We are standing in the middle of what is labeled the “beading aisle.”. There are tiny containers everywhere, filled with what appears to be glass, plastic, metal, and sparkling letters. Each is shinier and more threatening than the last.
Calida is on my shoulder, shielded from sight and vibrating with glee.
‘Okay! We need letter beads, colored beads, stretchy cord, and maybe little charms! I saw one that looked like a pizza slice and I need it.’
“I have no idea what any of that means.”
‘Follow your heart, Flint. And if your heart gets confused, ask the nice teenager in the rainbow apron. She’s seen things. And don’t forget to pick colors!’
“Colors?” I mutter. There are so many choices.
‘Yes, colors! What vibe are you going for?’
“…Battle-tested, but emotionally available?”
She makes a choked sound.
Eventually we leave the store with three bags of colorful supplies, a dragon-sized level of excitement, and my dignity mostly intact.
It’s later than usual when I get home. Flint had made some over-protective male noises about walking me back from the store – even on his day off – but I protested until he gave in. If I can’t even walk home with some sense of safety, then Brett and all the assholes like him have won.
Fuck that.
So what if I jumped at least five times and constantly felt like someone was stalking behind me? It’s not like the roads were deserted. There were people around if I needed help.
I’m still muttering affirmations to myself as I reach the apartment, keys fumbling in the lock – then pause. That’s… music?
Loudmusic.
Is that Taylor fucking Swift?
I freeze, one hand on the knob, trying to make sense of the sound flooding through the door. When I push it open, the sight that greets me stops me cold.
Yes. That is, indeed, Taylor Swift’sEras Tourblaring from the TV at top volume.
And yes – Flint and Calida are sitting on the floor in the middle of what looks like an arts-and-crafts tornado.
Dozens of containers of colored beads are spread out around them. Glitter sparkles on the couch. It’s in Calida’s snout and – oh gods – it’s in Flint’shair.
He’s hunched over, massive hands trying to maneuver a minuscule pink bead onto a flimsy piece of cord. His brow is furrowed in intense concentration, jaw set like he’s diffusing a bomb. Calida is beside him, shaking her tail in perfect rhythm toYou Belong With Me,clearly unbothered and thriving in this chaos.
My kinda girl.
Flint, very seriously, is muttering to himself. “So the little pizza charmmustgo between the heart and the F... right?”
Calida, without looking up says, ‘Flint, no. The pizza charm goes at the end. It’s like a period, okay?’
“I don’t know what that means.”
I cough into my hand. “Am I interrupting some sacred ritual?”
Flint startles – “Fuck” – as the bead squirts from his fingers. He looks up at me with a face I’d almost describe as… sheepish? Is this manblushing?
“It was her idea,” he says dryly. “I was merely recruited.”
Yeah. I think he’s blushing.
“You’ve got a bead stuck to your cheek.”
