She got out of the shower, dried her hair most of the way, then got dressed. Just shorts and a T-shirt with simple, summery canvas flats. She took the time to do her hair and makeup the way Clive had shown her.
Nothing wrong with looking nice.
Empty cup in one hand, purse in the other, she went back downstairs. Harper was still getting ready, but Archie was on his blanket on the couch, gnawing on a nylon bone.
Frankie poured a half-cup of coffee, then sat at the counter with a pen and paper to make a list of all the things she’d need for the portrait. It had been a while since she’d painted in oils, but she was looking forward to it.
She’d just finished when Harper came out in denim cut-offs and a black and white polka-dotted tank top. She looked at Frankie as she handed over the cash from Jack. “Why do you look so nice?”
Frankie frowned, tucking the hundred-dollar bills into her wallet. “I’m just in shorts and a T-shirt.”
“Yeah, but you’re fancy from the neck up.”
Frankie snorted. “It wasn’t a lot of effort. Just a few things Clive showed me.”
“Clive?” Harper shook her head. “I don’t know who that is.”
“Lucas’s hair and makeup guy. He brings Clive in when he has guests on the show that he thinks could benefit from a boost of confidence. He had Clive there for Joyce and Beryl, but Clive gave me a few minutes, too.”
“You look great. I might need to meet this Clive.”
Frankie laughed. “I doubt there’s anything he could do for you. You look great all the time.”
“You’re sweet, but I’m open to suggestions. Maybe we should invite Clive to our housewarming?”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea.” Frankie jotted down one final thing, then clicked the pen. “Ready to go?”
“Are you going to check on Willa?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s sleeping, but I’ll text her.” Frankie sent the text, then shook her head. “I don’t think we’re going to hear back from her.”
“Then let’s go,” Harper said.
Frankie didn’t need any more encouragement. She grabbed her keys and purse and, with a smile on her face, went out to the car.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Harper wasn’t really an art supplies shop kind of person. She didn’t do crafts of any kind, didn’t scrapbook or crochet or any of those sorts of things. Still, the store held a certain fascination for her.
All those bits and pieces waiting to be turned into something beautiful. Not by her, obviously. She hadn’t inherited whatever artistic, creative genes that Frankie had. Not even a smidgen.
She’d once attempted a paint by numbers as a way of dealing with stress and had ended up so frustrated that she’d boxed it all back up and left it by the curb for anyone who’d wanted it. But she still liked looking at everything.
Frankie was filling a cart. Brushes, paints, canvases, and all sorts of other things that Harper wasn’t familiar with. While her sister did that, Harper wandered. She looked at spools of fancy ribbon, a jungle’s worth of silk flowers and plants, a section of crafts for kids, which still looked like more than she could handle, and ended up in the yarn section.
That’s where Frankie found her. “See anything you like?”
“All kinds of stuff, but you have to pick out the yarn. You’re the one that has to live with the throw.”
“I can’t believe Jack Marsh knits,” Frankie said. She left the cart to touch a pale blue yarn marled with a medium turquoise and flecks of white. “This is soft and really pretty. And it would go with the décor.”
She took a quick glance around the rest of the aisle, then came back to the first yarn. “This is the one I want. He said to take a picture of the label with the information on it, send it to him, and he’d calculate how much to get.”
She turned the yarn so the part of the label she needed was more visible, then snapped a pic and got to work texting it.
“And pay for it separately so you can give him the receipt and he can pay you back.”
“That seems silly,” Frankie said. “He’s already given me a lot of money.”
