I haven’t seen him wield a glue gun yet but I’m dreading it.
After our text negotiations, the rest of Friday evening went by in a blink. Before the weekend, my art teacher, Mr.Graz, said he’s still finding us a space to use on campus and has his eye on the old high school woodshop. The department got an overhaul and a brand-new building, so the shed, once it’s emptied, will be ours for the time being.
In the meantime I have to continue using my garage.
Surrounded by glue, glitter, paint, and cardboard, I haveeverything laid out when Easton Westermann walks through the door Saturday afternoon—I even brought snacks because I want him to forget that he’s reluctant to be here.
I am, above all else, a gracious hostess.
But the first twenty minutes are awkward as I show him around our space, his cologne or body spray or whatever that smell is messing with my brain. I’ve never noticed him wearing fragrance before and he decides to start today?!
Also. There’s a nick on his neck where he cut himself shaving and I try not to stare directly at it.
I clear my throat, explaining the prom theme yet again and what my job is as far as decorations go.
“Um. These knights are going to be displayed around the gym—that’s why there are so many of them,” I tell him, although the concept is pretty self-explanatory.
Easton nods, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his joggers. “Gotcha.” He raises an eyebrow. “So, why knights? I thought the prom theme was ‘A Night Under the Stars.’ And I thought themes were supposed to be romantic.”
I roll my eyes. He hasn’t connected ‘knights’ and ‘nights’—and he doesn’t find either romantic? “ ‘A Knight Under the Stars’? Night, knight? Get it? It’s a pun. You know whatthoseare, right?”
Easton frowns at my sarcasm. “Yes, I get it. Very punny. I just hope no one thinks we’re supposed to come in full armor. I don’t think I can pull off the chain mail look.”
For the life of me, I can’t decide if he’s teasing. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Obviously I’m joking—the gym’s AC can’t handle that kind of heat.” He laughs, picking up a hammer. Inspects it. Sets it back on my dad’s workbench.
“Can you imagine trying to dance in chain mail?”
He pretends to think about it, then shakes his head. “Nope. And I’d probably knock someone out with my lance or something.” He props his hands on his hips, mirroring my pose. “So, what’s our agenda? When do I get snack privileges?”
I laugh, walking to a card table I set up that my mom uses for garage sales, grab a bag of chips. Grabbing a bag of chips, I hand it to him.
“Consider these your peace offering.” Not that I’m letting him off the hook—he does not get to stand here and look pretty. He is here to help. “But you do have to help me with these knights. Start by cutting out the shields. Just don’t hurt yourself.”
Easton takes the bag, tears it open, and shakes chips into his open mouth. Broken chips fall to the floor as he continues eating. He crushes the bag once he’s done, then does a basket toss into the trash can.
Grabbing a box cutter, he points it in my direction. “If I lose a finger, you’re responsible.”
“Don’t worry,” I say with a grin. “I’ve got Band-Aids and a first aid kit.”
At least, I think we do?
“Anyway. While you’re cutting out shields, I’m going to keep painting. Then when we’re done drying we can glue the shields on the knights’ bodies.”
He tilts his head. “Why not just draw a dude with a shield?”
“Because,” I say, exasperated. “This way it will be three-dimensional.”
“But it’s a cardboard cutout.”
What is his point? “Right.”
“So,” he counters, “it’s more work cutting out and tacking the shields on later than just doing it all at once.”
“It’s going to look more detailed if the shield is raised a few inches over the knight.”
Easton opens his mouth and I can see him wanting to continue arguing.
