did that?” Claire asks, a mix of irritation and shock on her face.
“Maybe?” Graham says, rightfully hesitant.
“I’d been trying to get her to open that shop for years. One day, it’s live, and she’s selling prints out of nowhere. You’re telling me all it took was a hot guy?” I shrug, grinning at my friend.
“A hot guy, a four-leaf clover, and a pep talk.”
“Well, happy you’re here, then, Graham. You’re good for our girl.” Graham looks at me, smiling.
“She’s even better for me.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
We make it three days before I get the opportunity to bring the mural up to June. I’d been biding my time, trying not to scare or pressure her, but after doing some research on my own, I saw the deadline is in just two weeks, so I couldn’t wait endlessly until the perfect moment. It doesn’t help that we’ve both been terribly busy. She’s been staying at my rental with me since it’s closer to the office, only stopping home to get some things and bring them to mine. But on Wednesday morning, I got my opening when she asked if we could spend the night at her place so she could pack some orders.
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” she asks as we reach her door after walking four flights of stairs, since the elevator is broken. She pulls out a set of keys, a dozen colorful keychains on it, before unlocking her door and pushing it open. “I know you’ve never been here, but I feel so grimy from being outside sweating all day.” We finally reach her door, and she pulls out a set of keys, a dozen colorful keychains on it, before unlocking her door and pushing it open.
“Of course,” I say distractedly. My mind tumbles over thoughts and ideas, wondering just how much maneuvering Iwould have to do for June to hit another patch of luck in the form of her apartment implementing some new improvements.
“I think I can manage being alone in your place for thirty minutes.”
“I don’t know: you might have sensory overload. It’s very different than your place,” she says with a smile, but when I peek into her apartment, it’s exactly how I expected.
Bright and colorful, a bit cluttered, not because she’s messy but because she doesn’t have space to display all of the things she loves, the things that bring her joy. Art and photos cover the walls, and all of her furniture is either brightly colored or covered in a blanket that is. No surface is bare, and somehow, without even asking, I know each and every print or tchotchke or art piece has some kind of meaning, intentionally chosen or created so some small part of June’s soul can be on display for the world to see.
“I know, it’s a lot,” she murmurs, setting her bag down and then reaching to pull the clip from her hair. Her long waves tumble down, and with the backdrop of her home, her clear labor of love, she fits perfectly.
“It’s great,” I say honestly, looking around as I step to her. “It’s very June.” My eyes catch on a horseshoe overhead, and while she’s told me a bit about her childhood, I don’t remember horses being part of it. “Do you ride?” I ask, tipping my chin toward it.
She laughs, shaking her head.
“No, I’ve never ridden a horse. I live in Seaside Point; it’s not exactly horse girl central.”
“But you want to?” I ask, desperate to understand her. Something tells me I could do this all day, asking about everything here and learning all of her secrets, her wants, fears, and hopes.
“Also no,” she says with a laugh, moving toward what I assume is her bedroom. I follow, and she explains. “Horses are terrifying. Have you ever seen how freaking big they are? They can jump over huge things, and they’re super-fast and easily spooked. No, thank you.”
I laugh, shaking my head and sitting on the edge of her bed, covered in a blue patchwork quilt, as she moves to her drawers, pulling out an oversized shirt and panties. I note with contentment that she doesnotpull out a pair of pants or shorts.
“Then what’s with the horseshoe?” I ask.
She grins at me over her shoulder.
“It’s good luck. You’re supposed to hang one upside-down over your doorway like that to catch the luck.”
“I should have known,” I say, and she nods, then bites her lip.
“Do you need anything at all? I’m thinking we can just order in from the sandwich place down the road, if that works for you, because I do not want to leave this place until morning.”
