The Deep Prick

~Chapter 4~

 
        She was in overalls, with long dirty blonde hair that waved down her back, right to the middle. A long lace scarf pulled her hair back and took the boyish quality away, just with a simple bow that was tied at the top of her head, just perfectly so. Her work boots were painted not intentionally, but accidentally, with colors of nature. She stood on a step stool, holding up a large fabric sign with one hand and with a drill in her other. Her pretty face, speckled with solar system-like freckles on her right cheek, expressed struggle, as she was having a hard time holding up the sign that said: Cobble Art Exhibition.

        Frances walked on the sidewalk of the quaint Oregon town, drinking a coffee. He had just exited the Thick as Thieves café, only two stores down from the Cobble Art Studio. He headed towards the girl on the stool and was just about to pass by, when she said, without even glancing behind her to see who it was, “hey… hey could you do me a favor?”

    Frances stopped in his tracks and looked up at the girl, whose body seemed to be stuck, just holding the sign and attempting to screw it in. “Me?” he asked.

    “Yeah you, can you get a screw from my back-right pocket?” She still could not look to see who she was talking to.

    “Sure,” Frances said, as he put down his coffee on the sidewalk and grabbed a screw from her pocket. Quite the intimate spot for Frances to retrieve a screw from a stranger, but he did. He reached up to hand it to her.

     The girl then said, “thanks, I keep dropping them... um, Sorry, could you get on the step stool and like hold up the sign, while I screw it in?”

      Uh sure.” Frances awkwardly stood behind her, holding up the sign, as she drilled the screw through the wood that held the fabric.

    “Thanks,” she said. Frances stepped down. The girl also stepped down, but mis-stepped. She stumbled from the step stool and fell right into Frances’ arms.

     “Thank you,” she said, breathing heavy and finally getting a good look at her helper.

      Frances chuckled and asked, “what’s your name?”

     “Grace... not graceful,” she said, with a bashful grin.

      Frances chuckled again. “I could tell.”

    She finally got her footing and looked up at the sign, making sure it looked good.

    “So, are you an artist?” Frances asked.

    “No. Yeah, kind of.” She looked away, then looked at Frances confused and snickered, “no, not really... well a little.”

     “You seem unsure.”

     “Why don’t you tell me,” she asked with lifted eyebrows.

     “What do you mean?”

     “Come check out my art and tell me what you think?”

     “Oh,” Frances said, not particularly confident.
     
     “Sorry...” she noticed his hesitation and replied, “...but I honestly would like someone else’s opinion. I just moved here like a week ago. It’s good to have some new perspectives on my stuff.”

     He replied, “well, okay, I mean I’m not an art expert, but I’ll give it a shot.”

     “Great,” she grinned big.

 
              *                *              *                                         
 
      The girl in overalls led the way through her apple orchard. Frances followed right behind, taking in the abundance of apple trees lining the area. Spotted deer, long eared wild rabbits and amber eyed foxes, grazed around casually, like they were at home.