Every Time (Brush of Love 3)

of a woman who was obviously hitting on me had gone from a wealthy woman who felt she owned the room to a caring woman who really wanted to do something about this issue. I could see her eyes glistening like she had a personal stake in this matter, and I wanted to ask. I wanted to ask her why she felt so strongly about this cause. But I was distracted the moment she leaned back in the chair. Ellen was wearing a striking black dress. The slit enough would drive a man wild, but her bosom was prominent and untamed. The pearl necklace she had on drew the eye to that very place before her body dipped into a very stark, slim waist. The mixed signals I was getting from her over dinner were mounting, and a sly smirk appeared on her face again as the conversation took a drastic turn. “Are you enjoying everything thus far?” she asked. I cleared my throat and nodded before our plates were taken away. “Good. Because my foundation could use a good man like you.” Just then, I felt something slide against my leg. My eyes connected with Ellen’s, her stare intense and her lips curled up slightly. I could feel it moving against my foot before something started slipping underneath the cuff of my pants, and I pulled my leg back harshly before I gripped

my wine glass. “At the risk of reading too much into things,” I said. “I am in a relationship with a woman I love very much.” “I like a man who’s dedicated,” she said, grinning. Her offer sounded wonderful. The work her foundation did sounded incredible. I knew just by talking to her that it was something I wanted to do, something I wanted to throw my whole heart into. But I couldn’t work with a woman like this, a woman who seemed practically unfazed by the fact that I was in a relationship. A little mindless flirting from a rich woman who was used to getting what she wanted I could tolerate, but now her gestures had become physical in nature. I saw her reach her hand over toward mine and wrap her fingers around it, and that’s when I stood up and set my napkin down on my plate. “Where in the world are you going?” she asked. “Home,” I said. “Why in the world would you do something like that? We haven’t even enjoyed our second course.” “I figured since I’d just told you I was in a relationship that you were no longer willing to fire me for the position. That, and you’re pretty brazen with your actions,” I said.

“Oh, Bryan, sit down and simply listen.” “Depends. Are you talking with your mouth or your body?” I asked. “Why can’t Italk with both?” she asked. “See, and there it is again, that brazen flirtation even though I’ve already stated I’m in a relationship,” I said. “Look, Mr. McBride, you’re incredibly attractive. Wildly, in fact. You have this bad boy aura about you while still being a decent man. And those tattoos, I’d have no issues tracing them with my tongue. Having sex with you would probably be the highlight of my month, but that is not why I approached you.” “Uh-huh,” I said. “I approached you and inquired about a career change for you because I believe in the work you do. You do it well, the stuff with your business and the homeless community. You have a practical head on your shoulders and a real, true passion to help these people. Do you know how hard that is to find nowadays?” she asked. “Yes, actually. I do,” I said. “Then you know how invaluable you are to me. If the flirtation makes you uncomfortable, then I’m more than happy to lay off. Honestly, I’m used to having to do it to get men to sway in my direction. It’s a knee-jerk reaction, even though you are very attractive,” she said. “You’re a woman of many talents, I’m sure. You don’t need to use your body to get what you want,” I said. “Oh, you’d be surprised. Money doesn’t gain me the type of power it gains for men. But that’s a different conversation for a different day. Just know that should things ever happen between you and this lucky woman of yours, I’m more than willing to be your delectable rebound.” This woman was relentless. I had no idea if I should’ve been flattered or annoyed by the entire thing. She was attractive, sure, but she was no Hailey. Her pompous attitude alone could propel me out the door before I’d even gotten my hands on her. But if she was willing to lay off the flirting and keep this strictly business, there was nothing standing in the way of me taking this job. Not anymore. So, I sat down just before the second course was placed in front of us. “So, does this mean you’re interested in the position?” she asked. “This means I’m willing to talk it over more, yes.” The food was some of the best I’d ever tasted. The steak was delicious, and the flavor combinations were unlike anything I’d ever indulged in. I thought myself to be cultured because of the way my parents raised my brother and me, but all of this was completely new to me. I hummed and groaned over the food, earning giggles from Ellen every now and again. But she stuck to her promise of not crossing any boundaries. “You would be paid a salary, of course. With benefits. But there isn’t a lot of room for raises and such. Because it’s a non-profit foundation, all the excess revenue outside of the salaries and what it takes to keep our main building up and running gets redistributed back into the projects. The good thing about that is your travel expenses and the like can be wrapped into the overall price of a project, so your salary can be stretched a bit further.” “That’s fine with me. The more money I’ve got for these projects, the better I can make them,” I said. “Sounds like you’ve accepted the job,” she said, grinning. “I’m speaking hypothetically, of course.” “Oh, of course,” she said. “Hypothetically.” But something in the tone of her voice told me she was simply mocking what I was saying. “What will you do with your own business?” she asked. “Will you leave that to someone?” “That’s one of the things I wanted to talk with you about,” I said. “Since I already have some of that community service wrapped up in my projects, what you would think about making my business one of your first projects?” “Assuming you take the job?” “Assuming so, yes.” “What did you have in mind?” she asked. “Present your idea like you would to the board to approve.” “It would go something like this. Many people have been asking me to expand outside of the San Diego area and to come in and develop housing like the type of subsidized housing I’m doing now. The only problem is cash flow. I’d have to dip back into debt to branch out, hire the hands I needed, and pay for the travel time to get to these sites.” “Either that or take the time to travel yourself and hire locals,” she said. “Exactly. I figured we could swing it one of two ways. The foundation could give a donation to the company to get the projects going, and then as we got trucking and sold off the housing, I could pay you back the money.” “Why would you do that if it’s a donation?” she asked. “Because the company will stand on its own with that area eventually, at least that’s the theory. It’s the initial branch-off that takes the most time and money. Once we get established, however, the foundation could take it upon itself to subsidize the housing for the homeless community. Pay for four or five months’ worth of bills for however many houses, and it would give them places to live so they could clean up and try to piece their lives back together.” “But they need more than a place to live,” she said. “Yes, which is why I would only work part-time starting out. I’d have to go between my company and the foundation for a spell. I’m not going to liquidate my company to come work for you. That’s not an option.” “I never expected you to,” she said. “What would you be doing part-time?”

