Page 50 of The Last Special Thing

“You’re worried?” Amelia gazed up at him, her spirits down.

“Of course I am! My hot girlfriend is moving to L.A. and will have all these actor wannabees all over her. I want you all for myself.” He cupped both sides of her face and kissed her deeply, possessively. Butterflies released in her chest.

When she pulled away, her hazel eyes searched his ocean blue ones. “You know no one could ever compare to you.”

A dopey smile formed on his face, and they strolled with a weightlessness between them.

"Tell me about your day,” she prompted. She wanted to know every piece of his life that she wasn’t there for.

“Well, the dishwashing job is… It’s gross. It smells terrible!” He covered his nose to prove the point. “I spend as much time scraping food into the trash as I do washing dishes. It’s such a waste.” He emphasized the last word in disgust, then continued. “It’s fine, it’s a job, right?”

“It’s a job.” She shrugged in agreement.

“Honey Cat was supposed to practice this week, but Evan-”

“The guitarist?” she clarified.

“Bassist. Super smart. Like, he reads Moby Dick or some shit. Anyway, he woke up late, missed the bus, and his brother was supposed to give him a ride, but then he had work. We didn’t get to practice today, but we’ll make it happen on Thursday, and it’s going to be insane. I’ve been working on new beats, and they’re so good.”

She loved the way he rambled when he got excited. “That’ll be good. The band is solid?” Her Honey Cat bracelet dangling on her wrist served as a reminder of her status as a day-one fan.

“Yeah, I would’ve moved out here regardless, but there’s a lot of talent. It’s something special.”

“I’m sure it is.” Her worries about the future softened in the glow of his positivity.

They wandered, zigzagging through the streets, until they stumbled upon a hopscotch grid and a plastic bucket of chalk. Art bent down and grabbed a handful of pastels.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked.

He flashed a mischievous grin, then grabbed her hand and led her into an alley. Art crouched down and chalked a cat licking honey off its paws.

He wasn’t too bad an artist—another talent of his.

As he stood, he admired his work. Then he led her down half a block, stopping in the next alley. “Your turn.”

“I’m not an artist. That’s Madisson’s gift.” Madisson did woodworking behind the scenes at the school plays, built bridges, and painted backdrops. It’s why Amelia had trouble supporting her relationship with Max. Madisson could do better than a guy without a job or an education, relying on his parents. She was gifted.

Art handed her a purple stick of chalk. “Do something simple. We’re having fun.”

She tapped her lip, then crouched. Tracing a purple heart with an arrow through it, she scrawled "A + A" inside.

“Like we’re wounded warriors,” Art mused. He folded his arms together and nodded in approval.

“Like we are meant to heal each other.”

“Such a romantic.”

He lifted a flask from his jacket pocket, took a swig, then offered it to her.

“How do I never notice when you have this?” she asked.

“Like fucking Mary Poppins,” he agreed. “Does Miss I-need-a-chaser want some?” A smile teased on his lips.

She narrowed her eyes and swiped the steel container from his hands. She took a gulp, too fast, and her hand rose to her chest as she choked on the burn.

“What is this?” She coughed.

“Fireball.”