AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I give her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
She dismisses me with a wave of her hand. “It’s nothing important. Let’s go. I’m in desperate need of a caffeine fix.” She flips the sign on the door to CLOSED.
As I follow her down the street toward the coffee shop, I’m left wondering what she was going to say.
9
DYLAN
IT WAS A LONG DAY at the office, made longer when my mom called to tell me that Marlow was picking up Lola from school today. Supposedly, my parents had dentist appointments that Mom forgot about, but I don’t buy it. She’s even more organized than I am. So the idea that she forgot about an appointment until the day of doesn’t add up.
Meetings consumed my entire afternoon, preventing me from checking in with Marlow as often as I’d have liked. She texted me when she picked up Lola from school and said they were going over to her house. I would have preferred they went back to my place, but I figured it was best not to push the issue.
When I pull into my driveway at 7:30 p.m., all the lights are off at my house. In stark contrast, Marlow’s place is brightly lit, and the faint sound of music is coming from the loft. She’s lucky the elderly lady who lives on the other side of her is hard of hearing, or she’d have a stack of noise complaints by now.
I head straight over to her place.
When my knock on the front door goes unanswered, I test the handle, a low growl escaping me when I find it unlocked.
Unbelievable.
First, Marlow strolls the streets of Aspen Grove late at night, and now this? It’s absolutely unacceptable. She needs to be more careful. I doubt she was this careless when living in the city. At least I hope that’s the case.
When I step inside, I nearly trip over a sneaker. The entryway is littered with dog toys, jackets, and shoes.
I peek inside the living room, not surprised that the space mirrors Marlow’s vibrant and chaotic personality. The walls are painted a salmon pink, and a massive, multi-colored geometric rug covers the floor. Several pieces of furniture are strategically situated in the room—including a mustard yellow couch, two blue paisley print chairs, and a vintage wooden coffee table.
I follow the sound of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” to the loft.
The door is wide open, giving me an unobstructed view of Lola, sprawled on the floor, finger painting. Waffles is sitting next to her, his head resting against her shoulder. Both are covered in splotches of purple and orange paint.
A smile tugs at my lips until I spot a plate nearby with the remnants of what look like corn dogs, Cheez-Its, and peanut butter.
Why is Marlow giving Lola junk food when I explicitly told her not to?
Marlow’s on the other end of the room, her attention on a large canvas propped up on an easel. As I step closer, I see she’s skillfully applying texture to a hydrangea. The flower is a mixture of white and various shades of purple. This isn’t what I imagined when she told me she was an artist.
While art isn’t my area of expertise, I still recognize an exceptional piece like Marlow’s flower, which practically leaps off the canvas. Her artistic ability is unmatched, and her style is truly remarkable. If I weren’t so wound up, I could stand here admiring her work all night and still find new elements to appreciate.
In typical Marlow fashion, she’s decked in her faded floral overalls, paired with a white long-sleeved shirt covered in pink hearts and red fuzzy socks.
“Daddy, you’re back.”
Lola’s enthusiastic squeal has me turning to catch her as she runs into my arms. I disregard the sticky purple paint that’s been transferred from her hands to my white shirt.
“I missed you, ladybug.” I place a kiss on her head.
“I missed you too. Waffles and I painted you a picture,” she says, holding out a piece of paper covered with dozens of orange and purple handprints, plus several orange paw prints.
“It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to put it on the fridge at home. Why don’t you go down to the bathroom and wash the paint off your hands so we can go home? I’m just going to chat with Marlow for a minute.”
“I can do that,” she shouts over the music. “Come on, Waffles, let’s go get cleaned up.”
He follows her down the steps, leaving faded orange paw prints behind. It’s a good thing this house has wood floors or that would be a nightmare to clean up later.
Marlow still hasn’t acknowledged me, which frustrates me. She was supposed to be taking care of Lola, but apparently couldn’t be bothered enough to play with her. Sitting her down with paints and letting her have free rein is unacceptable.
I stride over to the speaker on the cluttered desk and switch it off, sighing in relief when I can hear myself think.
