22. Fallon
Chapter twenty-two
Fallon
“All right, be quiet for like five minutes so I can finish this painting, and then you can go home,” I tease, but it's true.
“I’m not in a rush,” he says. “Take your time.”
He might not be in a rush, but I am. I just freaking asked him if he liked screaming. What was I thinking? I haven’t been touched in over seven months, and now I feel like I’m Miss Inappropriate Horndog.
Concentrate, Fallon. Finish the painting.
Jeb moves to sit on the end of the dock, letting his toes dip in the water. It’s perfect because that’s the exact position I need him to be in to finish the painting.
Is it crazy that I don’t want him to leave?
I can’t figure out if it’s the camaraderie or the mutual safe space we’ve crafted, but Jeb feels more like an old friend than the random guy who inadvertently changed the trajectory of my life.
He’s thoughtful, kind, caring of my emotions, and I don’t think he’s doing it because he feels like he owes me. We’re both doing this for the same reasons now.
Friendship. Companionship. Laughter.
Having someone who doesn’t look at you with sadness or pity.
I waste time thinking, and five minutes come and go, but Jeb doesn’t mention it. He sits there, contently, watching the birds fly by.
Fifteen silent minutes later, I finally finish. Well, it could use a few bits of white for highlights, but the painting is too wet for that right now. I’ll look at it with a fresh set of eyes tomorrow and fix any spots that need touching up, but I can’t wait to show him.
“It’s done,” I shout down to Jeb. He stands, sliding his feet into his flip-flops, striding toward me.
“Can’t wait to see it,” he says, coming my way.
“Wait.” He stops abruptly with my command. “Let me do a reveal. Close your eyes.”
Holding the wet canvas by the sides with only my thumbs, I rotate the easel on the table to face him. I stand next to it, with my phone propped against the easel, to record his reaction. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”
He does so, blinking a few times. He walks closer to the painting, propping his sunglasses on his head to get a better look.
“That’s you.” I want to make sure he knows it’s not Rhett that I painted. Not that I think Rhett is any kind of competition to him, but because I want him to know he’s the one I picture fishing on the pier.
“Fallon.” The way he looks at me and the way he says my name with a kind of wispy, deep rasp has goose bumps spreading over my body. His eyes search mine before he admires the painting again.
“This is… It’s so good. I can’t believe you painted this. You painted me.”
“Do you like it?”
"No one has ever done anything for me like this before." He breathes deeply, staring intently.
"No creative ex girl-friends?"
"Creative, sure. But none of them would have taken the time to include me like this. I feel like I’m there.”
“You are there.” I Vanna-White my arms toward the Chetta.
“Yeah, but I look at that painting and want to run and jump off the dock or put a rod in and sit next to Painting Jeb.”
“That’s the goal.”
“You hit the goal then. Wow.”
I stand next to Jeb to examine the painting from his point of view. He puts his arm around my waist in a side hug, like we’ve casually embraced thousands of times. “It’s unbelievable. Your talent is extraordinary. There’s no way you should have been able to paint this in one afternoon.”
“I haven’t been creative in a long time outside of work. I guess the energy was ready to flow.”
“Flow, it did,” he says, mesmerized. Jeb digs his fingers into my hip like part of a natural reflex.
I grab my camera, stop the recording, and then turn the camera around to snap a picture of us. “Smile,” I tell him, taking a photo, my head rested on his shoulder.
He gazes down at me; I can see it on the screen. He tilts his head, pressing his lips to my hair—not a kiss, just a press. My cheeks flush. His eyes close. I’m watching it all through the camera, snapping pictures. It all happens so fast.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I do. I’m honored that you painted me. I’m amazed, I really am, Fallon.” He takes a step back, slipping his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks,” I say.
Jeb and I have had a wonderful day—beyond wonderful—and I didn’t even have to try. It all came naturally. I don’t feel exhausted like I normally do if I “people” too hard, having to be on all day. Instead, I’m left feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. I could run a 5k or stay up late and read a whole book.
“Well, I guess this hangout is over. We practically ate all the food and drank half of the drinks,” I add.
“Keep the rest of the drinks here. You can drink them, or we can have them next time I come over.”
