I tune out, thinking of my ten a.m. class as Christmas music plays through my speakers. Having made this drive countless times, I move through the motions until I’m pulling behind our building and parking. I hustle inside, so I can get started with setting up.
I flick the lights on, and soft white light floods the back room. Setting my purse down on a workbench, I begin gathering brushes, palettes, and the acrylic paints I need. With my arms overflowing, I head out to our main room and drop my haul down on the giant rectangular table that sits in the middle of the room.
All of my classes this morning are full, so I prepare each individual station, complete with a layout of the brushes needed, a palette with all the colors of paint we’ll use, and a water cup to rinse the brush along with a stack of single-sheet paper towels next to it. I finish the setup with a twenty-four-by-thirty-six-inch canvas, a handwritten thank-you card, and a candy cane.
Before I know it, my first class is all checked in, brushes in hand, waiting for my instruction. I give a quick welcome speech, offer beverages, and then begin.
My morning classes fly by in a flurry of fun, laughter, and celebration. Some of my students are regulars, leaving more generous tips than they should. Some students are here with their mom or grandma. Some with their partners—a few enjoying the experience, a few with facial expressions resembling someone getting a root canal. Nonetheless, I enjoy every second of it.
During my quick break, I walk over to the coffee shop next door, Mugs, and grab a chocolate croissant and a hot chocolate. I am a chocolate lover through and through.
My first two afternoon classes go by just as fast as the morning ones, and soon enough, I am waiting for my last class to arrive. I check in the first few students and watch them pick out a spot, smiling as they read their card.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell them before I walk into the back room to use the restroom.
Quickly, I pee and wash my hands, hearing the bell on our door ring as I toss the paper towel in the trash.
Grabbing my favorite apron, I throw the loop over my head and tie it behind my back as I walk back to the main room. Lifting my head, I open my mouth to welcome the next student. However, this one is very familiar.
Sitting in a spot set up for a student is none other than Noelle. She smiles at me, and I smile back, hastily checking the iPad to see if she is really in this class. And three names down lies the distraction of the day, Noelle Evergreen. I check the box beside her name and walk over to her.
“Fancy seeing you here.” I gracefully sit next to her, my back against the counter.
Looking down at her lap, she blushes and smiles before meeting my eyes. “I was recently inspired to take a painting class, and I heard amazing things about The Bristle, this instructor specifically. So, here I am.”
My chest flutters at her words, but I don’t know if she’s flirting or just being nice to her new friend. But I don’t have much time to contemplate it before the bell rings again and a rush of people come through the door—a family, I imagine, from their dynamic. My chest tightens, and I instantly forget the giddiness Noelle just made me feel. I wonder what that is like. To have a built-in support system, a family to do activities like this with.
Instead of letting my real emotion show, I use a skill Nic taught me. Rising from my seat, I smile and lift my chin, greeting them. “Hello, everyone. Please pick a seat, and we will get started shortly. Who is your reservation under today?”
The woman of the group shushes the kids and turns to me. “Hi! We are the Smiths. Do you have a restroom we can use?”
Nodding, I point to the door close to the back room, labeledRestroom. “Right there.”
“Thank you,” she says, turning to her son.
The rest of the class files in shortly after, and I take my place at the head of the table with my back to the class and my canvas facing them.
My body and mind instantly step into the flow of things, and I give the first few instructions to the class. But this class feels so much different because I can’t help but sense Noelle in the room. And every time I glance back to the class to see if they are paying attention, Noelle is already looking at me. A few times, she instantly looks away, like she didn’t mean to stare.
We are about halfway through the painting, so I decide to take a stroll to see if anyone needs help as they finish the strokes of the evergreen branches.
Making my way through the group, I help with any little thing they need, and when I get to Noelle, I almost laugh, but thankfully, I catch myself. It is by far the worst one.
Her mouth is pursed and her cheeks pink as she says, “I know; I know. I’m definitely not good at this.” She laughs.
I giggle with her. “It’s honestly not a bad starting point. You just need more practice.”
She glances at her canvas, cringing a bit, and says, “I don’t know if more practice will fix this.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I smile and wander back up to the front.
In my element, I am in pure bliss as I finish teaching the rest of the painting. I get lost in the brushstrokes, the words and guidance flowing from my lips with ease from endless practice.
Putting the final white accents on the painting, I clap for the class, and they join in.
“Great work, everyone! Please feel free to mingle and finish your drinks while your painting dries. If you would like to pick it up after the holidays when we open, feel free! I can mark that in our system, so just let me know!”
As I make my lap around the room, looking at the canvases, the mom of the family approaches me. “This was amazing and so much fun. Can we arrange to pick up after the break?”
