Rainy Day
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“Slow day,” you hear your coworker say from behind you as she stands at the front of the studio looking out the windows at the rain coming down. “No one likes art in the rain,” you respond as you refill paint containers while you wait for anyone interested in painting pottery to come in. “Well I’m going to the back, there’s no use in just standing out here.” She walks past you and you continue to spill paint everywhere in an attempt to keep busy. After you finish your busy work, you clean up the mess it had left behind. While rinsing the paint from the rags in the sink you hear the doorbell chime. “You got it?” You hear from the back. “Yeah,” you answer her, knowing you could handle one person. You turn from the sink to greet whoever had ventured in. “Can I make something?” The deep accented voice says and you walk over to the counter, wiping your wet hands on your apron. “Yeah, of course,” you answer, your voice trying to remain steady. There was no way this was happening. How on earth did Sammy Wilkinson end up here? And why was he interested in painting? Strange. Regardless of your questions you walk him over to a table. He pulls his coat off and you hold out your hand. He looks at you, only slightly confused before you nod over to the coat rack that stood by the door. He smiles and hands you his coat. “Hat,” you instruct. “Oh, I’ll keep it on, thanks,” he says. “It’s soaking wet….hat,” you persist. He lets out a small laugh before leaning over towards you. You quickly pull the hat from his head. When you turn back around from dropping his things off at the coat rack you notice him already over at the shelves, mulling over his options. “What are you thinking about doing?” You ask, walking over to join him. “Something for my mom, she loves stuff like this,” he comments, looking over everything the shelves had to offer him. “Okay, well what does she like?” “Food,” he begins with a chuckle.
“You aren’t painting food for you mom,” you laughed
“Well she likes to spend a lot of time in the garden…backyard,” he continues, correcting his language so you wouldn’t get confused and think his mom was a farmer. “Okay well what does she do in the…garden?” “Reads and has tea.” You knew exactly what he needed. “This way,” you instruct, taking him over to another set of shelves near the back of the studio. “You need this then,” you tell him, pulling a teapot from the shelf and handing it to him. “Good choice,” he says with a smile. You take four tea cups off of the shelf as well at his request and the two of you go back to the table. “I’ve never actually done this before,” he begins. “Well you see this?” You ask, pointing to your nametag, “This means I am fully certified to help you.” You walk over to the paint station and pull together some colors that work well with one another before grabbing him an apron. As he ties the apron around him you set out dishes of paint. “You can’t go wrong with any of these,” you assure him and a grateful smile forms on his face. “Don’t go too crazy though, mixing colors is fine, but you don’t want to make it look like your inner four year old did this.” “Why not?” He asks playfully. “Well I guess if that’s what you’re going for then I can’t stop you, but please don’t do that,” you whine, thinking about his mother. You watch as he picks up a small brush, dipping it in paint and beginning his work on the handle first. You step away from the table, allowing him to work on his own. You can’t help but watch him from behind the counter, the concentration on his face was distracting, he was actually trying. You watch as he constantly runs his hands through his hair. You look at him one last time, his mouth parting, and his eyes staring hard at the design he was attempting. He sets his brush down, looked at you quickly and smiled. “Hey can you show me how to do that?” He questions as you, pointing to the design on the flowerpot in the window display behind him. “Yeah,” you respond, pulling a chair around to his side, grabbing the smallest brush. You sit by him, at his request, for this rest of his artistic venture. He was better than you credited him for and the teapot and cups looked great when he was finished. You place everything on the table and looked at him. “They will be done in a bit, if you want to come back to get them,” you inform him after returning to the table. He looks out the window, the rain pouring down, and then back to you. “I think I’ll just stay here.” Time passes with him asking questions about the area he was in as well as how you got into the painting business. You wished you had more time with him though, he had really surprised you. As you got the painting ready, he joins you at the counter. “The rain stopped,” he acknowledges. Was he really trying to make small talk? Now? You nod and chuckled. “What time do you close?” He asks. “An hour ago,” you inform him. “Really? I’m so sorry,” he begins. “It’s fine. I usually stay after to prep things for the next day.” “But you don’t stay an hour.” “Well no, but it’s fine, really.” Your coworker had slipped out the back like she usually did, leaving you and Sammy as the only two in the studio for the last hour. “Would you like to go to dinner?” He asks out of the blue. You look up at him, confused. “Was that too much?” He asks, unsure of his request. “Too much? No. Surprising? Yes.” “Is that a yes?” He asks with a smile and you hand him his bag. “Only because you owe me for making me stay over.”
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If he really is good then he should do a painting of me like rose from titanic😏😂✋
#MMMBABY
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Song of the day
Yes Girl - Bea Miller
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