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“And they’ll return next year if they don’t get in this year,” Eloise said. She knew painters who came back year after year, or at least they had until she moved away, in hopes her aunt would put them in her gallery.
“See that’s just something I don’t understand,” Fraser sighed and smiled. “What you, Margaux, and the others do, it’s a whole different mindset. Like why spend so much time painting?”
Eloise got it. No one really understood what artists went through, and each one had their own process. There were times when Eloise wouldn’t sleep for days. And then there were times when she’d stare at her canvas for days and paint nothing. The mind worked in mysterious ways. The longest she had ever gone without painting was a little over a month. She thought she had lost whatever mojo she had. Each day, she’d pick up her brush and stare at the canvas, and then it was like her mind woke up and she started painting. The flipside of that was she was awake for four straight days, living off coffee and restorative napping.
“It’s okay,” Eloise told him. “I don’t always understand why people chose the careers they do.”
“Right, but do the artists here make money off their paintings?”
Eloise shrugged. “It’s hard to say. Like I paint for people so I’m making money. I don’t know about the others. They might have other jobs or could be waiting tables while they’re here.”
Fraser nodded. “Valid point. I hadn’t thought about any of them waiting tables.”
A group of college men—well they thought they were men but still acted like boys—came toward them, jostling each other around, taking their hats off and hitting each other, and trying to push one another into traffic. On instinct Eloise pulled Fraser out of the way and stepped back toward the building.
Fraser tsked at the group. “Assholes. They think they own the place.” He shook his head. “I swear Seaport has become the bachelor / bachelorette party capital of the northeast. Every weekend there are multiple parties. It’s good for business, I guess.”
“What are you doing?”
“Bartending during the summer. Back to school in the fall.”
“Where?” she asked.
“The Surf Shack down the street and Auburn.”
“Alabama?”
He nodded.
“Wow, I didn’t expect that at all.”
Fraser looked sheepish. “I know but they threw a lot of money at me, and I couldn’t say no. It’s not all that bad, just when there’s a tornado warning and then it’s like shitting bricks. The fear is terrifying.”
Eloise wanted to laugh but figured it wasn’t the right time. “I bet. Thankfully, it’s pretty safe here.”
“Except for the tourists.” Another wave came toward them, and Fraser stepped closer. Too close for Eloise’s liking, which made her want to take a step back. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. While she was happy to see a familiar face, Eloise wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship. Especially with her obligations to her aunt taking up most of her time this summer.
“Are you staying with your aunt?” he asked.
Where else would she stay? “I am.”
“My car’s parked down the street. Do you want a ride?”
“Oh, thank you, but I’m meeting her at the gallery.” Due to the direction of the one-way street, it would be quicker if she walked. She appreciated the offer of a ride though.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?” he asked. And because he asked so nicely, Eloise agreed.
Fraser handed Eloise her portfolio case she had steadied on one of the suitcases, and then gripped both handles. He pulled the luggage behind him, much like she had intended to do. They crossed the street at the first crosswalk and headed toward the gallery.
“Still have that thing, huh?” he asked as he nodded toward the portfolio.
The black ratty case had belonged to her grandfather George, and she rarely let it out of her sight. He had given it to her when she was ten, right before he passed away. It was her most prized possession. She held it tightly to her chest. “I do.”
“It’s cool,” he told her. “I remember you carrying it around, every day of middle and high school. It’s like your talisman.”
She hadn’t thought of the portfolio as good luck. To her, it was a place to keep her work, along with a few unfinished pieces by her grandfather.
They walked in comfortable silence down the cobblestone road, slowing or stopping when they came to people stopped in front of the shops. Growing up in Seaport and then moving to one of the busiest cities in the world, Eloise was used to dodging the crowds. Except when her arms were full, and luggage was involved. Fraser had to step out into the road a few times.
