The Breakup Expert ✔️

Chapter Eleven

Eleven

My 'little' visit with Mitch turned into an entire afternoon. I found out that getting Mitch to sit down for more than an hour to watch a movie was hard to do. He had a nervous tick about him, always trying to do something or tapping his leg against the floor waiting to get up. I was wondering how he found the time to finish the paintings.

After the first movie, I wanted to do something other than sit around, something we'd both like. He offered to take me fishing on his back deck, but he soon regretted his decision when I caught one more fish than he did. He had a transparent, competitive edge, and in my eyes, it was endearing.

As the day grew to an end, we walked side by side out of the yard and to his back door.

"I could've caught more fish, but I gave you the good pole." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck and keeping his fishing rod a safe distance away from his body.

"You're telling me you have a lucky fishing pole? As if. We used different bait, so that's more likely to be the cause." I explained, holding onto my tackle box while opening the door to get in.

"Too bad you can't stay for a fish fry." He called behind me.

"I've got to get home. I promised my mom I'd be home for dinner, and I have to search for a job. I don't know how long I'll be comfortable with free-loading." I told him, setting the tackle box on the floor next to Mitch's stuffed ice chest.

"What kind of job are you looking for? If it's an office job, my father would be glad to hook you up with one. He really does like you."

Mitch, without much consciousness of me being in the room, ripped his dirty white shirt off and tossed it onto the polished floor, only to bend over for a good view as he swiped the shirt back up and over his shoulder.

I looked away, burning as if I were the one topless.

"Thanks, that's sweet of you to offer, but I'm looking for something in retail. I've worked in high fashion areas for quite some time, been making clothes since childhood, and I don't see working with anything else."

"Hm, you make your own clothes?"

"I haven't in a long while, but yes." I stuttered, trying to avoid his pecs dangerously close to my face.

"Then why don't you open your own shop? Or better yet, start off small and see if you like it. I had a buddy who once worked with portable buildings, and the prices were reasonable. I'm thinking a sixteen by forty would be perfect."

I never gave much thought to starting my own business, especially in clothing where the odds were fifty- fifty. It would be nice to get my name out there, if anything. And if I decided to switch my mind, it would look good on a resume, and I'd also have an extra storage building handy.

"You might have given me a great idea. I have so many ideas in my head of new clothes to make, but I haven't gotten around to do it. I'm thinking jacket cardigans and trumpet dresses, sizes for everyone, even people as short as me." I joked.

"How about you give me some ideas and I'll jot them down on paper?" I agreed, taking a close seat onto the sofa next to him.

Mitch was as fantastic an artist on loose leaf as he had been on canvas, making my visions of fashion come alive.

Six pages later, he tossed the notepad on the coffee table and the pencil against his ear, covering a small mole on his hairline.

"Oh, gosh, thank you so much for all of this help, and for today. I might have a sunburn from how long we were out fishing, though."