“Yeah, of course.” It was completely normal for a grown man to rest his head on a shelf that had likely held nails and fertilizer in the not-so-recent past. “Do you needsomething?”
“Yeah. Well, kinda.” He jammed his hand into the pocket of his jeans to grab his phone, then cleaned the screen on the front of his red plaid flannel shirt. If ever there was a man who could pull oflumbersexualit might be Ash Martin. “You seethis?”
He thrust the phone out and I took it, scanning the image on the screen. It was a canvas backdrop, like the kind mall photographers used, painted with a dizzying array of autumnthings. Acorns and leaves, pumpkins and cornucopia, all plopped down with lots of enthusiasm and zerodesign.
“Yeah.” I looked back up at him. “What aboutit?”
“What do I need to makeone?”
I frowned. “Do you… really need one?” Did anyone really needone?
“Well, the Pumpkin Festival is coming. I don’t know if anyone’s mentioned it toyou?”
I remembered my first conversation with Silas. Why dideverythingfucking remind me ofSilas?
“Yeah,” I said shortly. “I’ve heard about it. There are pie eatingcontests?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked more harried than I’d ever seen him. “And baking contests. And pumpkin growing competitions, and flower arrangement… competitions. I don’t really know how that works,” he confided, “but my mom used to be really into it. And uh, there are cider donuts and hay rides and costumecontests.”
“Wow. That’s… alot.”
“You have no idea. And we have loads of town celebrations here — Cal says if something stands still for ten minutes, they’ll celebrate it — Pumpkin Festival might be the biggest.” He paused. “That one or the Light Parade at the end of December.” He glanced at my face and laughed out loud. “Oh my God, your expression rightnow!”
I could only imagine it was some cross between fascination and horror. “There’s aLightParade?”
He smiled. “It’s non-denominational.”
“Of course itis.”
“Anyway, they take pictures of the winners to put on the townwebsite…”
“There’s a town website?" I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand. "That’s so… twenty-firstcentury.”
“I know, right?” Ash grinned like I was joking. I wasn’t sure I had been. “But it turns out they’ve been storing the backdrops in the church basement, and it flooded over the summer, so I need to find newones.”
“You,personally?”
Ash flushed slightly. “My mother and sister-in-law are on the planning committee. I’ve been told that Karencannot be upsetright now in her delicatecondition.”
I rolled my eyes. “Isee.”
“Yeah. So I figured since you’re the art teacher, you’d know what I need? I’m guessing I need some rolls of paper stuff, some stencils. Paint, obviously,” he counted off on his fingers. “Oh, brushes for the paint would be good.Um…”
I ran a hand over my mouth. Ash looked so lost, poor guy. I was pretty sure I would deeply regret what I was going to say next, but what was a little moreregret?
“I can paint you something,” I told him. “I think.” I looked down at the picture again. “I mean maybe not exactlythis.”
“Oh, for real? I hate to ask,but…”
“You didn’t ask, I offered.” I handed him back his phone. “You need canvas, really, not paper. And it would probably take me half the time.” Or less. This kind of painting, like the kind I did with the kids at school, took almost no effortwhatsoever.
“Cal and I will owe you big. We’ll pay you in cupcakes.” He grinned. “Anytime youlike.”
I snickered. “Nowthatis what I love to hear. Throw in some coffee and I'min.”
“Done!” Ash said, heading for the door. He pointed at me. “Okay, planning meeting tonight at Goode’s, 6 PM. Cal and I will save a seat forya.”
“Wait, I have to go to a planning meeting?” I shook my head, panicked. “No, no, no.Paint a background, yousaid.”
