Matt clears his throat as he approaches us. “I was actually thinking about that. Maybe if you can block off those meeting rooms in the back and almost make them their own structure, it would help. There would be a clear separation between animal and child, at least unless you intentionally mix them.”
Her eyes light up. “That is a great idea. From a construction standpoint, do you know how to do that? Is it hard?”
“Nah. It’s just framing,” he says. “Nothing more than we’re doing out here.”
“Perfect. Actually,” she says, biting her bottom lip, “could you go with me, Matt?”
“Where?”
“To City Hall. I might need you to talk construction.” Meredith makes a face. “I’d feel better if someone knowledgeable was at my side, fighting along with me.”
“I bet Matt would love to spend the morning with you,” Penn teases. “This physical stuff is hard since he’s so freshly recuperated.”
I’ve known Matt for only a few days, but I think if he could kick Penn in the face, he would.
“Great. Let’s get over there now so we can chat a little in the car,” Meredith says. “I like to walk into a meeting knowing exactly what we’re going to say.”
“Sure thing,” Matt says, giving Penn a look like he’s going to kill him later. He drops his belt on a piece of wood and follows Meredith out the door.
The room settles, the sounds of their voices drifting away, and it’s just Penn and me. We watch each other, neither of us wanting to be the first one to break the silence. Finally, Penn shrugs and goes back to work.
I take my sketch pad out of my bag. The design I started to work out last night is on the first page. When I wouldn’t give in to Harper’s pokes and prods about my evening, only telling her I’d been sketching, she threw out a suggestion. A thunderbird, Dogwood Lane High’s mascot, sits in one of the dogwood trees. It’s a cute touch.
Slumping against the wall, I lower myself until I’m sitting. The floor is cool beneath me as I take in the spot where the mural will go. But after a few minutes, my attention is dragged to Penn.
A bead of sweat glistens on his forehead as he focuses on his work. I wonder if Meredith would mind if I just painted a mural of him, preferably shirtless, instead.
Forcing the thought out of my mind, I go back to the sketch pad. But as my hand starts to doodle again, it pencils a set of abs instead of the lake I was planning.
“That might be one way to get more views on this thing,” I mumble and laugh before I can stop it.
The sound catches Penn’s attention. He leans forward, his palms resting on a stack of lumber as he looks at me.
“What’s so funny over there?” he asks.
“Just wondering how bad Matt is going to hurt you for sticking him with Meredith,” I say, erasing the quick version of Penn’s stomach as fast as I can. “She’s nice. I don’t know why you two try to avoid her.”
“She’s nice. She’s just full of so much . . . enthusiasm. Who gets that excited about renovating a building?”
I shove off the floor and get to my feet. “What if someone was going to build a huge pond so kids that were in trouble or had extra energy could go and learn to . . . fish? Cast a line? I don’t know the lingo.”
He laughs. “That would be super awesome of someone.”
“No one says ‘awesome’ anymore.”
“I do,” he says flatly.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Anyway, this is Meredith’s fishpond thing. It makes her feel good to make people happy and to think she’s making a difference in the world.”
“Well, making other people happy makes me feel good, too, if ya catch my drift.”
All I can do is shake my head.
He moseys across the room and stands next to me. Peering down at my sketchbook, he nods. “This is great. Did you do all this?”
“Yes.”
He reaches for the book. “Can I see it?”
“Oh, um, sure,” I say, handing it over.
He walks around the room, inspecting my sketches with the care of a surgeon. I bite my nail as I watch him pore over each little thing. A few times, he looks up at me with what looks like awe, and it gives me chills. Pride swells in my chest as I take in how impressed he is.
No one has ever really taken my art seriously. Sure, my father would use my art connections to benefit a charity auction he was involved with from time to time, but painting and drawing were considered my silly little hobbies. They were nothing compared with my sister’s talent of finding married men to sleep with.
Not having that in my face every day is more of a relief than I even dreamed it would be. I never truly understood how cold my life was until I got to Dogwood Lane and experienced its warmth. This kind of community should be something everyone gets the chance to have in their lives.