Artgirl

to remember: 1// lost stars

CHAPTER 1: LOST STARS

about four years, two months and three hours after their last encounter.

          "Babe, there's something lonesome about you. Something so wholesome about you." Hozier

Zoey Willow Hunter, recently turned 21

            THERE had always been something magical about London in the beginning of the fall. Rain put its effort to fall harder, washing away the city's remains of summer. The sun visited less and less, letting the dark grey clouds shine in their glory. Always a pluviophile, I preferred to walk in the rain than in the absence of it.

The woman standing in front of me, holding the Je Suis painting that took me 48 hours to complete. She offered a generous smile that reminded me why I opened this place.  "That'll be 20 pounds and 50p," I said.

"Here you go," she said, giving me the money. She patted my hand, "you're doing great with this place, love. This won't be the last time I come here."

"Thank you," I grinned. My heart felt a little lighter; comments like this made my day a little brighter than the weather outside was.

My eyes went through the shop another time, taking in the moment. It was clean and in order, but with a hint of messiness that attracted customers. The paintings belonging to me were on the right side of the shop, all hung up and fitting in. Rectangle, thin canvases that were less prone to success were hung on the ground, near that very wall. For every sold painting; I made another one.

On the left side were the antique vintage-like pieces. There were vases, cups, plates and boxes for the homely aspect. And in another corner were the bracelets, necklaces and general jewelry that my co-worker was a professional at. My favorite part was the hung up outfits, it took Jessie four days to convince me to put them up.

Speaking of, the woman herself was shuffling around in the back of the store. I rushed inside, afraid that she had broken anything. She smiled; "Zoey, I didn't break anything. Quit getting your knickers in a twist." A heavy painting hung from her arms.

I took the painting from her and set it on the lower shelves, "Yeah, well, my Paris painting says otherwise, Jess."

There was one reason to why I never let her handle anything I'd ever made: Jessie Curtis was possibly the clumsiest person I'd ever known, aside for myself. She blew a strand of the plum colored curl out of her face and grumbled in annoyance. Swaying her round hips, she turned to me and blew me a kiss: "Your Paris painting can kiss my beautiful arse."

"You know, if you talked less about your ass, maybe we'd have more customers," I told her. She sat on a stool at the cash register, checking her Tumblr on the store laptop.

Jessie looked up for a moment, her bright, ever so smiling flowing with warmth, "babe, people come in here because of my arse."

"Of course," I laughed. I walked to the jewelry section and replaced the bracelets, putting them in place.

The store bell rung. A group of girls and an older boy went in. The girls didn't seem older than fifteen, and the boy looked like he wanted to strangle each and every one of them. Their voices loaded the silence and I headed to the girls.

"Welcome to Elisa, are you looking for anything in particular?" I asked, smiling widely.

Elisa was the antique and art store that Jess and I owned. It took two years of art school, a year teaching kids how to draw in middle school and another year finishing up all the paperwork and dealing with the dilemmas that came along with it, mainly convincing my boyfriend that this was a good idea.