𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

F O U R

[jolene hale]

I stand at the back table of the large studio building, a wide variety of blue paint laid out before me. I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and reach forward, grabbing two tubes. Cerulean Blue—a deep teal, navy mix. And Midnight Blue, a navy blue mixed with grey, creating a wonderfully deep color. I smile and return to my work table where my canvas lay. A commission I received has me replicating thermal imaging. A couple—too intimately comfortable with the rest of the world, is coming up on their five year anniversary and the wife wants me to paint a thermal imaging painting of her intimate photographs. As awkward as the commission makes me feel, it's enough money to put food on my table for two weeks just from one commission of two pictures. I take a seat and tilt the table to working level. I return to my work, ignoring the skating of my hands as I try to stay still. People pass the shop, peering in through the windows at the canvases and frames displayed on the walls. I ignore them and return to my work. A loud rumbling sounds outside and I look back at the door. A handsome man parks out front of the shop on a black motorbike. I watch him. He wears blue jeans, a pair of black cowboy boots, and a black t-shirt. His hair is short, but long enough to style. He climbs off the bike and steps inside the shop. I stand, approaching the front door as I wipe the paint off of my hands on a towel.

"Hey, Welcome to the Flytrap." I say, approaching him.

He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm in the wrong place, aren't I?" He asks. "I was supposed to stop by a Café and check on my little sister. But, this doesn't look like a café."

I shrug.

"Eh, depends on your definition of a café. I've got coffee in the back and a table up front. This place could be a café. But, if you're looking for the actual café, that's just next door." I say.

He nods.

"Right. I always do this. This is a really nice store though," He says, slowly spinning around to take everything in.

I smile and shrug.

"Thanks. The rent is expensive as Hell but, in the end, it's worth every penny." I say.

He raises an eyebrow and looks back at me.

"Wait, you own this place? This is your store?" He asks.

I nod.

"More or less. I mean, sure, My Mom and her Husband pay the rent and gripe every single day about it, but yeah, she's all mine." I say.

He stares at the canvases on the walls. One piece in particular catches his eyes more than the rest—a recreation of a still image of sailboats off the coast of Greece, a picture that was always framed somewhere within my childhood home.

"Any particular reason you called this place 'The Flytrap'?" He asks.

I smile and nod.

"It's a bit of an inside joke. My Mother wanted to name me Venus, like the planet, but when my Father heard Venus, he thought she meant like The Flytrap. It's just in homage to my Father." I say.

His smile drops and he looks back at me.

"Did he pass?" He asks.

I nod, frowning softly.

"Yeah, about a year before I finished art school. Been gone three years This Christmas." I say. "His insurance check is what's paying for this place, but he'd be happy to know that I got my dream."

He shakes his head and exhales sharply.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry," He says.

I shake my head and smile at him again.

"Don't be. He'd be happy to know that someone finally came into the store and asked about it's name." I say.

He wipes his hands off of his jeans and offers a hand.

"Sorry, I don't believe I got your name," He says.

I smile and shake his hand.

"Jolene," I reply.

He smiles, exposing a perfectly straight set of pearly white teeth hidden behind a pair of medium sized lips.

"You have a beautiful name," He says. "Reminds me of something good and sweet."

I smile, my cheeks warm and burning with blush.

"Most people just say it reminds them of the Dolly Parton song, Jolene." I say.

He shakes his head.

"Not me." He says. "Mind if I take a look?"

I shake my head.

"No, go ahead. If you find anything you like, let me know. I'll be at my desk in the back." I say.

I return to the table and continue working. He peers around at the pieces, staring the longest at the sailboat piece. I return to the paint on the canvas and blend two colors together to create another.

"Woah, that's... interesting." He says, peering over my shoulder.

I gasp and cover my face.

"Uh, yeah. It's commissioned. I would never paint this just for the fun of it." I state.

He chuckles and stares at it.

"It's really good actually. A little different than everything else in the shop, but good nonetheless." He says.

I spin around and stare up at him.

"Nude photography usually isn't my go-to for inspiration." I state. "As you can see, I usually just paint landscapes or posing people on City Streets."

He laughs and nods.

"I'm just messing with you. You've got a fantastic eye." He says.

I smile.

"Thanks." I say.

He clears his throat and points to the sailboat piece.

"I think I've found something I like. May I ask how much it costs?" He asks.

I stare at it and exhale. I approach the wall and remove it from it's hook, wrapping it up for him.

"Uh, it's your first piece so an even twenty and we're good." I say.

He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head.

"Woah, woah, twenty bucks? You're selling yourself way too cheap. Here," He says and reaches into his wallet. "It at least deserves this much."

He shoves the money into my hand and nods. I open my palm and spot a crisp one-hundred dollar bill folded up in the palm of my hand.

"Holy Shit," I exclaim, covering my mouth. "No, I can't take this. Seriously."

He shoves my hand back towards me and smiles.

"Keep the change. Besides, if you're available and ever want to talk, maybe you can take me out for a drink." He says.

He grabs the bag with the canvas in it and approaches the door.

"Wait! I never got your name! Where can I find you?" I ask.

He smiles and walks back over, sets the bag down at his feet, and grabs a pen from his pocket. He takes my hand in his and writes his number, his penmanship neat and easily legible.

"Graham. I'm a firefighter just up the hill with the Chicago Fire Department." He says. "If you ever need us, just call me at this number. Even if it isn't an emergency."

I smile and hang my mouth open. He winks and walks to the door.

"I'll just be next door if you need me," He says, waving goodbye.

I wave and watch him walk a few feet away towards the café. I return to my table and try to finish these pieces to get them out of my shop.