“How do I count the ways? I’m twenty-eight and in a job I despise and everyone in my life is happy and successful and I still can’t decide what the fuck I want to do.” She tosses her doughnut back in the bag, even though it’s half-eaten.
“Gemma, god, where do I start? One, you say ‘twenty-eight’ like it’s eighty, which I refuse to accept, as I’m two months older than you.Two, hello, I was literally you less than a year ago.” I throw my arms wide open. “And look where I’ve ended up after also hating my job and having no idea what I wanted to do.”
“You did know what you wanted to do, Sade, and you did it. That’s the difference.”
“Cut out this pity-party bullshit right the fuck now. You can do it too. You’re one of the smartest people I know, and you work your ass off, Gem. Not to brag or anything, but my launch party is going to kill it on social media, and you’re going to do the catering because the worst thing that can happen is you hate it and never want to do it again and so you don’t. And the best thing is everyone at the party wants to hire you to do their own party.” I pull her off the counter and drag her to the other side of the room, where I left my planning notebook, opening it to the party page. “Here’s your budget. I trust you to make it awesome, so I’ll send you the money and you can do whatever you want.”
She looks over my notes, her darting eyes doing nothing to hide her nerves. “What if I ruin your party?”
“You won’t. I know you. You won’t let yourself let me down.” I take her face in my hands and plant a loud kiss on her cheek. “We good?”
“I could do those bacon-wrapped scallops you love, if I can find a good deal.” She takes out her phone, snapping a picture of my notebook page. “And maybe some pot stickers.”
“Yes. Love it. Sounds amazing.” I turn toward the back. “Jack, you can come out now! Let’s get these paintings hung!”
He peeks his head out of the office, half a doughnut stuck in his mouth. “I’m actually going to wait for Nick before I hang anything. It’s much easier with a tall person to assist.”
“You rang?” Nick pushes open the door to the shop, holding it for Harley, who’s carrying a tray of coffees.
God, I love my friends.
Harley sets down the tray, then immediately moves along the counter to where Jack’s paintings are lying in wait. “Holy shit.” She turns to Jack, her mouth dropped open. “You painted these?”
Jack, who was in the middle of some secret-handshake bro dance with Nick, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh yeah. I did.”
“If you think those are good, get a load of this one.” I gesture for the three of them to come look atBridge and Blooms.
There’s a solid minute of silence as they all take it in.
“What the fuck, bro?” Nick punches Jack in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. “Why didn’t you tell us you could do this?”
He shrugs, his cheeks reddening as he shrinks into himself. “I couldn’t really. Not for a long time anyway.”
They all three turn to stare at him, and he might as well be a turtle retreating into his shell.
I lace my fingers through his, tucking myself into his side. “Jack did a lot of painting when he was younger, but he stopped for a while after his parents died.”
“Well, you should be selling this shit.” Gemma doesn’t do canned pity, and I’ve never been more grateful for it.
Jack gives her a timid smile. “It’s not really about the money these days.”
His word choice snags something in my brain for a minute, but I shrug it off. “And you know me, happy to capitalize on the free labor of you unfortunate souls who are stuck loving me.” I rise on my toes and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Speaking of. Talk less. Work more.”
Various things are thrown in my general direction, but everyone gets to work. Paintings are hung, supplies organized, décor put in place. Lucy, my new employee, joins us for a couple of hours. She’s in her late thirties, and for a minute, I worry our antics will annoy her, but she fits right in, giving as good a ribbing as she gets. By the end of Saturday, Bridge and Blooms looks just about complete. You know, minus the blooms.
We all bundle up in our coats and scarves before heading out, the January weather having turned bitterly cold over the past two weeks.
I lock the front door after everyone has exited the building, then loop my arm through Jack’s as we head to dinner. “I can’t believe tomorrow I get to go to work in my store.”
“Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?” Jack leans down and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
“Once or twice.” I snuggle deeper into his side, needing the warmth and reveling in the comfort. “Have you thought any more about selling some of your paintings? I think the reaction from the gang only further cements my claim that a shit-ton of people are going to want them once they see them in the store.” I tilt my head up so I can see his eyes.
And if it weren’t already dark outside and limiting my visibility, I would swear there’s a flash of something like panic darting through the bright green.
But Jack just shrugs. “I’ve never wanted to sell my paintings before. It’s not about money for me.”
“I’m totally happy to be your art pimp if you need me to.”
