11. Teach Me
Chapter 11
Teach Me
Rafe
“Are you getting a break?”
“Is he working you too hard, Bon?”
“Send her over to my shop during lunch, will you?”
It becomes clear to me through the next week that Bonnie Davies is more cherished in this town than even I realized. Locals stop in to ask about her day, to give her advice about working, and even offer snacks. I’m almost offended on her behalf when Noodler drops by the following Tuesday with a bagged lunch.
“She’s not a child, man.”
He holds up his palms in innocence. “Captain instructed me to do it.”
Bonnie sheepishly takes the bag with a murmured, “Thank you.” When I lift an eyebrow, she shrugs with wide, accused eyes. “What? Jasper thinks I can’t cook.”
“Can you?” I ask.
Bonnie cringes. “Well, no, not really. I’m more of a PB&J kinda girl.”
Moira overheard that and dropped off two Tupperware boxes of casserole the following day.
Before we know it, a week passes by. The end of each workday is heralded by the orange glow of Never Harbor’s setting sun. It illuminates the sidewalk outside, gradually melting through the floor-to-ceiling windows and into the shop itself.
I glance over at Bonnie. A beam of sunny warmth on her hair highlights the ginger in her red. Her forearms rest on the counter as she leans over a tablet, scribbling away with a pen. Ever since we had our portfolio conversation on her first day, I’ve given her small assignments.
“Take the existing business card in your portfolio and redesign it without the idea of what you ‘should’ do holding you back,” I said.
Her nose scrunched, wrinkling the cute freckles along the bridge. “What does that mean?”
“Whatever you need it to mean,” I answered.
The letterhead of the company? Make it pop more.
The custom font? Less dull, please.
“Less dull?” she asked with parted lips, as if on the cusp of arguing. By then, she was confused and irritated with me.
Bonnie hadn’t grown up with six brothers to simply shut up and accept. She attempts to hold back that urge, but I much prefer when she doesn’t.
I shrugged in response, which made her teeth grind and me chuckle.
The clock behind the counter reads seven o’clock. I walk to the door and close it, flipping the OPEN sign around. The sound of Never Harbor’s Main Street dulls to a hum, and the lack of an open-door breeze finally has her looking up. Her brown eyes squint into the sunbeam.
“Are we already closed?” she asks.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Ugh, I’m sorry. I barely helped today.”
“Don’t be. You’re doing the job I assigned. Let me see what you’ve been working on.”
I walk over and gesture for the tablet. Her fingers hesitate before sliding it to me. She’s timid in her art. She shouldn’t be.
I instantly smile. She’s been drawing. It’s a gorgeous rendering of a skeleton. Anatomy is a little off, but I’d bet she didn’t use reference. As it is, it’s not bad.
“I finished the business card too,” she says, flicking to another screen.
It’s a big change from before. Cold colors and harsh lines have transformed into a warm palette with a tiny, illustrated bee in the corner.
“Much better,” I say. “What’s with the bee?”
“If I had a logo, I think it’d be that. My parents call me Honeybee.”
“Why?” I ask.
“My brothers used to say I had a bee in my bonnet. Because bonnet sounded a lot like …”
“Bonnie. I got it.” I smirk. “Well, it looks better. Distinct. Play with it more this week, if you have time.”
“All the time in the world,” she murmurs more to herself than me.
“For now,” I add. “Let’s finish filling out some paperwork, and then I’ll make you dust the hell outta this place. I’ve gotta make you do some form of internship grunt work.”
“Woohoo,” she says dully.
I lift an eyebrow, but she’s already grinning at me with those perfect white teeth and red lips.
Christ, I’ve gotta reel it in.
I lead her down the narrow hall, silently bypassing the place on the wall where I had her pinned just a couple of weeks ago— ahem —and into my office.
Bonnie’s eyes roam the small room—from my desk, topped with glass, to the thin laptop propped on a gray stand. Three framed band posters hang on the opposite wall. Aside from the additional wastebasket and black printer, there isn’t much to it.
“Is everything you own this clean?” she asks. “I just assumed it was the store.”
“Messes make my head spin,” I explain. “I prefer to keep a clean space down here.”
“It’s messier upstairs?”
“It’s an art studio. Paint has a mind of its own.”
“Right,” she says absentmindedly, reaching out to sift through the small stack of new hire papers on the desk.