“Establishing all those connections in the places we’re looking to go. I’d start here and branch out. I’d find places that would hire the homeless community and network, find barbers and hairdressers that would help the homeless community look their best, find thrift shops and retail stores that would be willing to donate clothes they could borrow. We could start an entire store where the only system needed is bartering. The homeless community works there helping other homeless people like themselves find clothes for interviews. They borrow them and bring them back when they’re done, and not only do they get to the interviews, but they have volunteer work already set up for their resume.” “See, it’s ideas like that, Bryan, that brought me to you. It’s got kinks to work out, but it’s an ingenious idea,” Ellen said. “And I’ve got plenty more of them,” I said. “Does this mean you’ll take the job?” she asked. “I don’t know. Would you be willing to settle for a part-time operations director until things could fall into place?” We sat in silence for a little while, and I could see her mulling over everything I’d thrown at her. She was nodding to herself like she was debating how people would react when she went back to tell them the news. I sat in my seat with my hands interlocked, gripping them tightly while I sat there and waited for her answer. The nerves coursing through my body was yet another signal I was on the brink of what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. “Let me talk with some people,” she said, “but I don’t see why not.”

Chapter 16

Hailey

I got up that morning and felt my body weighing down heavier than ever. It’d been about a week since the dinner with my parents, and every single night since, they’d called me. They wanted to know how I was doing and how I was feeling, but really it was becoming a nuisance. My evenings were the moments I had to settle down and rest my body or soak in a hot shower. My evenings were when my nausea got the best of me, and I was tired of listening to my cell phone constantly ringing off the hook. I finally had to tell t

