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I suddenly felt really, really stupid. I had been commissioned to paint a fairytale enchanted mural for a, well… I gave Bridget a once-over. She had a knit cap over her pixie haircut, and a black hoodie over her short frame. Wireless, pink headphones blinked with a steady, blue light, and she had a laptop under her arm. Okay, so she was a full-blown, adult woman. I plastered a smile on my face. “I’m June. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” she said sardonically, but her tone softened some. She had a voice like warm chocolate syrup, and I hoped she was a musician or something. Every word out of her mouth was stunning. “Thanks for humoring them.”
“Bridgie,” Archer said, his voice gently reproving as he met us in the foyer. He had on a polo again—baby blue—and he’d swapped out the khakis for black cargo pants. Same socks and tennis shoes, though. He definitely had a look, and he was sticking with it. “Don’t give the artist a hard time. Hi, June,” Archer said with an eager smile. His huge, blue eyes shone with a film of perpetual moisture like he might cry at any second.
“Hi, Archer,” I said. “Thanks for letting me come last minute.”
A woman walked up behind Archer, and I realized immediately that it had to be Meg. She wore a peasant-style blouse with a cinched-up bodice under her ample breasts. Her skirt looked like straight out of a cosplay, and she wore a beaded scarf over her head. The only thing that didn’t scream “Ye Olde Renaissance Faire” was the fact that she had half a makeup store’s worth of product on her face. “You must be June!” she exclaimed, surrounding us all with a cloud of potpourri that made my nose itch.
I gave a weak wave. This was, without a doubt, the strangest family I had ever seen. “Hi.”
“Well, I’m out,” Bridget said, pulling her eyes wide like this was just as weird for her as it was for me. “See ya.”
“Bye, sweetie!” Meg called after her daughter. “I’ll send you pictures!”
“Uh huh,” Bridget intoned as she shouldered her way out the front door.
Archer put a hand between my shoulder blades to lead me through the foyer. “Come on in, come on in. We’re so excited to see what you do with your sketch.”
I bobbed an annoyed look at his arm, and as I did, I noticed two things. One: Katherine did not like Archer. Two: Meg did not like me.
Katherine’s eyes went squinty as she followed us down the hall, and Meg just about burned a hole through my skull with her suspicious glare. There was no way in Hell this could get more awkward… an opinion that was immediately debunked when Archer slid his hand along my shoulder and unhooked the bag from my arm. “Here, let me get that for you.”
“Dear,” Meg said tightly, “I’m sure June can carry her own supplies.”
“I, uh,” I wanted to agree with Meg, but Archer had already taken it in his clammy hand and gestured for me to go through the door to Bridget’s bedroom.
“After you, honey,” he smiled.
Honey? Gag.
Katherine made a sound in the back of her throat like she was choking on her own words. That made two of us. My instincts, which had been a low hum in my brain before, rose in pitch like a swarm of disturbed bees.Cut your losses, girl. Cut your losses.
But then Amos’s voice drifted through my thoughts with a harsh “… hobby,” and I clenched my jaw. No way. I was going to finish this damn mural, get paid an outrageous sum because I was charging them extra for the awkwardness, and then when I posted it on social media, I’d hopefully get a wave of business.
Katherine set my paints on the beautiful carpet, her blue gaze full of trepidation, and stood uncertainly, like she wanted to say something.
“Thanks Kat,” I smiled. “I’ll get a rideshare home. And… cover for me?” I asked meaningfully.
She sighed heavily, looking at me with pursed, bright red lips. “Okay,” she said finally. “Text me,” she added pointedly.
“I will,” I promised.
“Nice to meet you both,” Katherine said as she went to the doorway, even though Archer and Meg had pointedly ignored her existence.
“What are you starting with?” Archer asked, rubbing his hands and exuding a strange, giddy energy. Meg tilted her chin up, her sharp eyes on her husband.
Oh, boy.
At first, while I laid out a tarp over the carpet and poured paint into the paint trays, Meg managed to keep Archer entertained with her conversation about what they would do with the furniture and window dressings in the room. But then, eventually, Archer became fully engrossed in what I was doing.
As I tied my skirt around my waist to keep from tripping—and found depraved mirth at the idea of ruining the dress Amos had bought me—Archer’s eyes had locked in on my legs.
He came to stand behind me and put a hand on my lower back as I climbed the ladder. “Here, hon, let me help you.”
“I’ve got it,” I assured him.
But the only way to get out of his reach was up, and he knew that. His hand trailed from my back, over my ass, down my thigh, and to my calf under the pretense of steadying me as I climbed.
