"Still afflicted with attractive-man syndrome, I see," Archer said, hand on my waist, guiding me to the bar.
"Don't flatter yourself. It's residual from being around your brothers."
"Cold, Hazel, very cold."
"What can I get for you?" I asked, going around to the other side of the bar and collecting an armful of cocktail supplies. Archer tugged the bottles and glasses out of my arms, causing the buckle on my overalls to come undone. Archer set the bottles on the bar top then reached over and clipped the buckle back together.
"Might be a safety hazard," he said as the warmth of his fingers barely grazed my breast.
He's a client, Hazel, a client.
"Another Norman Rockwell Old Fashioned?" I asked, trying to ignore the buzzing feeling between my legs.
"What's your favorite drink?" Archer asked.
"I like Her Paintbrush."
"Shouldn't it be 'His Paintbrush'?" Archer asked.
"That would be too sexually suggestive. This is supposed to be a wholesome bar." Archer bit his lip. I wanted to lean over and press my mouth to his.
"A truly sexually suggestive name would be 'On His Paintbrush.'"
"Now that really would be a step too far," I said lightly. "You might start to give people ideas."
"Ideas like what?" he asked, his voice still that same low rumble. I let it wash over me as I mixed the blackberry liquor and bitter orange for a Her Paintbrush cocktail.
I poured the drink into a tall glass and finished it with a little mint and a bamboo stirrer then slid it over to Archer. He stirred it, swirling the colors.
"See?" I said. "It looks like paint."
Archer took a sip while he looked straight at me. "Tasty. You know what I really crave?" he asked, his voice low. It rolled around the room. I was breathless. I could see my chest rise and fall as he leaned forward.
"It's something I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I dreamed about it last night."
"What do you want?" I asked in a whisper.
"Some of that popcorn and a sandwich." He sat back, a self-satisfied look on his face.
"Oh my God."
"But I can give you a demonstration of my paintbrush skills later, if you're up for it."
"The question is, are you up for it?" I asked, crossing my arms.
Archer clutched his chest. "It was a drink idea, Hazel! You have a dirty mind, though if you're really that hot for me, I guess we could go a round."
I made the Jackson Pollock popcorn, dousing the kernels in truffle butter and finely shaved parmesan. Archer snacked on it while I made him his sandwich.
"This is amazing," he said, taking a bite. "It's literally the best thing I've ever eaten."
I felt a rush of pleasure seeing him eat the food I made. I liked feeding people. That was the one thing food and art had in common. I loved seeing people experience joy from something I made with my own hands.
I stole a handful of popcorn and asked, "So no one in that giant house of yours ever cooks?"
"Not since Josie moved in, but I think she's about to stage a mutiny."
"None of the rest of you do anything?"
