Chapter 2
“Hey! Watch where you’re going with that forklift!”
Hunter Pickett blinked and quickly maneuvered the vehicle away from his coworker and roommate, Sawyer Campbell, barely missing
him. He put the lift in Park and turned around. “Sorry!”
Sawyer shot him a hard look. “Did you fall asleep at the wheel or what?”
Hunter shook his head, but Sawyer was already back at work unpacking boxes of merchandise off the pile of pallets Hunter had
just unloaded. He didn’t blame him for being mad. He hadn’t fallen asleep or even dozed off. But he was tired, and he’d been
distracted—a common state of mind for him lately.
Sawyer was good-natured enough that he wouldn’t hold the near miss against him. But Hunter expected some well-deserved ribbing
was forthcoming.
He and Sawyer spent the rest of the afternoon unloading pallets at the warehouse where they worked, unironically called The
Warehouse. They worked second shift, and as soon as ten o’clock rolled around, they met in the locker room, took off their
safety vests, and clocked out.
“Wanna grab a bite on the way home?” Hunter asked as they walked outside and into the muggy Texas air. It was only May, but
summer was already in full force.
“Rain check. You know Marissa?”
They reached Hunter’s motorcycle. Sawyer’s Subaru was parked next to him. “She works in the office, right?”
“I asked her out.”
“Don’t tell me she was dumb enough to say yes.” Hunter lifted his helmet off the handlebars.
“Of course she did.” Sawyer pushed his floppy bangs off his wide forehead, grinning as he got into the car. “Don’t wait up,
Dad.”
Hunter shoved on his helmet as Sawyer sped away. Normally he laughed off his roommate’s digs. But tonight it grated. He started
his Yamaha, revved it up, and took off. He wasn’t in the mood to go back to an empty apartment, so he headed for the local
twenty-four-hour waffle house.
As soon as he entered, he was seated at a small booth near the window. He was the only patron in the restaurant. A waitress
with short green and blue hair approached, carrying a pot of coffee and smacking her gum loudly enough to be heard in Dallas.
“Evening,” she said. A white plastic badge with the name Enid handwritten on it was pinned to the lapel of her uniform. “Coffee?” Snap.
“Sure.” He turned over the coffee cup in front of him and watched her fill it with the steaming brew. He hadn’t slept well
lately, and a little caffeine wasn’t going to make a difference.
Snap. She gestured to the plastic-coated menu wedged between the window and the napkin dispenser. “I’ll give you some time to decide
on food.” Giving him one last gum snap, she walked back to the counter.
Hunter glanced at the menu, even though he wasn’t hungry. He took a sip of coffee, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through thirty-second videos on YouTube. There were the requisite silly dance videos, dumb viral challenges that would probably end up with someone getting hurt, and food. Lots and lots of food.
Snap. “Have you decided?”
He set down his phone and nodded. “A waffle and two strips of bacon.” What else would he order in a waffle house?
“Crispy or regular?”
He frowned. “The waffle or the bacon?”
Enid gave him a patient half smile, revealing one incisor that was significantly smaller than the rest of her teeth. “The
bacon.”
“Crispy.” The wrinkles at the corners of her lips and eyes made her look too old for multicolored hair, but who was he to
judge.
Snap. Snap. She jotted a few scribbles on the pad. “Anything else, handsome?”
He flinched. “No.”
“Coming right up.” She flashed a more genuine grin at him before leaving again.
He let out a long breath. All he needed tonight was to get hit on by a waffle waitress who had a good ten, if not more, years
on him. Again, not judging, but she wasn’t his type.
Hunter slouched in the booth, pushing his coffee cup a few inches away with his index finger. The type of women he was interested
in weren’t eager to go out with a thirty-year-old entry-level warehouse worker with a GED.
Well, he used to be interested in those kinds of women. That was before his older brothers—top-notch attorney Payne and venture capitalist
Kirk—had married two of them. His sisters-in-law were hot, with toned bodies, perfectly highlighted hair, unnaturally tanned
skin, and pearly white even teeth.
