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“You’re sweet,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”
It’s funny how you never know what’s going to make a vivid impression and become a nostalgic memory. It just happens. There’s no doubt in my mind that this will be a sweet moment I look back on, sitting with Calliope tucked against my side, wrapped in the darkness and music of the storm.
“What are your parents like?” she asks after a few quiet minutes.
“They’re great. Mom was a nurse and Dad was an illustrator. They’re both retired now and living in the same house I grew up in. My younger sister lives next to them with her husband and kids. They help her a lot with the babies—my sister had twins not quite a year ago. I don’t see them often, but I talk to them every week. There’s usually at least one baby screaming in the background.”
Calli grins up at me. “Not a fan of kids?”
“Kids are fun. As long as they can go home.”
She chuckles and drains the rest of her drink. “It’s safe to say there are no little broody beekeepers running around out there then?”
“Broody beekeeper?” It beats Daddy Long Legs, I guess. “First of all, I do not brood.”
“Whatever you say.” I’m glad to hear her tone has lightened again.
“And secondly, I’ve had a vasectomy so no accidental babies for me.”
“I don’t want kids either. I’m enjoying my freedom. Did your dad teach you to draw?”
“He did when I was a kid, but we have pretty different styles.”
Calli tilts her head, peeking over at me. “Will you show me one of your drawings sometime?”
“Will you take back that broody remark?” I tease.
Her lips press together as she pretends to think about it. “Mm, quiet introspective beekeeper doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, but I’ll think about it. It’s an upgrade from where you started at Graveyard Creeper.”
“Okay, Peach Bandit.”
A smile leaps to her lips. “That could be a children’s book. The Adventures of Graveyard Creeper and Peach Bandit.”
“Peach Bandit looking for severed limbs in a cooler is probably a little intense for a kid’s book.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” she giggles, getting to her feet. “I need a refill. How about you?”
“You’re out of bourbon. Make your drink and we can go to my place. I’ll let you see a sketchbook while you’re drunk so you’ll be scathingly honest.”
I follow her inside and wait while she blends the ingredients for her margarita. “Whoops, made way too much,” she mumbles. “Oh well.” She grabs a big glass and pours the drink in, filling it to the top. “Future Calli is going to hate me tomorrow.”
When she excuses herself to go to the bathroom, I sneak back to her living room, pull out my phone and take a picture of the photo of her father.
“Ready,” she announces, returning a moment later, and we start toward my place.
The rain has let up but not for long judging by the ring of dark, lightning filled clouds around us. The temperature is dropping quickly, so we forgo the porch for my living room.
She sits beside me on the couch, scooting closer when she sees I have the sketchbook in my hand. It’s an older one that contains mostly preliminary sketches of landscapes. Some trees and flowers. The drawings of her are tucked safely away in another room. I’m not sure how she’d feel about them.
“Arlow!” Her sudden exclamation makes me blink and raise my eyebrows. “These are fantastic!” She takes her time flipping through the pages. “Scribbles,” she grumbles. “You’re ridiculous.”
The warmth that grows in my chest as she admires my work should be concerning. I’ve never cared much what anyone thought of my art. It’s an outlet for me and an income, not something I do to impress, but the way she looks up at me with her mouth slightly open in awe affects me more than any praise or criticism I’ve ever received.
“You’re an artist.” After a moment of thought, she adds, “Your unconventional job?”
“I sell some prints and originals.” All my work is under a pseudonym. She won’t be able to find anything online if she tries to look.
It’s not the sketches of trees or flowers that catch her eye. The drawing she stops on is one of my favorites, one I never tried to sell. I couldn’t imagine anyone else would see what I did, but as she gazes at it, something about it grabs her.
