Page 9 of Pining for Pierce
“It can be,” she says, smiling at me, as she kneels up and removes a few storage containers from the backpack. As usual, she’s brought a picnic, even though we didn’t arrange for her to do so. That’s another thing about her. She knows me wellenough to realize I have a habit of forgetting to eat, and I lean a little closer.
“One day, I’ll bring the food.”
“No, you won’t.”
She never goes overboard, usually bringing sandwiches and potato chips, but as she removes the lids, my stomach grumbles at the sight of sliced cold cuts and cheeses, olives, tomatoes, crackers and wedges of watermelon.
“This looks amazing,” I say, and she rolls her eyes, her lips twisting upward.
“Mom left me with so much food, I had to do something with it.”
I reach over for a slice of salami, popping it in my mouth. “I’m not complaining.”
“Somehow, I didn’t think you would.”
The food is delicious, and we graze on it for a while, until we’ve both had enough, and I help Harley pack the boxes in the backpack, before she pulls out a book, rolling up her jacket to use as a pillow, and settles down to read. I pick up my sketchpad and rifle through my jacket pockets until I find my pencils, sitting beside her, and focusing on the scene in front of us. It’s one I’ve sketched many times before, but I like it. The way the creek twists here makes it more interesting, and for about twenty minutes, we sit in silence, both absorbed by what we’re doing, until I let out a sigh and Harley puts down her novel, like she knows that means something.
“Are you okay?” she asks, turning onto her side, balancing on one elbow and looking up at me.
It’s like she’s psychic, and I smile down at her. “My dad called yesterday morning.”
She nods her head. “I see.”
“You know what he wanted, don’t you?”
She frowns. “Let me guess… to grumble about you wasting your time painting?”
“Close,” I say. “He actually wanted to grumble about me wasting my time painting,andworking in an antiques store.”
“My parents own that antiques store, I’ll have you know.” She’s smiling, and I have to smile back, regardless of the memory of yesterday’s conversation. It was nothing new, but it still rankles that he won’t let me live my own life.
“As if I could forget. Without them, I’d have had to move back in with my father.”
“Would you?” she asks. “Would you have moved back in with him?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I didn’t want to, and I think if that had been my only option, I’d probably have left town.”
She sucks in a slight breath and nods her head. “I thought you might.”
“As it is, I’m here, grateful for your parents’ generosity, and that I’ve got a roof over my head… even if Dad won’t stop bemoaning the fact that I chose to study fine art instead of law.”
“It’s not your fault you didn’t want to follow in his footsteps.”
I shudder at the thought. “Try telling him that. He’s sure as hell not listening to me.”
“Maybe he never will,” Harley says.
“You think we’re gonna spend our lives butting heads?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t see your dad changing his ways… and I don’t see why you should have to give up your dreams just to please him. You’d make yourself miserable.”
“I sure would,” I say, putting down my pencil so I can focus on her, smiling slightly as she tips her head, a hair falling across her face. I reach out and tuck it behind her ear and she bites on her bottom lip, gazing up at me as I shake my head. “Do you know… it would be nice if Dad could show a little faith.”
“In what?”
“Me. Or at least in my abilities. I’ve had quite a few commissions now, and although I know I’m not making enough from my paintings to earn a living, I still believe it’ll happen.”
“I’m sure it will,” she says, reaching out and placing her hand on my arm. “You’re really good, Pierce.”
