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“Can you guys tone it down just a touch?” I call. “My innocent eyes can’t handle the show.”
Sam laughs but doesn’t release Harper. “Your innocent eyes have seen worse.”
True. He was still living with me when they first started dating again. I walked in on them making out so many times, I started coughing like mad every time I walked into the living room just to give them fair warning. I used it so much, my fake cough did real damage to my throat.
I’m glad he’s so in love, but he’s my brother. I don’t need to see any of the details of that love.
Harper slips out of his arms and waves me closer. “Come in here and keep me company.”
Sam nuzzles against her ear. “I’ll keep you company.”
She playfully pushes him away. “Focus on buttering the bread.”
“I’ll butter your bread.”
“Ugh, no,” I cut in. “Food euphemisms will spoil my appetite.”
I sit down at their table. I’d help them in the kitchen, but we’ve already found out it’s too small for three cooks. Next time, they can come to my place, and I’ll cook for them. Probably while they make out on my couch, but such is life.
“I’ll try to behave.” Sam winks at Harper. Any effort he puts toward that goal has avery short time limit.
“I saw your latest cover reveal,” Harper says to me. “That circus carousel is adorable. It must have taken forever.”
“That was a fun one. I’m excited to read the book, even if I think carousels are kind of creepy.”
Some scary books stick with you forever.
Sam looks at me over his shoulder while he follows instructions and butters thick slices of bread. “I thought it was scarecrows.”
“Shush. I can be afraid of two things.”
“Are you adding more covers to your monthly schedule?” Harper asks.
I lift my shoulders and let them slump again. “Not yet.”
“Don’t you still have a wait list?”
“I don’t like to think about it.” Calendars and planners exhaust me. I have to have them to keep on top of my business, but every time I open one, I get a tiny headache behind my eyes. I like the creative part of my job. The actual planning side? Not so much.
“How far out are you booked?”
“A year and a half.”
“On part-time work?” Sam says. “I still don’t get why you won’t commit to illustrating full time. I thought you were going to do it months ago.”
The long wait list stresses me out but relying solely on my art to survive stresses me out more. How long will it last? How long before I hate it, just because it’s my job?
“Trends change. If my clients decide readers aren’t into my stuff anymore, my work could dry up, and then I’d be totally out of work. I refuse to go to Dad and ask for a job.”
He’s constantly telling Sam and me we could come work for him at his financial consulting firm. I can’t think of anything that would turn my soul into a shriveled husk quicker.
“I’m not one to judge, but your business strategy confuses me.”
“It doesn’t feel stable enough. Right?” Harper comes to my rescue, putting my jumbled career worries into one nice, neat sentence.
I’m not sensible about tons of things, but I’m trying to be about this. I need some security here. Following my dreams and hoping my art will sustain me full time and long term? Not especially secure.
“Exactly. And I love making covers, but I don’t want to give up working at the bookstore. I need to interact with humans sometimes.” As focused as I get on illustrating, I could easily become that person who only leaves her cave once a week to gather food and supplies. “And anyway, Miles would crumple without me.”
