Page 35 of Chasing Clouds

“Look at my skin.” She holds out her arm. “I’m so pale you could call me Casper.”

I glance at her arm and then my eyes trail down to take in the rest of her. She’s wearing a denim button-down with the sleeves rolled up, a little yellow skirt, and flip-flops. The only skin that jumps out at me is on her bare legs, which are rock-solid. Every bit of this girl is gorgeous.

My eyes climb back to hers. “Well, we certainly don’t want you getting burned.”

“No, we do not. I brighten up like a tomato. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about that.” She glances at my olive-toned skin. “And look, you’re wearing a hat, too.” She walks over and wiggles the brim of it. Coconut wafts over me. She smells so good.

“It’s my disguise.”

She laughs again. “You do realize there’s no disguising you, right?” Her cheeks tinge pink as she waves her hand from my head to my feet. I know I stand out in a crowd because of my size. It is what it is, but maybe the hat will help.

“Maybe not, but the hat and sunglasses are better than nothing.” I tap the aviators tucked into the neck of my shirt.

“Are we meeting your friends there?” She walks into the kitchen and picks up a clutch handbag.

“No. I told them we might wander over, but I wanted to leave that up to you. I can text him to meet us, or we can just do our own thing.”

“Do our own thing,” she says, more to herself, but then her eyes light up. “Kind of like a date? Friends can go on dates, right?” She meets me at the door, which I hold open for her.

A chuckle escapes me. “Sure, we can call this a date.”

She presses her lips together to fight smiling, but her expression tells me this makes her happy. I like seeing her happy.

“I haven’t been on a date in a really long time,” she states, passing by me and heading for the elevator.

“Technically, that’s false—our first date was at the reception.” I lock the door and we walk into the elevator.

She turns to look at me, and I’m wondering if she remembers how we started that date—a kiss at the beginning versus at the end. I liked it. “You know what I mean.” She spins so she’s facing forward. The doors close and we start our descent.

“Yes, I do, and for the record, it’s also been a long time for me, princess.”

Outside, the weather is perfect. The skies are blue, not a cloud in sight, and the breeze is cool coming up off the water. We stop at the coffee shop across the street to grab a drink then wander down to the park.

Jack and I have come over here a few times in the last year, but those festivals were more night events: a margarita festival, rib fest, and a couple of concerts. I’ve never come to anything like this, and without Camille, I doubt I ever would. Just walking up, I can feel the excitement pouring off her.

White tented booths are lined up one after another, making rows, and these rows fill up the entire park. It’s crowded—really crowded.

“What do you think?” I ask her.

She turns to look up at me from under her hat and smiles from ear to ear. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Here looks as good as any.” I point to the first one, which is filled with old dishes, teacups, and teapots. Why anyone would want this stuff, I have no idea, but she’s happy, and that was the goal.

Together we walk through the aisles, and she examines everything. Some things she picks up to check the price, and others, I think she’s just looking at the fine details.

“The furniture in your workshop—where did it come from?” I ask, curious to know more about her.

“Most of the pieces I find are from estate sales, yard sales, or flea markets.” She picks up a plate that looks like china, flips it over to look at the back, and then replaces it.

“No antique shops?”

“No. Things are overpriced there and have usually been touched up in one way or another. At estate sales and yard sales, most of the time people are just looking to get rid of things.”

We move on to the next booth, and it’s filled with grandfather clocks. “Makes sense to me. What are you doing with the furniture once you have it?”

She walks around each one and looks it over from top to bottom. “Restoration. Over time, pieces inevitably get scratched, nicked, or dinged. See right here.” She points to a large gouge on the side of one clock. It looks like something fell on it or hit it. I nod. “Hinges become loose, legs wobble, and oftentimes there are water rings or burns. I repair or replace these things, and more often than not, I modernize the pieces, make them look more current while keeping their authenticity of looking worn, used, loved.”

“You want them to look used and not new?”