“I know.”
I see Mike coming onto the school grounds where we’re hosting the fair and gesture toward him. Stella gives me a pointed stare before walking over to him.
What would she say if I told her it’s not me messing it up. It’s the man I’m falling in love with that wants to leave me? And it’s not even that he wants to go.
Yeah, it’s a messed-up situation.
“Mr. Davis, may I interest you in marking this mural for posterity?” Fletcher’s voice cuts through the noise of all the children and parents having fun with the various activities.
“I’m not sure I can be trusted with a paintbrush, Mr. Crawford.”
He picks up a brush and makes a big show of showing me how to hold it.
“I know it can be scary the first time you hold something…this long…and hard.”
His light touch threatens to start a fire inside me, and since it’s been at least a week since I’ve seen him, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.
“So you’re saying I need to dip…just the tip…of the brush in the paint. How much pressure should I apply to the surface I want to…paint?”
He bites his lip, and I can’t tell if he wants to laugh or kiss me. Maybe both.
“Yes, Mr. Davis. That’s exactly it.”
“So I can paint anywhere I like?” I say, staring at the various shapes on the wall, each with a different number.
“Anywhere you like.”
I make a show of dipping just the tip of the paintbrush, and then before Fletcher can react, I paint a stripe across his cheek.
He gasps. “You didn’t.”
“Sorry, Mr. Crawford. I told you I’m not very good at this. Maybe you should give me a private lesson.”
He pulls me closer, staring into my eyes with his bright blues. “I’m sure I can fit you in anytime,” he says before a wet brush runs across my face.
I try to attack, but he stops me with a kiss.
“Woooo! Go, Fletcher!” someone shouts while someone else whistles.
Fletcher lets go of my lips but only leans back enough to look me in the eye. “Now,thatis how you should have said hello.”
“Noted,” I say, breathless.
“Look, Daddy, I did it all by myself.” Megan pulls my hand so Fletcher lets me go, winking as he puts his brush back in a cup of water.
“Wow, and you’re inside the lines. I’m very impressed, Princess. Shall we take a photo?”
I grab my phone and snap a photo of Megan standing proudly by the shirt she painted and then a selfie with both of us.
“I want to see Gigi now. He’s teaching people about Rosie.”
“I was afraid of that,” I mutter under my breath.
Fletcher chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Rosie has forgiven you already.”
I stick my tongue out at him because I can’t give him the bird. On one of the nights I stayed with him, he insisted I hold Rosie. What happened after was a little traumatic for both of us as Rosie decided to slide up my shirt sleeve, which resulted in a ridiculous living-room strip dance until Rosie fell on the carpet and I ran to Fletcher’s bedroom.
The memory still makes me shiver.
