Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
We make it three days before I get the opportunity to bring the mural up to June.
I’d been biding my time, trying not to scare or pressure her, but after doing some research on my own, I saw the deadline is in just two weeks, so I couldn’t wait endlessly until the perfect moment.
It doesn’t help that we’ve both been terribly busy.
She’s been staying at my rental with me since it’s closer to the office, only stopping home to get some things and bring them to mine.
But on Wednesday morning, I got my opening when she asked if we could spend the night at her place so she could pack some orders.
“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” she asks as we reach her door after walking four flights of stairs, since the elevator is broken.
She pulls out a set of keys, a dozen colorful keychains on it, before unlocking her door and pushing it open.
“I know you’ve never been here, but I feel so grimy from being outside sweating all day.
” We finally reach her door, and she pulls out a set of keys, a dozen colorful keychains on it, before unlocking her door and pushing it open.
“Of course,” I say distractedly. My mind tumbles over thoughts and ideas, wondering just how much maneuvering I would have to do for June to hit another patch of luck in the form of her apartment implementing some new improvements.
“I think I can manage being alone in your place for thirty minutes.”
“I don’t know: you might have sensory overload. It’s very different than your place,” she says with a smile, but when I peek into her apartment, it’s exactly how I expected.
Bright and colorful, a bit cluttered, not because she’s messy but because she doesn’t have space to display all of the things she loves, the things that bring her joy.
Art and photos cover the walls, and all of her furniture is either brightly colored or covered in a blanket that is.
No surface is bare, and somehow, without even asking, I know each and every print or tchotchke or art piece has some kind of meaning, intentionally chosen or created so some small part of June’s soul can be on display for the world to see.
“I know, it’s a lot,” she murmurs, setting her bag down and then reaching to pull the clip from her hair. Her long waves tumble down, and with the backdrop of her home, her clear labor of love, she fits perfectly.
“It’s great,” I say honestly, looking around as I step to her. “It’s very June.” My eyes catch on a horseshoe overhead, and while she’s told me a bit about her childhood, I don’t remember horses being part of it. “Do you ride?” I ask, tipping my chin toward it.
She laughs, shaking her head.
“No, I’ve never ridden a horse. I live in Seaside Point; it’s not exactly horse girl central.”
“But you want to?” I ask, desperate to understand her. Something tells me I could do this all day, asking about everything here and learning all of her secrets, her wants, fears, and hopes.
“Also no,” she says with a laugh, moving toward what I assume is her bedroom. I follow, and she explains. “Horses are terrifying. Have you ever seen how freaking big they are? They can jump over huge things, and they’re super-fast and easily spooked. No, thank you.”
I laugh, shaking my head and sitting on the edge of her bed, covered in a blue patchwork quilt, as she moves to her drawers, pulling out an oversized shirt and panties. I note with contentment that she does not pull out a pair of pants or shorts.
“Then what’s with the horseshoe?” I ask.
She grins at me over her shoulder.
“It’s good luck. You’re supposed to hang one upside-down over your doorway like that to catch the luck.”
“I should have known,” I say, and she nods, then bites her lip.
“Do you need anything at all? I’m thinking we can just order in from the sandwich place down the road, if that works for you, because I do not want to leave this place until morning.”
I nod, pulling out my phone to get the info.
“All good. Enjoy your shower. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll order it while you’re in there.”
“You really are perfect, aren’t you? Can you order the chicken Caesar salad wrap for me? It’s my second favorite.”
“Second favorite?”
She lifts a shoulder, grabbing her bundle of clothes.
“Sometimes they have this tomato and burrata sandwich that is what my actual dreams are made of, but it’s a special, and they rarely have it. It’s late, so even if they had it today, they’re probably out.”
“Got it. One chicken Caesar salad wrap, coming up,” I say with a grin, standing and pulling her in to me to press my lips to hers before stepping away and ushering her off. “Now go; shower.”
She does as I demand, and as soon as the shower starts, I lift the phone to my ear to make a call, wandering into the living room area just in case.
I should stop.
Now that we’re more than coworkers and friends, I should absolutely stop this game of making the world work in her favor.
But it brings her so much damn joy, and I can’t seem to find it in me to.
“Sandy Shore Sandwiches, how can I help you?” a bright and cheery female voice answers.
“Hey, I’m looking to place an order, but I was wondering if there’s any way you can make a burrata and tomato panini? Just one. I’ll pay as much as you need, triple the normal price, whatever you need.”
Because if June Taylor wants something, I’m going to make sure she gets it.
“How’s the business going?” I ask, closing my laptop later that night.
When I told June that the shop just so happened to have one of her favorite sandwiches, she squealed with excitement, making the fact that it took an extra thirty minutes and four times the list price to get here completely worth it.
Now she’s finishing packaging her orders while I sent off a few emails.
“Amazing,” she says with a laugh, disbelief still in the word. It cuts something in me, the fact that she’s surprised her business is thriving when it’s clear to everyone around her just how damn talented she is. “I can’t believe it’s growing so fast.”
“I can,” I say, and I mean it. I have one of her pieces hanging in my office at the Daydream headquarters in Hudson City, and, according to Sutton, at least five people have asked her where I got it.
I hadn’t intended to buy it, simply checking the morning after she told me about her plan to see if she had actually opened her shop.
But when I saw the ocean landscape, I instantly knew it was Seaside Point, and I needed some small reminder of this town that has both given me intense headaches and made me feel more challenged and fulfilled than ever before.
It’s a shock, the tiny location I felt so annoyed to be assigned to, becoming my favorite project to date, but it’s the truth all the same.
And even more of a shock that I never want to leave.
I get it, now, what June is always saying about this place being magical.
I’m thinking about that when I spot a sketchpad with Welcome to Seaside Point drawn across the center. Instantly, I know that, despite her dismissal, this is one of her ideas for the mural Claire has been hounding her about.
“What is this?” I ask, and she turns to me, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, her oversized Seaside Point High School shirt just barely covering her ass.
“Oh, that’s nothing,” she says with a quick shake of her head, reaching for the paper and trying to pull it away.
I don’t let her, though, grabbing her wrist, stopping her retreat.
She lets out a deep sigh, explaining before I even have to ask a second time.
“It’s one of the sketches I have for the proposal. ”
“One of?” she rolls her eyes, tugging her arm back and crossing them on her chest.
“Don’t tell Claire, but I have been trying to put something together. Just to see if I could,” she justifies quickly, biting her lip. “I don’t think I’m actually going to submit it.”
“Can I see it?” I ask. I expect her to argue, to tell me no, and to make me get creative with how I move forward with this, but instead she sighs, moves to her old laptop on the kitchen table, and pulls it up.
I sit in front of it and start scrolling, instantly shocked at how much she’s actually accomplished on this.
It’s not just her messing around in her downtime: she’s almost finished the proposal, including three different fully colored variations of the mural.
“This is actually very good, June,” I say, looking over the actual proposal, which includes the length of time, the cost of materials, and what other provisions she would need from the town.
“The price is a bit low.” I go back to the top and begin looking through the pages with a keen eye, as I would with any business proposal.
“And you need to make sure you’re including any local resources you might need to use. ”
“Local resources?” she asks, looking over my shoulder.
I turn, put my hands on her hips, pull her into my lap, then point to the map she included, showing where the mural is planned.
“That location is in a busy area—if people decide to stop and watch you, it’s going to cause an issue with traffic. You might need an officer or two to be on standby or monitor traffic for you.”
“I didn’t think of that,” she says, seeming embarrassed, but I shake my head.