They were also self-absorbed shopaholics who were bleeding his brothers dry.
He sat back up and ran his hand through his hair. He’d always been judgmental. About looks, about money, about everything. And now here he was, twelve years past high school, sitting alone at a waffle house on a Saturday night with few prospects—both personal and professional.
Whose fault is that?
He yanked out his phone again, desperate for a distraction. After scrolling through several kitten and puppy videos—they did
warm his heart, he had to admit—a girl with a mass of curly, messy black hair popped up on his screen.
He paused. A week ago today she’d somehow appeared in his feed for the first time. Britt Draws Everything.
Out of boredom, he’d clicked on her video titled “Color Theory: Who Needs It?” and surprised himself by watching it all the
way through, even though he couldn’t draw a straight line. That sent him on a rabbit trail, and by the time he dozed off,
he’d watched more than a dozen of her videos. Some were only a few minutes long, others were comprehensive art lessons. She
was talented. She was also cute.
But not cute enough to keep his attention beyond wasting time on a dull Saturday night, and he’d avoided clicking on any of
her other videos since then. But now here she was, smiling sweetly into the camera, her black squiggly curls framing a fair,
thin face. He started to scroll past her, then went back up. His thumb hovered over the video for a few seconds before he
tapped the Play button.
“I just had to try these.” She held up a pack of fancy colored pencils, pushing them closer to the camera, influencer style.
The case was crooked in the frame. “Oops.” She quickly straightened it.
He smiled a little. Her high-pitched voice was soft, not grating, and she had a muted Southern drawl. Soothing too. He’d fallen asleep listening to her that first night.
She set the pencils down. “Want to see what I drew with them? Click here.” She awkwardly pointed down, supposedly to the name
of her channel or blog, but she missed it entirely.
“One waffle with crispy bacon.” Snap. Enid set the plate down in front of him. “Anything else?”
“I’m good.” As an afterthought he said, “Thanks.”
“Sure thing, handsome.” She winked at him as a group of customers entered the restaurant. She took off to tend to them.
His waffle and bacon forgotten for the moment, Hunter glanced at the video’s view counter. Almost half a million views in
less than a week. Wow. Unable to help himself, he clicked on the next one.
“Hi, I’m Britt.” Her mouth turned up in a smile as her gaze moved downward. “Today I’m going to show you how to draw farm
animals.”
This wasn’t the first animal lesson she had on her channel. When he watched the first one—“How to Create the Perfect Narwhal”—at
first he thought he’d stumbled upon a kids’ channel. Then he found out she was a graphic artist with a passion for animation.
She was really good at it too. In this video, her hair was even mussier, as if she’d filmed it on a day with 150 percent humidity.
Then she looked directly into the camera and smiled.
He paused the video and saw the reflection of the lights in her jade-green eyes. Her smile was endearingly awkward.
His thumb slipped and the video started again, the focus shifting from her to a sheet of white paper surrounded by cups of
markers, pencils, and pens. He picked up his coffee and watched as she announced that today’s animal was her favorite: a cow.
Then she started to draw.
For the next twenty minutes, Hunter drank coffee, inhaled his waffle and bacon, and watched as Britt transformed a plain sheet of paper into an incredibly lifelike, detailed, and, oddly enough, colorful drawing of a cow’s face. She worked fast and with skill, explaining everything as she went along. She did speed up the video in some places, but mostly it was all done in real time. Before he knew it, she was finished, and the focus was on her again.
“I hope y’all learned a few things today,” she said, awkward smile back in place. “I’d love to hear about your favorite farm
animal and the art projects you’re working on. Until next time.” She gave a little wave and turned off the camera.
He shut off the phone as Enid came over and handed him the check. He pulled out his wallet and gave her the cash. “Keep the
change,” he said, sliding out of the booth.
“Thanks.” She looked him up and down. “Come back any time.”
