CHAPTER 27
MAPLE
I stare at the link for a ride that Graydon sent me to get me to work this morning and swipe out of his text thread.
I couldn’t possibly click on it. Not after yesterday. I don’t want him thinking I need him in my life.
So instead, I order my own car and head outside when the app says the car is one minute away.
I feel exhausted.
I didn’t sleep well last night, constantly tossing and turning, thinking about Graydon even though I didn’t want to.
I wonder what got into him on Monday if it wasn’t about the texts I sent.
He almost seemed confused when I was talking to him about it, like he couldn’t quite understand why I brought it up.
Was I overthinking what happened on Saturday?
Probably, but insecurity runs deep inside me when it comes to this man.
Our entire “relationship” started off with him making fun of my pants, followed by him acting practically insulted at the thought of having to be attached to me, solidifying the thought in my head that I was not good enough for him.
Not that I was looking to start anything at that time.
And yes, Friday night, at our event, it changed things. We kissed, for crying out loud, and now…God, now I feel like if I even look at him, I might start crying…or jump in his arms and beg him to talk to me, to tell me what’s going on in that head of his.
And I hate it.
Because I don’t want to be that person.
I don’t want to be the cliché who gets hurt, then goes crawling back to the person who hurt them. I’m stronger than that.
Yet there is a voice in the back of my head saying, What if he was hurting?
It doesn’t matter.
Even if he was hurting, he didn’t need to take it out on me.
I will not be treated like that.
My car pulls to the curb, and I get in and buckle up before pulling up my text thread with Everly.
Maple: He sent me a link this morning for a ride.
The car takes off down the road as she texts me back.
Everly: Well, if anything, he’s consistent. How are you feeling?
Maple: Like total shit.
Everly: That’s to be expected. I’m sorry he was a dick to you.
Maple: I’d like to say he’s always been a dick to me, but that’s not true at all. He’s showed me genuine kindness and thoughtfulness, and I think that’s what makes this hurt even more. It’s so stupid. It’s not as if we’re a real couple.
Everly: You don’t have to be a couple to develop feelings, Maple.
Maple: Yeah, I guess so. Ugh. I wonder if he’ll come to the zoo today. I told him not to, but who knows what he’ll do. Hank will probably freak out on him.
Everly: I’d love to see Hank try to tell Graydon what to do. Nice guy, but he doesn’t have a chance against him.
Maple: He tried yesterday, but it fell flat the moment Graydon barked at him.
Everly: I’m sure Hank had something to say afterward.
Maple: He started to talk about Graydon, but I cut him off. I told him I didn’t want to get into it. He asked if I wanted to grab something to eat, and I told him no, that I just wanted to go back to my place.
Everly: You should have come here. Hardy made burgers on the grill.
Maple: As much as I would have loved to spend time with you and sulk on your couch, I can’t intrude on you every time something goes to shit in my life.
Everly: I don’t mind.
Maple: I know, and I love you for that, but you’re a newlywed couple and deserve your time together.
Everly: But we’d drop anything for you. Even our pants if that’s what you’re into. *Wiggles eyebrows*
Maple: LOL! Needed that.
Everly: Try to have a good day today, and if anything, just immerse yourself in your flamingo friends.
Maple: Now that is something I can do.
I spend the rest of the trip trying to pick out a picture I can post today on Flock and Tackle to keep the momentum going, but I’m struggling with what shot to go with. Ugh, I’ll figure it out at lunch.
When I arrive at the zoo, I thank my driver and head to the employee entrance, then straight back toward the flamingo exhibit. My head is down as I read an article about a new study on flamingos in captivity, so I don’t even notice Phil when I run directly into him.
“Oh, goodness. I’m so sorry,” I say as I try to right my balance. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”
“Maple, just the person I was looking for. Wanted to get your reaction.”
“My reaction to what?” I ask as he holds his phone up to me and acts like he’s recording.
“Gretchen is going to love this. Go ahead, look.”
He nods toward the right. Thoroughly confused, I turn toward the flamingo exhibit, then gasp as I take in the wall that has separated the guests from the flamingos for so many years.
The wall that’s been an eyesore.
The wall that has hurt my heart every time I see people walk right by it as if they can’t be bothered to catch a glimpse of the flamingos.
But now, the chicken wire doesn’t even seem like it’s there, and the wall is covered in bright, almost fluorescent colors, flamingos everywhere in multiple colors, not just pink, but green and blue and yellow.
Text boxes pop out with cute statements like “I love flamingos” and “Save the flamingos” and…
Oh my God.
On the farthest end of the wall, where one of my fellow zookeepers is already taking a picture, is the phrase “Single and ready to flamingo.”
There’s no way.
No.
He didn’t do this.
Did he?
Does he even know how to paint? Did he hire someone?
Wait, no, he wouldn’t do this, right? He was…he was so rude, dismissive, would he really do something as kind…as wonderful as this?
