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Some of the tension holding me taut melts when she graces me with a beam. I’m so entranced by it, it takes me a full ten seconds to register the Post-It extended my way. Snatching it with a cough, I scan the scribbled list.
Pencils, sketchbooks, a couple of different kinds of paint and brushes. Standard beginner art supplies kit.
Because I need another reason to like this girl.
“This won’t take long.” With another sorry excuse for a smile, I duck beneath the counter and head for the stocked shelves lining the store walls, expecting my first customer of the day to wait by the register. I’m surprised when, instead, she follows me. Provides me with an endless stream of chatter.
God, did I really ever enjoy the quiet?
“I’m not really much of an artist,” Luna muses without prompting, absently brushing her fingertips over a set of fan brushes. “I just had an elective to fill and my mom says it runs in my blood. She’s an artist.”
I hum quietly, watching her out of my peripheral as she babbles with seemingly no expectations for a response. It’s so creepy, I know it is, but she’s kind of fascinating to watch. She’s got this thing I always notice but can never put a name to.Energeticdoesn’t cover it. It’s like she can’t stay still. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, touching everything we pass, spinning a ring around her finger, all of it absentminded, like she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.
Only when I hand her something does she briefly settle, pausing to thoroughly study it. Fishes a pen out of her bag and leans around me to tick it off the list quickly becoming more and more crumpled between my fingers. Breath tickling my skin and her hand brushing mine, I’m reminded of the last time we were in such close proximity, and I wonder if she’d be this close, this oddly comfortable, if she remembered too.
When the scent of vanilla starts clouding my judgment and convincing me that burying my face in her hair and sniffing wouldn’t be that weird, I force myself to step away. I practically sprint to the other end of the aisle, only awarded a few seconds of reprieve because she’s hot on my tail.
Whether she blocks my path intentionally or not, I don’t know, but she props herself directly in front of the exact pencils I’m looking for, back to the shelf with her hands tucked casually in her back pockets. “You like art?”
I know damn well we’re the only people here yet still, I’m tempted to glance over my shoulder to check she’s talking to me. Miraculously, I cough out a simple, coherent response. “I do.”
Her laugh is soft, quiet, such a juxtaposition to…her. “Silly question, right? Since you work here?”
A quirked lip and a shake of my head is all I manage.
“Can you draw?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let me guess,” undeterred by my horrific conversational skills, Luna’s lazy smile remains intact, eyes narrowed in sparkling scrutiny, “art student?”
Somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind, my grandparents’ laughter echoes. As if they would’ve ever let that happen. “Architecture.”
“So you build houses?”
If a smile is what Luna was aiming for, she succeeds. “Something like that.”
Her hum is interested, curious, and I find myself standing a little straighter, especially when she squints at me with a half-smile. “I know you from somewhere.”
A few places, actually.
Stomach in my goddamn throat, I wait.
“The diner, right?” she proclaims eventually, fingers snapping like she’s solved a puzzle. “You and your friends come in a lot.”
I’m an odd mixture of disappointed that she still doesn’t remember a conversation that’s been playing on my mind non-stop and pleased because hey, at least I’m not completely forgettable. “Yeah, we do.”
“You guys are on the baseball team,” she continues slowly, as if she's piecing something together. When I hum confirmation, a lovely, dangerous smirk forms. “Your friend stares at my friend a lot. The pretty one with the horny eyes.”
I swallow a snort. Yeah, Nick would love that description.
In a different universe, maybe I’d have the nerve to offer more than a nod. To ask her to elaborate when she murmurs‘interesting’beneath her breath. To continue the conversation, keep her here a little longer.
In reality, I hurry back to the cash register, ringing her up and sliding the paper bag full of new supplies toward her. “You need anything else?”
Shaking her head, she props the bag in the crook of her arm, hitting me with a smile nothing short of breathtaking. “Thank you.”
Two words, Jackson. You can manage two damn words.“You’re welcome.”
