It’s ridiculous because I barely even know him.
“I…should take Ava home before she goes back on her word, and I end up having to buy her a snake.”
He laughs. “I’ll see you around.”
I nod and walk toward the double doors of his workshop before turning around.
“By the way, how’s your dick plant? Grown any?”
“Buy me a beer, and I’ll tell you.”
“Deal,” I say, smiling back. “You know where to find me.”
Ava spends the ride home talking about George’s snake and their plans for a sleepover next weekend.
Like my daughter, my thoughts are still back where we’re coming from.
I only saw a small sample of Arlo’s work, but what I did see took my breath away.
The vivid colors, the shapes, and mostly the storytelling. Arlo has a true gift to tell a story with his art. His wall-hanging pieces are some of the most colorful and creative I’ve seen in a long time, and I’ve photographed some unique things.
I’m starting to get annoyed at how Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Jenkins think they can rule over the Stillwater businesses. How can they pick and choose who gets to showcase and sell their art at the craft fair?
Art, by definition, is subjective and down to individual taste.
It’s been a decade since I last went to the craft fair, but anyone would agree that to keep people coming, you need to be innovative. Why would visitors return if all they get is the same old shit?
I look at Ava in the back seat, holding my wings as if they’re a treasure, and I’m thankful I keep my thoughts to myself. She’s a whip-cracker, and I’ll go broke at this rate.
“Daddybug, you need to put your wings on for Aunt Liv when we get home,” she says.
“Okay, Jellybean.” I smile at her new nickname for me.
When I pull into the driveway, I hear my phone ding with a message. It must be Penny with my shifts for next week.
A sudden thought hits me. She’s going to hate me, but she might be the only person who can help Arlo.
10
ARLO
Goingout after work rather than working on my art is a new one for me, but I need to do something other than sit in my studio and read the letter I got through the mail over and over again.
As it is, I’ve already reread it about ten times too many, and each time I get angrier and more upset. Which is why I grab my coat and let my feet take me wherever they feel like before I can talk myself out of it.
Apparently, that means The Academy.
When I walk through the large wooden door, I see Levi straight away in the reflection of the cleverly positioned mirror in the entrance by the stairs leading up to the second floor.
It’s as if my eyes, much like my feet, already know what they want. And it seems tonight they want Levi.
He’s preparing a cocktail when I approach the bar and take the seat closer to the corner with the wall. The same I sat on the night we first met.
Watching Levi create a drink is like watching a magician perform a trick or a piece of art coming together with every practiced move.
I’m usually a beer man, but now I want Levi to practice his magic for me. I don't know why, but I need his magic in my life right now.
He moves his gaze around the room until it falls on me. Without missing a beat, he smiles and throws the bottle he’s holding up in the air, where it turns a couple of times before he catches it with the pourer facing down. The clear liquid lands in the glass, and with a few added flourishes, it’s all over.
