“Fern’s,” he growled.
Noa snickered, but Olivia came through, texting over the information.
He waited for them to disappear around the bend in the road, and once they were swallowed by trees, pulled out his phone. Leaning against the shaded wall of his studio, a grin stole across his face as he studied Fern’s contact card. The little picture of her was an old one. She was obviously drunk, sporting insane purple and pink hair, cut in short choppy layers. Her mouth was open in a wide smile that had clearly been accompanied by words. It was veryFern. He took a screenshot.
Liv shared valuable information with him, whether she meant to or not. Fern’s birthday got stored directly in his brain, and he smiled at her email address: twocats72. He was fairly certain that was a reference to a Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song, and the Grateful Dead’s Europe ’72 album. Two things he could get behind.
Sliding down the wall until his ass hit the grass, Elliott stared at the blank text conversation for damn near ten minutes. He could check in and ask how her first day was going. He could apologize again for chasing her down. He could tell her he had fun. Apologizeandsay he had fun? That might be too forward. Was it? Oh, the wedding project, he could lean into business. No. That would be too cold after their afternoon.
A simple question felt like the best place to start.
13
Fern learns more facts.
Unknown Number
Hey, dude. How’s your day going?
No introduction, no nothing. Just a random, “How’s your day?” Fern shook her head and pulled her lower lip between her teeth, wondering if shemightbe right. He’d gotten her number somehow. Was he following up on yesterday? Had something changed?
Fern
Elliott?
Unknown Number
Oh yeah, sorry
She saved his contact info, adding then deleting a little heart after his name. No one else needed to see that. She was going insane. They weren’t dating! Sure, he made her come like three times in a row before she took a supreme nap in the summer breeze and his comforting arms—but no, definitely not dating. He wasn’t interested in a relationship. That idiot.
Elliott
We’re going to be working together
Fern
Okay, but why?
Elliott
Renata needs new wedding favors
You’re being conscripted to paint them
She asked me to make these little chips. I’ll send a pic
Fern
Paint them how?
Spinning in a slow circle in her empty salon chair, she fought the sinking sensation brought on by realizing he’d only gotten her number to talk about this project. It was fine. She knew this was his stance, and hey, maybe the job came with great benefits.
When he explained the flower idea and showed her the inspiration, her mood climbed again, hovering somewhere just above neutral. It would be just like painting designs on nails—a bunch of big toes. Ideal, really.
Elliott
I’m told you’re the best artist for the job