“Which will be…”
“Whenever you need me.” He slinks toward his truck, and I follow him.
“Or whenever I invite you.”
“Or whenever I take a jog and see you outside.”
“Or that,” I say with a smile. “And if you don’t see me, you can knock or come around back if you see my car in the driveway.”
“Sounds good.” He opens his truck door, sitting the container of worms on the passenger seat.
“I had a lot of fun today. I hope you don’t think I overstayed my welcome. I can’t believe it’s almost seven thirty. The day flew by.”
“Well, you did have a two-hour nap,” I jest, my hand on my hip.
He smiles. “I knew you’d mention that the second the words came out of my mouth.”
“Thanks for bringing all the supplies,” I tell him as he climbs in his truck.
“Thanks for inviting me over. And the painting. I’m blown away by your talent.” He shuts the door and starts his truck before rolling down the window.
“That means a lot. I’m happy to be feeling creative again.” I stretch my hand and forearm lengthwise on his open window.
He links his pinky with mine. “I love to see your creativity.” He gives it a squeeze, and I can’t help but look at our hands with a smile. He shifts into reverse, our pinkies still linked.
“I guess I should go,” he says, and I back away from his truck.
“See ya, Jeb.” I wave as he pulls out.
“Thanks for a great day,” he yells out his window, his truck already on the road.
“He held my pinky. He squeezed it,” I squeal to Shay on the phone. I’ve been smiling mindlessly for the past week.
“Did he kiss you, too, or are we only squealing about a pinky squeeze?”
“Shay. The whole freaking thing. Okay, let me just send you a picture. You’ll understand in a minute.”
I send four pictures. Jeb sitting on the pier, me with the fish I caught, him with his lips on my head when we were admiring the painting, and at the last second I add one of Jeb sleeping in the hammock for good measure.
Shay video calls me immediately.
“Fallon Charlotte. What in the fuck is happening here?” She winks and smiles, raising her eyebrows up and down. “How long was he there? He took a freaking nap?”
“Probably… I don’t know… eight hours? Maybe eight and a half?”
“He came over on Sunday for eight hours?”
I spell everything out: the fishing, the food, the hammock, the painting, the side hug, and the kissing of the fish. I left out the part where I asked him if he liked screamers. Shay would have a field day with that one.
“So are you guys, like, dating, then?”
“No. God no. I’m not ready to date yet. And either is he.”
“Okayyyyyy, so just friends?”
“Yes, we are friends.”
“Who hug and paint each other and do weird pinky squeezes?”
“Yes, but in his defense, I started the pinky squeezing at the fundraiser.”
“Your work fundraiser?” The pitch of her voice increases by an octave.
“Yeahhhhhh, and judging by the look on your face, I didn’t tell you Jeb and I went together?”
“You went WITH Jeb?”
“As friends.”
“You went with Jeb as friends who squeeze each other’s pinkies?”
“Well, it wasn’t a thing until then. Someone at our table was talking about Rhett, so Jeb held my pinky with his under the table for the rest of the conversation.”
“Honestly, Fally. This couldn’t get any fucking cuter if you tried.”
“Shay. Don’t get any ideas. We are just friends who have the same traumas.”
“Because he killed Rhett.”
“Because he had a medical emergency that caused the accident that killed Rhett.”
“Have you guys kissed?”
“No! I just said we’re friends.”
My phone dings and it’s a picture message from Jeb.
“Hold on, he just sent me a picture.”
“If it’s a dick pic, I swear I’ll fall to the floor right here in the middle of this airport.”
“Let me see what it is, but rest assured you won’t be lying on a grimy airport floor.” I open the picture. “It’s Jeb holding a napkin at Roasters Café. It’s one I designed.”
I bite my bottom lip and smile, perplexed, forgetting Shay can see me.
“That’s cute as shit. How did he know you designed that?”
“I’m not sure.” I try to recall mentioning Roasters Café or meeting anyone from the fundraiser, but nothing comes to mind.
“All right, I gotta go.” Shay almost drops the phone. “I’m almost to the boarding gate. I need to figure out if they’re lining up or not.”
“Have a safe flight.”
“Let me know if you and Jebby Boy hang out again!”