He gave her a quick, noncommittal nod, headed out the door, hopped on his bike, and sped off. When he reached his apartment
building, he went upstairs and then inside. With nothing else to do, he headed to his bedroom, stripped down for bed, and
turned off the light.
He lay on his back. Flipped onto his side. Tried lying on his stomach. Counted sheep. Counted sheep backward. Then gave up
and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. Almost one in the morning.
After nearly running into Sawyer with the forklift, he couldn’t afford another fidgety night. He started to put the phone
back. Changed his mind. Turned it on and went straight to YouTube... and Britt Draws Everything. He turned up the volume, hit Play, and set it back on the nightstand. Then he closed his eyes.
“Before I start with today’s beachscape, I wanted to say a few words to those of you who are interested in drawing but haven’t picked up your paintbrush or pen yet. It’s okay to be afraid to try something new, or to come out of your comfort zone.”
His eyes opened, then closed again. Her voice was so relaxing, he felt himself melt into his mattress.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about that myself. I’ve had a big change in my life recently, and I’m starting to rethink some things.
Don’t worry. I’m not giving up my channel. It’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”
His breathing slowed.
“But have you ever come to a point in your life where you know you need to do something different or you need a change, and
you’re... scared?”
His eyes fluttered. She sounded different from her other videos. He wasn’t sure why...
“Just know I understand. I also understand how hard it can be to make that change. It’s easy to keep doing the same things,
falling into the same patterns. It’s safe. And we all like to play it safe, right?”
Safe. He rolled on his side, away from the phone.
“So maybe you can start with something small. Like drawing, and showing people your art. Or doing whatever it is you’re interested
in. Maybe it’s a new job you’re thinking about applying for, or possibly going out on your first date...”
Hunter half snored, half snorted.
“If you’re thinking about doing something daring or new, don’t overthink it. Just do it.” She cleared her throat. “Now, on
to today’s lesson.”
***
“Hunter!”
Pounding sounded in the distance. Hunter hugged his pillow. “Mmph.” Then the door flew open. Light poured in as Sawyer burst
through.
“Hey!” He shielded his eyes with his arm. “What the—”
“I’ve been banging on your door for five minutes.” Sawyer flipped on the light switch, then walked to the bed and peered at
him. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“You sure?” Sawyer’s gaze darted around the room.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He grabbed his phone. “What time is— Oh no.” He scrambled out of bed, then noticed Sawyer was not-so-secretly
opening the top drawer of his dresser. Hunter bumped him away with his shoulder. “You won’t find anything there.”
Sawyer stopped his snooping but didn’t look convinced.
Hunter yanked a short-sleeved yellow uniform shirt out of his drawer. “I overslept.” And had the best night’s sleep he’d had
in a long time. He didn’t even remember drifting off. “That’s all. I’ll meet you at work.”
“I can wait for you,” Sawyer said.
He faced him. “Don’t worry. I’m still clean.”
“Just want to make sure.”
“I appreciate it. If you insist on waiting, get out of here so I can get dressed.”
Sawyer nodded. “Meet you outside.”
Hunter headed to the bathroom for a quick shower, brushed his teeth, threw on his clothes and slicked back his damp, shaggy blond hair. He appreciated what Sawyer was doing. A year ago when they signed the lease together, he’d made a pact with Sawyer that he would stay clean and sober, and he’d kept it. That was in the past, and it was a road he never wanted to travel again.
He locked the apartment and went outside, and it hit him how long he’d slept. Now that he was fully awake, he felt better
than he had in two weeks. He also remembered how he’d fallen asleep. By listening to Britt.
Jumping on his bike, he followed his friend to the warehouse. Some of the words she’d said flashed in his mind. Something
about playing it safe. Up until recently, that had never been his MO.
But as he approached the warehouse, more of what she’d said came back to mind. “But have you ever come to a point in your life where you know you need to do something different...” That definitely applied to him. His life was at a standstill, and he didn’t know how to change it.
He’d blown so many chances that he wasn’t sure he could.