PAINT
LAURA
I couldn’t get out of school fast enough. My feet moved on autopilot, my mind racing a mile a minute. I barely noticed the curious stares as I stormed past classmates in the hallway. Before anyone could stop me or ask what was wrong, I bolted for the parking lot.
Sliding into the BMW’s driver’s seat, I let out a shaky breath. The glossy black paint gleamed in the sun, drawing the attention of a few kids walking by. To them, this car screamed privilege–a shiny gift from my mom to her only daughter.
But the truth? It wasn’t mine.
Mom had stopped driving since… well, since everything fell apart. She claimed it made things simpler, but I understood the true reason. She didn’t trust herself to take the wheel.
Luckily, Dad had left us enough money to make life comfortable, at least on the surface. But it still felt like a house of cards, ready to topple at any moment.
I gripped the steering wheel and took a deep breath before turning the key. The engine roared to life, and I sped out of the lot, leaving school–and Josh–behind.
The art supply store sat just outside of town, tucked away in a quiet plaza. It was my favorite escape, a place where the world. seemed to slow down.
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As I parked, I felt some of the tension melt away. The small coffee shop inside was buzzing with the comforting hum of espresso machines and the soft chatter of customers. I ordered my usual latte and wandered toward the paint section, cradling the warm cup in my hands.
There was something soothing about being surrounded by rows of vibrant colors. My fingers skimmed over the tubes of paint, imagining the feel of the brushes and the smell of fresh canvas.
A voice nearby broke my reverie.
“Excuse me, do you have this in, uh, cobalt blue? Or something close to it?”
I turned to see a guy talking to one of the employees–a young
kid who looked like he was barely out of high school.
The guy asking for help was tall, with sun–kissed skin and messy brown hair that fell just above his eyebrows. He had a relaxed, easygoing vibe, dressed in a simple white T–shirt and jeans splattered with dried paint.
The employee looked flustered and pointed him toward an aisle. “Uh, I think it’s over there? Maybe?”
The guy thanked him, but I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t confident in the direction.
I hesitated. Should I help?
Before I could overthink it, I grabbed the cobalt blue paint from the correct shelf and walked over
“Here you go,” I said, holding it out with a smile.
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He blinked, surprised, before breaking into a grin. “Oh, thanks! You saved me. I was about to wander around aimlessly for twenty minutes.”
“It’s a popular shade,” I replied, feeling unexpectedly at ease.
He took the tube from my hand, his fingers brushing mine briefly. “Thanks again,” he said, but as I turned to leave, he called after me.
“Wait. Sorry–thanks, really. I, uh, haven’t seen you here before?”
I paused, sipping my coffee. “Oh, I’m one town over, but I love this shop. They have the best paints.”
He nodded, holding the tube of cobalt blue like it was a prized possession. “Yeah, I can see why.”
Something about him felt easy. Comfortable. Not like Josh, whose presence left me nervous and confused and… something else I didn’t want to think about.
“Good luck with the paint,” I said, turning to walk away again.
“Wait.”
This time, he touched my elbow lightly, stopping me in my tracks.
“Would it be, like, very forward if I bought you another coffee? Maybe?”
I blinked, stunned. Was he serious? Was he asking me out?
My jaw slackened slightly, but my head moved on its own, nodding up and down before I could think.
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“Tim,” he said, sticking out a paint–streaked hand.
I took it, feeling a small jolt at the warmth of his grip. “Laura,” I replied, smiling despite myself.
“Well, Laura,” he said, his grin widening, “let me buy you that cup of coffee.”
DATE NIGHT
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