Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
A redwood forest, I believe.
And it’s painted from the perspective of Billy walking through it. Even though the strokes seem garishly unrefined, they actual give amazing texture to the tree trunks. He even managed to paint filtered light, and dappled shadows on the ground.
I wonder how he did it. Where did he get the inspiration, because I doubt Billy’s ever been able to walk through a redwood forest. I even wonder about the physical mechanics. While Billy’s arms are contracted in a bit, he must have some good fine motor skills in his hands. Blue had said he gets therapy several times a week to help his tightened muscles.
Glancing down, I read the bids made for the painting. There are several, the last one being $225.00, which is actually pretty generous compared to the bids I’d seen on other projects.
Without any doubt over what I’m doing, I pick up the clipboard and pen that’s attached via a piece of yarn, and I scrawl my bid under the most recent one. I have to leave my name and phone number as well, in case I win. I stare at it a moment before I set it back down on the table.
I’m totally going to win.
My job is done and I make my way out of the community room, down the staircase, and through the lobby. I point at Helen who beams back at me. “I’m sending you and Bobby some tickets to the next home game.”
Both hands come up to cover her mouth falling open in surprise. I’m at the door when she finally drops them to call out, “Thank you, Erik.”
I’m still grinning at her over my shoulder as I hear the electronic sliding door that leads out hisses open, and I manage to walk smack into someone, almost knocking them over.
My hands reach out blindly but by the time my head turns to see what this curvy softness I’m holding is, I already know it’s Blue. Her perfume is distinctive. It’s flowery but with tang. It’s how I imagine sunflowers would smell if I actually ever smelled one, all bright and sunny.
“Hey,” I say as I make sure she’s steady on her feet before releasing her.
“What are you doing here?” she exclaims with a slight tilt of the head.
I throw a thumb over my shoulder toward the lobby. “Oh, you were talking about the art auction a few days ago at dinner, so I thought I’d come and bid on a few pieces. Help raise money for their field trip.”
I can see it all flit across her face. Surprise, annoyance, uncertainty. Has this crossed the line she drew in the sand?
“Did you bid on Billy’s painting?” she asks.
It’s at this point as people brush by us that I realize we’re standing right in the doorway. I take Blue by the upper arm and lead her out and to the side so the electronic doors can shut.
When I release her, I answer her question. “Yeah…I bid on that and a few other things.”
Blue’s arms cross over her chest and her expression turns skeptical. “How much did you bid for that painting?”
“Don’t recall,” I say evasively.
“Erik,” she says in a warning tone.
“Fine,” I snap at her. “Five thousand dollars.”
“What?!?!” she exclaims as her eyes go wide.
Shoving my hands down into the pockets of my jeans, I mutter, “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s totally a big deal,” she retorts but I can hear the amusement underlying the annoyance. “That will finance their entire field trip.”
“Good,” I say emphatically. “That will make me happy.”
“Why will that make you happy?” Her eyebrows have narrowed in as if she’s starting to put things together.
“Because it will make Billy happy, which will in turn make you happy, and that will make me happy.”
“Erik,” Blue says with a long sigh, her words softening with the inevitable letdown.
“So I’m thinking dinner,” I cut in over her attempt to brush me off. “One date. That’s all I’m asking for.”
She smirks at me. “So you bid five thousand dollars on the painting to get a date with me?”
“Nah,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I did that for Billy. But if it softens you up in any way—”
“It doesn’t,” she cuts in.
I blink in surprise, because I really thought it would.
“You tried to make a date with me before.”
“I remember that,” I grit out.
“And it was painful the way in which I found out that you really didn’t want to see me again,” she points out.
I don’t say anything. I’d apologize again to her—hell, a million more times if she asks me to—but I get the feeling she wants something else.
“But I tell you what,” she murmurs as she steps in closer to me. We’re not touching, but only inches separate our bodies. “I’ll give you a chance to earn a date with me.”