Who would see me? Who would judge me? What did it matter if I went about this in a way that worked for me? I was the only one here.
I dump everything out onto the drop cloth so I can see it all laid out.
It's fully dark outside when I stop and take in my little studio space. Sure, I was using a couple of boxes as tables, and I could benefit from a shelf or two, but overall, it wasn't bad.
Still a mess, David's voice echoed in my head, level, calm, and so condescending.
He wouldn’t be wrong. But it was my mess. My life.
I pull out my phone and open my conversation with Cillian.
We'd only hung out once since he took me into the city a little over a week ago. I joined him, Lucy, Oliver, and some other friends for a beach day. It was an exceptional time, even if the water was frigid by my standards.
Beach access was absolutely going in the pros column for New England. Not something I'd been anticipating.
Even though we hadn't had much face-to-face time, we hadn't stopped talking.
Our text chain was a constant flow of random side conversations, suggestions for places I might like—he'd even recommended the local art supply store I'd been at earlier—and, admittedly, some spicier things. All were great, but the best part may be how he hadn’t once gotten touchy when I didn't respond immediately. No passive-aggressivehellos or quips about something beingmore important than him.
It was my life. And I wanted to enjoy it. I muster up an ounce of courage and text Cillian.
Got any plans Sunday night?
CHAPTER 13
Cillian
“That can go here,”Lucy points beside her table.
“This is why I don't agree to these things.” I set the box down with a huff. “You always turn me into a pack mule.”
“Oh, please.” She opens the plastic tub, directing me to start pulling carefully wrapped jewelry and small sculptures out. “You don't come because you've turned into a boring old man.”
I rub the place over my heart. “Damn, already been shot in the chest once, Lu.”
“Not funny.” She pretends to adjust the intricate chest piece she wears over a leather bustier.
“Come on.” I set the piece I was unwrapping down and try to pull her toward me.
She half-heartedly pushes me away. “Get off me!”
“Nope.”
She rests her chin on my shoulder with a huff, giving in to the hug. “You know I don't find that shit funny.” She was right, I did. Lucy hated my gallows humor.
“I know.” I plant a kiss on her temple and hold her at arm's length. “Forgive me?”
She huffs a sigh. “I guess. But only if you help me pack up.”
I was already planning on it. “Fair.”
Several other vendors and performers stop by as we set up, awestruck by Lucy’s work.
When one of them leaves, I ask, “Am I actually a boring old man?”
“Maybe Toni will make you fun again,” she says.
“I’m being serious.” I don’t know why, maybe it’s turning forty looming in a few years, but it’s bothering me.