“Do you touch everything you see?” I ask, moving around the desk to sit in my chair that squeaks on impact.
Bonnie smiles and gently removes her hand. “Apparently.” But when she spots a stack of flyers on the corner of the desk, her eyes widen. “Whoa. The Howling Ravens are running a design competition?”
“Oh. Those? Yeah. Leo asked me to hang them up around Boston.”
Her wide eyes find mine. “Leo? As in the lead singer Leo Tomb? Are you friends with him?”
“Tomb,” I echo with a laugh. What a ridiculous stage name . “Yes, we’re friends. Unfortunately.”
“How?”
The awe in her causes my chest to tighten. It shouldn’t. I’m getting jealous over Leo . Of course she’s amazed. He’s a rock star.
I snatch a pen from my wire pen holder. “I’ve known him since we both played with G.I. Joes and jumped over fences to see concerts we didn’t have tickets to.”
She grins. “Bunch of rebels.”
“Maybe. Anyway, yeah, I design their merch sometimes.”
“You mean the T-shirt I probably wear to bed every night?”
I smile and absolutely do not think about how she looks in a loose T-shirt, going to bed.
“Likely, yes. But I’m too busy now.”
She blinks at the posters for a moment. I can see her wheels turning, the way her finger twitches to take one for herself. I almost expect her to take a seat and maintain politeness, but that’s not who she truly is, and we both know it. She snatches a flyer.
“You entering the competition, Clever Girl?”
Bonnie lowers onto the chair across from me. She doesn’t look up, still darting her eyes over the paper, taking in all the details I didn’t bother to look over.
“They’re deciding by the end of summer,” she breathes.
She finally meets my eyes, and, God, the shock of how deliciously brown her eyes are almost barrels into me.
“Do you want to do this?” I ask.
“Of course I want to do this.”
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms with a satisfied smile. I love it when she says what she wants.
“Then, do it,” I say.
She swallows. “I don’t have the chops yet. You know I don’t.”
The more time I spend with her, the more I realize just how much of a front she put up that night we were together. And though I love the confidence, I find I don’t mind her shyness either. It’s endearing. It’s also very wrong .
“I don’t know that actually,” I say. “So, enter.”
I slide my pen across to her, along with the small stack of papers. “I’ve already highlighted the sections you need to fill out, by the way.”
Bonnie nods as she blinks back to the present. “Right. New hire paperwork.”
I can’t stop looking at her when she fills out the forms. The way she innocently tucks a loose strand of ginger hair behind her ear. The way her eyes narrow and those fire-engine-red lips curl in against her freckled skin as she concentrates. I could paint her all day.
Her eyes dart over to the flyer and back.
“You really don’t think you have the skills?” I ask.
She looks up, hesitates, then asks, “You really think I do?”
“You can do anything you set your mind to.”
She scoffs. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Isn’t it true?”
“Sometimes.”
“You got this job, didn’t you?”
“Only because I begged.”
I shake my head. “That’s not how I see it. You saw what you wanted and took it. Easy as that.”
She pauses, as if wanting to say something, but instead returns to her paperwork, murmuring a small, “Thanks.”
“No thanks needed. It’s just a fact. You don’t need to be so cautious with your art. You know you’re good. Own it.”
Bonnie’s lips twitch into a shy smile as she continues to scribble her signature.
I pick up my phone, open my messages with Leo, and shoot him a new text.
Rafe: I have a merch designer for you.
Leo: Say it’s you.
Rafe: I’ll do you one better.
Leo: Pray tell.
Rafe: Siobhan Davies.
Leo: And who is this? Your latest hostage?
Rafe: Intern.
Leo: Poor girl.
Rafe: She’s submitting her portfolio to the competition.
Leo: Still not you though.
Rafe: Quit being butthurt I’m not designing for you anymore and look at her damn portfolio.
Leo: Only because you asked so nicely.
“I’m done,” Bonnie says, sliding the paperwork back over.
I put my phone down, ignoring the new text from Leo, which is probably some extra insult or maybe even a picture of his middle finger. He sends me one from almost every US city he has a gig in.
Bonnie stares down at the flyer again.
“Send your new portfolio to them,” I say. “Let them see what you can do.”
She blinks up at me. “But we’re still working on it.”
