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“So, what first?”
“Well, I think the canvases are around there.” She points to the back corner of the building.
“Okay, great.” I start walking in that direction, but her hand on my shoulder stops me.
“Wait,” she says.
“What?” I swing back to look at her.
“We aren’t going to shop together?”
Mae’s face is tilted up toward mine, her hazel eyes wide, the sides of her lips pulled down into a charming faint pout. It’s a bad idea I now realize. I mean going to the art store together, each getting our separate items and leaving is just two friends running an errand together. But meandering through the store together, taking our time to browse its contents while we chat about our days? That sounds like a date. Mae’s lips pull down a fraction more at my long pause. And my resolve breaks.
“Oh,” I say. “I mean. We can.” Weak. I am so weak when it comes to Mae. Where did the hardened businessman about to tear down a beloved farm disappear to?
“Yay!” She grabs my arm. “The yarn’s over here.” With her warm body pressed against my side, I can’t be too angry at my cowardice.
We walk over to the yarn together, and she shows me the pattern she wants to recreate.
“I want to use the same pink colors because they match Mina’s room,” she explains. “But I want to replace the blues with green.”
“Ah.” I have no idea what she’s saying, but I nod my head. I’m sure whatever Mae makes will look wonderful.
I follow her around as she holds different skeins up and compares them to each other. The colors all look the same to me, but Mae looks at each one like a scientist looking at chemicals under a microscope. I should be bored out of my mind, standing there watching her shop, but her scrunched-up nose and the way she bites her lip as she considers her options keep me entertained.
After what seems like an hour, Mae finally has a basket of stuff.
“Good?” I ask.
“I think so,” she says, although she’s still eyeing the yarn with a yearning gaze that makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her away. I’m sure she could spend a week in this section. “Now for your stuff.”
It’s strange. I feel simultaneously like a stranger and at home among the painting supplies.
“What are you thinking?” Mae asks me as I contemplate the various art supplies.
“Um, probably just a few canvases in different sizes,” I say.
“Like really big ones? Or more medium-sized?”
“Probably more on the medium side,” I eye each canvas, my ideas already sketching themselves out. It really has been too long since I picked up a paintbrush.
“Got it,” Mae says, looking at the canvases with the same expression she used to look at the yarn. My heart races in my chest.
After a couple of minutes, I pick out a few of the more expensive ones and put them in our cart.
Then, I move on to the paints. There are a couple of variety packs for sale, but I only need about four colors and white, so I decide to buy individual ones. Dylan’s idea of painting the farms was a good one. I should have brought some pictures of the land to compare, but I see a couple of greens and a yellowish one that look like they should match fairly well. I get two of each. Of course, I add some blues for that gorgeous sky.
“Okay, I think I’m ready,” I say, as I grab a handful of brushes from one of the racks.
“You sure?” Mae asks.
“Yeah.”
We head to the register, and Mae checks out, her bill over a hundred dollars.
“Wow,” I say.
She shrugs her shoulders. “What? Yarn’s expensive.”
