True. And natural light was better than anything else. I packed my sketchbook and iPad into my backpack and went outside.
The sun was still bright, and the antihistamine I’d taken earlier was still in full effect. I set my things on the patio table, propped my sketchbook on my lap, and resumed working.
I had a basic three-part plan to improve Lilybuds. Part one: reduce the amount of stock in the store so the good stuff could be seen. Two: replace a large portion of the floral prints with new pieces. I knew this was the flower capital of whatever, but you could buy flowery crap anywhere in this town—Lilybudsneededa different vibe to stand out. And that brought me to step three: change the damn name. Because Lilybuds?No.
I was a realist, though—I wasn’t going to throw out the name altogether. Definitely needed to get the word “buds” out of there. Honestly, I was amazed the store wasn’t overrun with potheads with that name. Just “Lily” might work. It was still a flower, but it was also a name, right? I played around with modern lettering and came up with a quick prototype:LILY.Just like that. The word alone with a period after it. Black lettering on a white background. No wood-carved sign. No flowers.
I made some more sketches of the outside of the store with the new name and logo. The store was going to be so...arrestive. People everywhere would talk about it. I wassogetting into FIT.
I started a new sketch of the store’s back wall, imagining it with designer wallpaper. Maybe even Arabic-tile style as a nod to the Muslim owner of the store? We could put a few waterfall-style clothes hangers to display key pieces for the season, but the wall itself would be the focal point, with the new logo in the middle.
After twenty minutes or so outside, my hand was cramping. I wasn’t done, but a ten-minute break would make all the difference. I stood and stretched.
The sun was setting, and the dimming light cast an almost otherworldly orange glow over the garden. A soft hum filled the air, blending with the slow trickle of the fountain Mom had bought. It was in theback of the yard, near a bed of wispy white and deep-pink flowers. I headed over to take a closer look.
The fountain was basically a big concrete block with a clear glass bowl in the center. Inside the bowl sat a black sphere with water cascading from the top. The low sun reflected in the dribbling water, making it look like gemstones cascading over the sphere. I took some pictures with my phone. I didn’t even need a filter to get that warm ethereal vibe. Too bad Gia was in no state for pictures now—her new boho look was perfectly suited for this mood.
But a good photographer didn’t waste light like this. Since there were no flowery-dress or scarf-in-hair-type people around, it would have to be me. I peeked behind the fountain and held my phone out in front of me, checking to make sure the sun’s rays illuminated only half my face. The whole look was so compelling, even though I was normally selfie averse. It wasn’t that I didn’t like having my face on camera or anything. I mean, I modeled my clothes all the time—I was clearly not camera shy. It was just...selfies were so cliché. I was trying to project a professional image—and having someone else take my pictures added to that. Plus, selfies weren’t great for outfit shots. It was supposed to be about the clothes, not my face.
But taking pictures and not sharing them on social media was fine—it was good photography practice. I had snapped only a few shots when a voice nearly made me drop my phone in the fountain.
“Great. Thirst Trap is at it again.”
Rowan.Because of course. I’d tried to take selfies only twice in months, and he’d witnessed both times. He put a plastic tray filled with colorful flowers on the cluttered workbench near his greenhouse. I slipped my phone in my pocket and glared. “Is your only purpose this summer to annoy me?” I said.
He snorted as he grabbed this weird metal mesh thing and laid it in front of him. “You’rethe one inmyyard. I’m trying to get some work done here.”
He was wearing a ridiculous shirt again, pale blue with a weird cartoony-looking plant on it that saidPLANTS ARE PEOPLE, TOO. With more cutoff shorts, and...holy crap—Crocs?Dude was being seen in public in plastic clogs? I guess this wasn’t really public, but still.
I shook my head. Supermodel good looks. A smoldering, swoon-worthy scowl. And dressed like a vegan preschooler.
I sighed. “You’re going to have to learn to share your yard this summer. Channel that inner kindergartener—shouldn’t be too hard, considering your outfit.”
I sat on the sofa, put my sketchbook back on my lap, and reached into my bag for my colored pencils to add some details to the sketch of the back wall, but they weren’t there.
“Damn it, I forgot I gave away my pencil crayons,” I said.
“You’re drawing?” he asked.
“I’mdraftingplans. The tiny house wasn’t bright enough, so I came out here.” What washedoing, anyway? He appeared to be stuffing this green sludgy stuff into the wire mesh.
“Why’d you give away your pencil crayons?” he asked.
“A girl on my street needed them. Her brother lost all hers...” I shook my head. Why was I telling him this? “Don’t be nosy, Plant-Boy,” I said. I shut the book quickly. The sketches would have to be black and white. The point was toreducethe garish colorfulness of the store anyway. I’d started putting my charcoal pencils back in their tin when my phone rang, making me jump again. Two pencils dropped to the ground, rolling under the table. Ugh.
Maybe it was Matteo on the phone, though? I checked—it was my mother. I accepted the call.
“Tahira! I want to hear all about your first day at the store,” Mom said. I glanced over at Rowan, but he’d moved to the far end of his workbench and was focused on whatever he was doing there.
“Hey, Mom. Everything was good. I’m working on the rebranding plans right now.”
“Oh, that’s great! I’ll leave you to it. I know you’ll do a thorough job. We got a package in the mail for that scholarship I was telling you about, the one for South Asians in the arts? I think it only works for Canadian universities, though. I’ll read through the documentation and see if it will work for FIT. Because—”
“I know, Mom, I know. FIT is the best, so that’s where we’ll start. No need to say it again.” I glanced over at Rowan. I didn’t like the idea of him hearing me sounding like a petulant child to my mother. But he didn’t seem to be paying attention to me. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I show all this to Shar...min Aunty.”
“Okay. Love you, Tahira. Good night.”
“Night, Mom.” I disconnected the call.