“What do you think?” Phil asks as tears start to prick at my eyes.
“I…I love it so much,” I say as I walk up to the wall and take in the simple yet fun design, my mind whirling with what this will do and how this will help.
I can see it already. The families who’ll want to take pictures in front of it, who will come to the flamingos just to see the mural once I post about it.
This is…this is a game changer.
“This is so incredible.” I run my finger over the wall. “How? Who did this?”
“A friend to the flamingos,” Phil says as he lowers his phone. “Glad you like it. I believe the person has to finish up the left side, but for the most part, it’s done. And do you like how they made the chicken wire almost seem like it’s disappeared?”
“Yes,” I say as I run my fingers over the black-painted wire. “This is…this is so amazing.” I turn to Phil and hand him my phone. “Can you take a picture of me in front of it?”
“Of course,” he says with a smile.
I pose in front of the wall, and he snaps a few pictures before he hands me my phone back.
He takes off, talking about how great the wall is, all while I stand there and stare for a few moments, taking in every stroke, every little detail.
And that’s when some things start to fall into place.
A flamingo in a yellow dress.
A flamingo eating tacos.
A flamingo wearing a football helmet.
A flamingo holding up a phone with his wing, taking a selfie.
It’s subtle, but it seems like they’re all hints.
Hints as to who did this.
I can’t believe it. I really can’t…
In shock, I send a text to Everly with a picture of me in front of the brilliant colors.
Maple: Showed up at work to find this. Oh God, Everly, I think he painted it.
She’s quick to text back, thankfully, as I make my way into the flamingo building.
Everly: Oh my God! Why do you think that? Can he even paint?
Maple: No idea, but all these hints in the mural lead me to believe that it’s him.
Everly: And if it is?
And if it is? Such a good question. If it is Graydon, I think he’s using a way other than words to say he cares. That he has heard me. That he’s sorry.
Maple: I don’t know. I think he might have just stolen my battered heart.
But can I actually let him take it?
This has been the longest day ever.
It has dragged on.
I swear, anytime I check the clock, only five minutes have passed.
I take a long lunch, debating on texting Graydon, but every time I think about it, a piece of me pulls away because of how he hurt me.
I resign myself to work instead, and focus on talking to guests and watching in excitement as everyone is pulled toward the mural. They’re forming big crowds, to the point that Phil set up a kiosk next to it with flamingo merchandise—which has sold out twice today.
I hate to admit that his merch idea works, but it does.
The whole thing has transformed an area that was once just walked by into a prominent attraction at the zoo.
All because of some paint.
“The wall’s pretty cool,” Hank says, coming up to me. “I wonder who Phil paid to do it. Smart idea.”
“Was it his idea?” I ask.
Hank shrugs. “Seems like it, given the kiosk. Also heard him talking about getting some T-shirts made ASAP with the phrases on them. He’s going all in.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I say. If anything, Phil is an opportunist.
Phil walks up to us with the biggest smile on his face. “We ran out of flamingo stuffed animals. We put in an order for so many more. This is incredible.”
“Great idea with the wall,” Hank says, patting Phil on the shoulder.
“Oh, it wasn’t my idea, but I’m certainly exploring how we can apply this to every exhibit moving forward.”
Of course he is.
I roll my eyes and then step forward into the crowd, lingering in case anyone wants to ask questions.
“Go ahead,” a mom says. “I think you can ask her.”
A cute little girl with pigtails walks up to me and says, “Why are the flamingos pink?”
I squat down and start explaining to her in simple terms why they’re pink just as a group of people start cheering, pulling my attention.
“Back up, please. Back up,” a man with a deep voice says.
I stand up just in time to spot Graydon walk through the crowd and head on over to the left side of the mural.
My heart trips in my chest as he keeps his gaze down, then settles in front of the wall.
Whispers erupt all around, while I will my lungs to find air to breathe. When he lifts his hand with a paintbrush grasped in his fingers and starts painting, I can feel every single bone in my body start to melt.
I knew it.
It was him.
It had to be him.
But…how? How did he do all of this in one night?
Phil must catch me staring as he comes up to me. “I heard from security that he was out here painting until three in the morning.”
My pulse rages in my veins, almost drowning out the noise around me.
“Three in the morning?” I ask.
“Yeah. Said he would have finished if he didn’t have to go to training camp.”
God, he must not have gotten any sleep by the time he cleaned up, drove home, and had to leave for training camp.
He stayed up all night?
“This was his idea?” Hank asks, walking up to us.
“It was,” Phil says. “Genius. He took a time-lapse of himself painting it last night. I’m sure he’ll share it with you to post. But this…
this is exactly what we need to revive this zoo.
Good work, Maple.” Phil pats me on the back, then takes off as I stare at Graydon, watching him concentrate on finishing his work.
Oh my God, what am I supposed to do now?