One of Those Faces (3)

Erin resumed setting up the painting supplies around the room. “Coffee can only do so much, you know. Sleep is what you need.”

“I know.” It had been almost a week since I’d slept more than two hours per night. The fear of nightmares usually kept me up until morning. “I’ll be able to sleep better once I finish the illustrations for that book.”

“You’re still working on that?” Erin lifted some folded easels and handed one to me.

It had only been a couple of months. Sometimes that type of work could take six months or more with the back-and-forth changes between author and artist. “Yes,” I muttered. Of course she didn’t know that. Why bother explaining?

“I never see you,” she whined, leaning across the counter toward me.

“I saw you on Saturday.”

“Yeah, but you were teaching here, and then you went straight home after.” She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you went out . . . in public?”

“I actually went to the bookstore today. And I even spoke to a person,” I said with a bite of sarcasm.

“The barista?” She snorted. “That doesn’t count.”

To me, it did. I remembered Jawline. “Not just the barista. Some guy came up to me.” I looked up as I unfolded the legs of the easel.

Erin’s mouth was open and her eyes at full attention. “And? Was he cute? What did he say?”

I shrugged. “He was kind of . . .” Annoying? No. He was just . . . unexpected?

“What’s his name?”

“I didn’t ask, because I’m not interested.”

Erin’s face dropped. “Why not?”

“Eh,” I sighed.

She leaned forward again. “Come on, why not?”

You shouldn’t have said anything. You know how she is.

“I don’t know,” I groaned. Yes, you do. “I mean, it’s weird. Who goes up to a stranger like that?”

She frowned and pushed away from the counter. “He’s outgoing. That’s how you meet people!” She grabbed a paintbrush and set it by one of the ten easels around the room. “It’s either that or Tinder.”

I ignored her and unwrapped my paintbrushes, slowly removing each one from the canvas cloth.

She watched me through narrowed eyes. “What’s the real reason? Did he have a full-face tattoo or something?”

“Let it go,” I said, twisting the hairband on my wrist between my fingers until it snapped in half. To Erin, friendship was like a game of tug-of-war. Once she latched on to something, she just couldn’t leave it alone. She relished the moments when she could pry away more information about my past, boys, or random details about my day.

She turned her back to unlock the front glass door. “Well, I think—”

The desk phone rang. I was halfway across the room, but I bounded for it, grateful for the distraction. I picked up on the second ring. “Tipsy Paintbrush,” I panted. My voice didn’t hit quite the chipper high pitch that Erin reached effortlessly when she answered or greeted customers.

“Hi,” a man’s voice said on the line. “I, uh, registered for the class tonight, but I won’t be able to make it. Can I get a refund?”

His voice was calm and deep. Mellow and smooth.

“We don’t give refunds,” I said.

Erin flapped her hands wildly and mouthed something as she approached.

I didn’t bother trying to read her lips.

“Oh, okay. Is there a way to reschedule then?” the man asked.

I fumbled for the clipboard with the registration information. “What’s your name?”

“Iann.”

I scanned the page. Iann Park. Spelled it with two n’s. That was a first. “Okay, I see you on the list,” I said, cradling the phone on my shoulder and marking a line through his name. “I can sign you up for a different class this week if that’s what you want.”

He hesitated. “Okay. What about Friday?”

I turned away from Erin. “I wouldn’t sign up for that one if I were you,” I said in a hushed voice. “It’s a garden gnome painting.”

There was a long pause. “Did you say garden gnome?”

I smiled. I had told her that was a stupid theme, but she claimed she was aiming for a “new demographic,” whatever that meant. “Yep. I would suggest coming to tomorrow night’s class if you can. It’s paint-your-pet night.”

“Okay, I’ll come in tomorrow night then. And ‘paint your pet’ means you put paint on your pet, or do I need to bring a picture or something?”

I stifled a laugh. “No, leave your pet at home, but bring a picture.”

“Yeah.” He exhaled softly. “That was a bad joke. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thanks.”

I lingered on the line for a moment before hanging up.

Erin grabbed two bottles of wine from the counter as the first group of women drifted in. “You could’ve been a little more polite,” she said.

I bit my lower lip, trying to refrain from rolling my eyes.

“You’re going to finish cleaning those glasses on the counter, right?”

I picked up the dish towel and lightly ran it over one of the glasses as Erin greeted the women.