“Not we. You. And you’re gonna do fine.”
Her nose scrunches, creasing each beautiful freckle as she says, “You’re being so nice to me.”
I shrug. “I’m always nice to you.”
“Yeah, but I waltzed in here and demanded this job.”
I laugh. “No, I offered it to you.”
“But I intended to demand it.”
I shake my head with a barely restrained grin. “You’re something else, Shiv.”
Her bottom lip curls in, and she sighs. “I’m sorry, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For not telling you.”
“About?”
“About … you know.” Bonnie’s cheeks flush red, and an ache suddenly strains against my chest as my heart picks up. I want to stop her before she says the next words, but I’m not quick enough. “Being a virgin.”
I tense in my chair as I somehow manage, “That’s all right.”
“It’s really not.”
I stiffly shake my head. “It’s on me. I should have known.”
“No, there’s no way you could have known. And that’s all right.”
“It’s really not,” I say, echoing her words.
We exchange a smile.
She sucks in a breath and lets it out on a laugh. “I hope I wasn’t a complete embarrassment.”
“No, you were fine.”
“Fine?”
I open my mouth to change my word, but she holds up her palm to stop me and laughs.
“I’m honestly surprised it’s even classified as fine .”
“Wait, why?”
She shrugs. “Because that was pretty much my entire sexual experience.”
“Your … what?” I blink over and over. “You’ve never done anything else?”
“Some guy touched my boobs in high school.”
“That’s it?”
“And it wasn’t even good,” she muses with a wistful, almost joking, sigh.
But I’m not laughing at her self-deprecating humor. Not one bit.
“Did you tell the guy?” I ask.
“It would have ruined the moment.”
“You’ve gotta speak up for yourself more, Shiv.”
Her brow furrows. “I got this job, didn’t I?”
“Exactly. Now do that in all aspects of your life. And confidently. You’re gonna get yourself into trouble if you’re not careful. You’re lucky it was me that night.”
She stares at me in shock. “I’m lucky ? What, so are you gonna teach me everything in life?”
“No, that’s not?—”
“Art, but now confidence?”
“No—”
“Gonna teach me all about sex, Rafe?”
Sex spills from her mouth like water from a dam.
Her cheeks flush when she says it. I feel my ears burn.
The moment between us lingers more than it should, with a type of heat that feels too much like our bodies and the familiar warmth of that night. She looks away, possibly too embarrassed to say more.
“No,” I answer. “Just art, Shiv.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was rude.”
“No, you had every right.”
Maybe next week, we’ll be further away from our mistakes, and this’ll seem funny, and the week after that, it’ll be a distant memory. After a few weeks, she’ll simply be my intern. After a few months, I’ll just be a story she tells some new beau. But somehow, that thought makes my fist clench under the desk.
Bonnie’s phone buzzes, and the second she sees a digital reminder pop up, she jumps from her seat. “Shit. I gotta go. Lulu’s waiting for me for dinner.”
“PB&J?” I tease.
I hope it lightens the mood, and her returning smile affirms that.
“Maybe,” she says. Then, her eyes widen in realization. “But—oh wait. Crap. I need to clean first.” She walks toward the door, aiming for the hall closet. “I promised I would.”
I give a sharp whistle. She stops in her tracks.
“Nope,” I say. “Go be with your friend.”
She turns on her heel. “No, this is my job. She’ll understand.”
“No,” I say slower. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bonnie. Go.”
After a moment of considering—that same argument on her features just waiting to burst out—she finally nods. “Thanks.”
I give a half smile in response. After a few minutes of gathering her things, she leaves, but not before snagging the competition flyer off my desk.
When the shop door closes behind her, bell ringing over the door, I let out a heavy exhale into my empty office.
Teach her about sex?
Never. Not in either of our wildest dreams.
But I don’t like how flippant Bonnie is regarding sex. How she doesn’t stand up for herself for what feels good and what doesn’t. What if I hadn’t asked about whether it felt good for her that night? What if our one-night stand had been rough and uncomfortable and it was the only thing she had as a reference for what intimacy looked like? Would another guy have done the same thing I did?
I stand from my desk. I don’t like that thought.
I flick off the shop lights, climb the stairs to my apartment, and pull out a new canvas to paint.
An hour later, the canvas is covered in sunny-orange hair and feisty-lipstick reds.