“Good.” She grins. “Do you feel like going somewhere with me today?” she asks.

Logan, Matt, Sam, and Pete are all working today, so I don’t technically have to go in. I narrow my eyes at her. “Where?”

“It’s a surprise.” She smiles mischievously. “You’re not scared, are you?”

I scoff. “Of you? Never.”

I’m only scared of her every f**king day. She makes my gut wrench and my heart skip and my head churn. And she does it without even touching me. One day, she’s going to want to touch me and I’ll get to touch her back. But I kind of need for her to take the first step. I’m terrified of loving her because I know loving her won’t be easy. But I also know I don’t want to miss the chance.

Friday

It’s the end of May, and there’s a big fundraiser today for the homeless shelter in the park. The shelter I volunteer with has set up tents for the weekend, and each one has a different event going on at it. Mine is body paint. I’ll be doing henna tattoos and painting faces for kids all day. Anything that can be painted, I will paint.

I pull my hair back into a ponytail. I don’t usually do much volunteering, but this event is kind of my thing. I owe this rescue mission my life: they took me when no one else would. My life spiraled out of control, and they helped me find my footing. They don’t know the new me, so I have to go as the old me, and it’s the me that Paul has never seen. I am not wearing makeup, and I have on shorts and an old T-shirt that says Will work for change. And I will. I’m willing to put my money where my mouth is when it comes to fundraising for this group. I’ll take dollars, I’ll take change, I’ll take checks, and I’ll take credit cards. If I can get one girl off the streets, I’ve done a good thing and I can sleep easier.

I put on a baseball cap and pull my ponytail through the back of it. I sling my backpack, which has all my paints in it, over my shoulder. The rest of my stuff is waiting at the tent in the park.

“We’re going to be late,” I say as I run out of the room toward the front door.

“Jesus Christ, Friday,” Paul says quietly when he sees what I’m wearing.

I look down and fidget with my jean shorts. “What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’ve never seen you look so…normal.”

“Is it bad?” I ask.

He closes his mouth. “No,” he says. He smiles. “It’s good. Very, very good.”

I usually wear my vintage clothes and heels when I’m working at the shop, and it’s what people have come to expect so I keep doing it. I get a lot of attention that way, and that’s what the shop needs. “You ready?” I ask.

He is wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the Reed’s Tattoo logo on it. “Are you going to be okay getting that dirty?”

He looks down at what he’s wearing. “I don’t see why not.” He stops and grabs my elbow. “You’re not going to have me rolling in mud or anything, are you?”

“Nothing quite that sophisticated,” I say.

He rolls his eyes and follows me out the door. When we get to the street, he takes my backpack from my shoulder and puts it on his, and then he takes my hand. My heart skitters. I never would have taken Paul for a touchy-feely kind of guy, but he totally is. He never touched Kelly much in public, or any of the other girls I know he slept with, but with me, it’s like he can’t get enough contact.

He squeezes my hand. “This okay?” he asks.

I nod and grin at him. He has the most adorable dimples, and he gives me a crooked smile, showing them off.

“Aren’t you afraid someone will get the wrong idea about us?” I ask.

“What idea are you worried about?”

I shrug. “That they’ll think we’re a thing.”

“We are a thing,” he says. He starts to swing my hand in his between us. “We are totally a thing.”

When we get to the park, I see that there’s already a line at my booth. I do this every year and people come just to get some of my art put on their faces.

“What are we doing?” Paul asks.

I grin at him. “We’re painting,” I say, rubbing my hands together with glee.

I motion the first person forward, and he has a little girl with him. She hops up onto my stool.

“What would you like to be?” I ask her.

“An ice cream cone!” she says.

Her dad teases her. “She didn’t ask what you want to eat. She asked what you want to be.”

“A butterfly!” she cries.

I get out a brush and start to paint, and Paul watches me closely. In less than a minute, I have a butterfly painted around her eyes that looks like mint chocolate chip ice cream. Paul looks at me. “It’s really good,” he says.

I grin. “I know.”

I point to the stock art that’s pinned to the fake wall behind him. “You can do the stock art ones. The baseballs and the glittery flowers.”

“Okay,” he says, and he sits down. He motions a man forward, and he brings a little girl with him, as well. She hovers between her dad’s legs. Paul holds out the brush to her. “Would you like to try out my paint?” he asks. He sticks out his arm. “Right here,” he instructs.

She takes it and makes a swirl on his arm, and he makes a big deal about how awesome it is. She grins and hands the brush back. “Your turn,” he says as he sets her on his stool and starts to paint.