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Jojo's packing up. She's leaving and she's never coming back, that's what she told him. The bed creeks as he looks up the ceiling, pondering on his next move. What will he do for the love of his life? He should say something. He really should.
Maybe he'll remind her of when they first met.
"Josephine's a timid one," Lilian said, "And she prefers to be called Jojo."
He smirked at the thought. "She said that – "
"Shush, Michael. Don't start with that." Her sister gave him a glare. "You told me you were looking for the best artist I know for acrylic and here she is. If you keep being rude, I'm not going to let you meet her."
Michael pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. Lilian merely rolled her eyes at his idiocy. If his boss, Darren, wasn't so keen on getting an acrylic paint artist before the day ended, he wouldn't have been desperate enough to ask Lilian.
Lilian knocked at the door and Michael couldn't help but snicker, earning a side eye glare from his sister. "Michael, shut up." She peeked through the door before pulling it open and revealing the studio.
Michael spotted her right away. Jojo was a tiny thing with a bright pink pixie cut. It wasn't that hard to find her. Lilian was already on her way to Jojo when their eyes met. Jojo blinked and so did he.
She looked so young and...precious. Like your mother's favorite flower in the garden. The one you're not allowed to pick.
And then she smiled.
Michael was a goner.
Should he tell her that he knew he was going to fall in love with her the moment she smiled?
He huffs and shakes his head. That sounds naïve. They've been together for three years and his pathetic way to reel her back in was to tell her it started with a smile. Her smile. Her glorious, infectious smile.
A clang comes from the kitchen and Michael goes back to reality. She must be taking the pots and pans. She should anyways. He can't cook to save his life. He feels gutted when he realizes he'll miss her cooking. Most importantly, he'll miss seeing her cook.
It's weird that out of everything Jojo cooks, his favorite was mac and cheese. Michael watched Jojo stir béchamel in the pot. Her arm remained stoic in the air as her wrists circulated, holding the wooden spoon.
Jojo always moved softly. Like she was as light as air and was always walking on clouds. Michael teased her of being a fairy. Maybe she was.
