I had to swallow past a ball of emotion before I was able to reply.
“I think a fresh start sounds nice.”
Bud’s Hardware was a locally owned shop with bright red awning that Sully and I used to go to when we needed supplies for school projects or extra parts to try to keep his dad’s old truck alive once he passed it down to Sully. The store sat across from the Pontoon Patio, and when we parked in front of it, I hesitated on the sidewalk, looking for my mom’s car on the other side of the road.
“Have you talked to her?” Sully asked after a second, when I remained frozen in my spot.
“Not since…”Before.“I stopped by to see her one day, but I didn’t tell her about…”
Sully nodded, not needing me to finish my sentence. “Do you want to tell her?” he asked gently.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe eventually.”
“Okay.” I turned, and Sully put a hand on my lower back, a steadying guidance as we walked toward the hardware store instead. He’d been patient with me today as I got ready and told me more than once that he could bring the samples back home if I didn’t want to leave. But I knew he wanted me to come, wanted to see me get out of the house, so I pushed myself to get in the car. And the fresh air did feel nice. “Just let me know if I can help.”
“I will,” I agreed, and then the chime on the door rang out as we stepped back in time.
Bud’s hadn’t changed. It looked precisely the way it did back in high school, including the graying, stout man who stood behind the counter just inside the door.
“Haven’t seen you two kids around in a while,” Bud said,flashing us a jovial smile that sent a wave of nostalgia coursing through me.
“Probably because we’re not kids anymore, ya old man,” Sully said, flashing his signature lopsided grin as he walked ahead of me to handle the interaction.
Bud gave a hearty chuckle and shook his head. “What can I help you with today?”
“Grabbing some paint samples.”
“Ah, new project?”
Sully gave a shrug. “Just a long-overdue one.”
His hand slipped into mine then, and even though it was the simplest touch, I felt my body respond. Warmth slithered up my arm, going straight to my chest. He pulled me toward the far wall, covered with a rainbow of samples.
“Just let me know if y’all need anything!” Bud called after us, and Sully gave him a salute.
“Thanks, boss. Will do.”
When we were parked in front of our endless options, I tilted my head to look up at Sully. “So what are you thinking?”
He looked taken aback by the question. “Oh, Eleanor,” he tsked. “Why do you think I brought you along? You know this isn’t my forte.”
“Um, it’s not mine, either,” I argued, giving him a funny stare. “Sullivan, we have nearly identical fortes. We are essentially the same person in different fonts.”
My throat closed at the end of my sentence as I thought about what Chloe said on the phone, how commonalities were the glue of relationships.
I suppose there were instances, like when you needed someone with an eye for interior design instead of computer design, when it might be good for a relationship to contain multitudes, when the idea ofopposites attractmight come in handy. But I’d never regretted that Sully and I had the same interests, that we’d grown up on the same love of books and movies and games. That for years, we never ran out of things to talk about. That Icould show him something I designed, created with the click of my keys, and he could appreciate what it took to do.
“You always have been an extension of me,” he murmured, seeming to echo my thoughts. His voice was breathy as his eyes flicked over me, his chin tilted down as though not wanting to miss an inch. “But you can’t tell me that you aren’t creative. You create entire worlds on your computer. You are…magic.”
“That doesn’t mean that I understand…” I waved a hand at the wall, trying not to choke on a tickle of emotion. “Color theory.”
Sully was still looking at me, a half-smile on his face. He looked for so long that I was about to prod him when he jumped into action.
“Ihave a theory,” he stated, and then he began to pluck colors from the wall. At first, I thought it was random selections, but then he stooped down, clearly looking for something specific before snatching a warm, honey color to add to the others: a rich crimson, a sunny yellow, and a pure black.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Sullivan, but I’m not sure those go together.”
“Don’t they?” He straightened, eyes landing back on me. Wandering again. “I’ve seen them on other canvases, and they are…stunning.”
