Chapter 35
The art store in the mall is bigger than I remember.
Maybe they expanded? I haven’t been here in forever, and the last time was with all my sisters so they could figure out craft gift ideas for Mom for Christmas, but that’s been a few years now.
Thankfully, they have a lot of different sized brushes, even some that fit my big ham hands.
Less thankfully, they have a staggering variety of paint colors and finishes, so finding a small tube of glow-in-the-dark white paint that will work on ceilings takes a while.
Three customer service people and one surly cashier later, I’ve got what I need and we can head out.
That took longer than expected, so we’re gonna skip the candle store today—there wasn’t anything there I desperately needed for what I’m doing; I just thought it sounded really fun.
Al drives us over to the big home repair store so he can get a few things.
Paul grabs a cart while Al grabs a basket, but I don’t think there’ll be any problems trying to carry a few cans of paint, so I don’t bother with anything but myself before heading to the paint section.
While I’ll need to look at pillows and stuff for the nest, the bed isn't set up, so it’s not like I can do much more at Nests-N-Stuff than feel samples and make plans.
I bought a mattress, but it’s just sitting on the platform base wrapped in plastic.
Still, it’ll be a nice starting point for future plans.
So, I’m going to grab a couple of swatches to pocket for the paints I’m getting made.
That way, there’s a solid reference point for pillow colors.
Al might not want an omega, and I might be doing all this for nothing because none of us are in a relationship right now—but it makes me feel like I’m working towards a goal and it gives me something to focus on.
Not quite Zen, but at least I’m being productive with my free time.
I mostly think in pictures, so I have what I want to do for the walls and ceiling in my head, and it still makes my mind spin seeing all the color options available.
What I see in my head isn’t always possible, and I don’t have the art skills to do a lot of the stuff that pops in there, but holy shit!
So many colors. Just the variations of turquoise boggle my poor brain.
They aren’t all labeled as turquoise, of course.
There are at least four different variations on cyan, teal, and aqua.
Sea glass is amazing, but way too light for what I need.
There’s a really nice navy blue that would be a good start to the top of the sky I want to paint, but of course it isn’t called navy blue; it’s called expressions.
This sort of thing is why I’m going to need to take swatches with me.
Thankfully, I won’t need full gallons of each one. So, I’m able to get a few quart cans for some of the gradient tones I need and a “true black”—whatever that means. Then I get a gallon each of the colors for the top and bottom…and I probably should have gotten a cart after all.
The guy who’s mixing my paint for me has a nose ring and a lot of eye makeup.
It looks good on him, but he also looks bored out of his mind, and I’m not really good at making small talk most of the time.
So I tell him I need to get a cart, getting ready to bolt towards the front.
He gives me a bit of a lip curl, probably worried that I’ll run off and leave all the paint I had mixed, but I’ve spent too much time getting these colors just right to abandon them now.
Spinning on my heel, I plow straight into Paul’s cart, where he’s been standing behind me for who knows how long.
He makes a loud grunt when the handlebar slams into his stomach, and I come close to racking myself on the front corner.
These things are fucking dangerous. Who the hell decided crotch-high was a good area for a pointy edge?
Looking around, I remember that it’s not that high on everybody, and I’m just kind of a freak…
but still…put some bumpers on that damned thing. Fucking ouch.
Paul looks at my plethora of cans on the counter before smiling and shaking his head.
“I thought you might need this.” He waggles the demonic trolley in my direction.
“You never realize how much you need until you’re balancing three jugs of milk and trying to carry a loaf of bread without crushing it, man.
” I look at what he’s already put into it and see a couple of small chisels, a box of finishing nails, and some wood screws.
He didn’t need the stupid thing; he just got it for me, and I feel like he deserves a hug as thanks, but he’d probably just brush it off as not being manly enough.
Not that Paul goes into the whole toxic masculinity thing.
He’s super relaxed about showing affection at home, but he’s also a private kind of guy.
It’s not like we have any sort of relationship other than familial, but I like to think we’re close enough that we can talk about anything.
Lots of guys have problems with emotional constipation, but Paul is cool.
Al has problems with it sometimes; he doesn’t want to tell me why he’s so against having an omega, but I’ll find out, eventually.
I smile my thanks at him and load up the cart he brought over before taking it off his hands and starting up the main aisle, keeping an eye out for Al.
He said he needed a couple of tools, but he didn’t go in the same direction as Paul when we came in, so I double back and sure enough, he’s standing near the checkout lanes, scrolling through his phone with a look of concentration.
It’s probably his email—even when he’s off work for a week, he can’t seem to stop.
The guy needs to take a break for his mental health.
I swear, he doesn’t have an off button for his brain. How does he even sleep?
He looks up as we approach, taking in all of my paint cans in the cart and shaking his head, a small smile on his face.
“So, Spence, what exactly are you doing in that room? I mean, aren’t you supposed to wait for the omega to make decisions on what she wants?
” His logic is sound, there’s no denying that.
But if we bring someone home, I want them to feel at home.
I want them to see the potential of all of us, not just a big empty space.
Plus, it’s just paint. We can change it whenever we need to.
Also, when I saw the skylight, my brain just threw out a whole bunch of ideas; it would be a shame to waste them.
I’m not sure how exactly I can get all the swirls and colors looking just right, but that’s what the internet is for.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t picturing the sweet omega from this weekend all cozy and cuddly, tucked into a room I designed.
Even just lying on the floor with me, watching the stars through the skylight while I try to pick out the different stuff I’m going to paint on the walls.
It might never happen. I know she’s just visiting.
Maybe I’m trying to manifest my desires through visualization and planning.
Or maybe I’m just hoping like hell to run into her again at work.
Her beta, Greg, said that she isn’t exactly looking for a pack, but I seemed like a nice guy and he asked if I was interested in getting to know her better.
I couldn’t help laughing, because of course I want to get to know the pretty little woman better, even if she just needs a friend, like Kelly. I like having friends.
He tried to choke back a laugh at my answer…
I’m not sure which part was so funny. Maybe I sounded like an idiot saying that I like making friends, but so what?
It’s true. And it doesn’t hurt to be nice to people.
You can always be an asshole later if you need to.
Mom always said you never get a second chance to make a first impression.