hem that they didn’t have to call every evening, and I was hoping it would stick. I rolled out of bed and got a shower, not bothering to wash my hair before I stepped out. I needed it to be a little dirty since I was going to dye it a different color. The cyan didn’t seem to suit me anymore. I wanted something a bit darker. Maybe a crimson or a mauve sort of flair, but the cyan was getting on my nerves. I took out all the things I had to dye my hair with, the hair dye brush, the towel I wrapped around my neck, the gloves I used over and over again to massage the dye to my scalp, and the hair cap I stuck it all in so it could sit and develop. I turned on the fan and opened up the small bathroom window, trying to get as much ventilation in my bathroom as possible. Then, I pulled out my brush and began brushing my hair. I slowly worked out the knots of my hair that was not shoulder length. I debated on whether to cut it. I sort of missed my short hair. It had suited my long neck better. But as it grew out and started framing my face, I couldn’t help noticing that it brought a bit of life back into my eyes. And that’s what I needed now. More life. I brushed and brushed while the wind blew through my window. The cool air felt good on my heated skin, still red from the hot shower I’d taken earlier. I smiled for the first time in days as I set my brush down, but the moment I looked down at the bristles, shock coursed through my veins. There were chunks of hair sitting in my brush, and I could feel my exposed scalp shivering in the wind. I felt my jaw quivering as the light faded from my eyes. Now, I no longer cared about what color my hair was. Now, I no longer cared about how long my hair was. I looked up at myself and saw this massive bald spot on the side of my head, screaming at me as it taunted my reflection and reminding me of the disgusting things growing in my body, reminding me of the withered skeleton I’d be when they finally laid me into the ground. I dropped to my knees and sobbed into my hands. How the hell was I going to keep hiding this from Bryan? How in the world was I going to explain bald spots to him? My shoulders were getting thinner, and my ribcage was beginning to show. My appetite was getting worse, and my energy levels were becoming depleted. My joints ached, and I slept longer hours and even our lovemaking had become lazy. And now I was losing my hair, and I didn’t know how to hide this from him. I didn’t know how to explain it away. I needed to push him away, to break up and run in the opposite direction. I’d had so many chances to end it and so many chances to tell him I didn’t love him anymore, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look him in the face and tell him that big of a lie. I could tell him I was okay. I could tell him I was just tired. I could tell him the gallery was getting to me, but I couldn’t tell him I didn’t love him. I’d never be able to tell him that. I lay down on the floor of my pathetic little bathroom and drenched the floor with my tears. I wrapped my arms around my body and cried, shivering. I was suddenly painfully aware of how much hair I’d probably already lost, feeling the wind wrap around me and flutter over the bare spots of my scalp. I would have to come up with a way to get around it, but right now I couldn’t. I pulled myself up off the floor and shook my head when a clump of hair was sitting where my head had been. I picked it up in my hands as I looked at my reflection in the mirror again. I had to open the gallery in thirty minutes, which wasn’t enough time to try and figure out what the hell I was going to do with my hair. So, I gathered up the hair I’d lost with my shaking hands, flushed it down the toilet, and started rummaging around in my closet. I had a few scarfs I’d purchased for a project I tried many years back. I’d bought them in all different sizes and patterns and different colors and motifs. I’d cut them all up and glued them onto a canvas before I left it out in the sun. The colors bled onto the canvas when it rained while the scarves themselves faded and dried with the sun, and to the day it was my most popular project. I’d sold it almost immediately for three hundred dollars, and at the time, I’d thought I was simply rich. I smiled at the memory before I pulled out the box from the corner of my closet. I dug through and found a scarf I hadn’t used for the project. It was black and silver, with little dots of green and turquoise. I remembered purchasing it but never using it because the colors were too dark, too bleak, and too opaque for what I was trying to do. But now, the scarf seemed appropriate, even welcomed, in fact.

I gathered the rest of my hair into the scarf before tying it around my head. I tucked everything in and slipped a couple of bobby pins against it, making sure it wouldn’t pop off my head in the middle of the day. I threw on some jeans and a shirt before grabbing my light denim painting button-up, then I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. Now I had the entire day to think on how the hell I was going to cover up my hair from Bryan. I got to the gallery and opened right before the floodgates released. Regulars who had been coming in every day were there to take a look at my latest paintings while new people who were beginning to filter in slowly took in all the artwork on the walls. Being in my gallery helped me forget about everything. Every time a piece of artwork was purchased, I felt a breath of life caress my bones. This was everything I’d ever worked for, the culmination of my life’s breath as I knew it. If this was the only legacy I left behind, then I could die with a smile on my face. And even the mention of death in a place like this didn’t seem to hit as hard as it did when I was alone in my apartment. I got beckoned over by a couple I recognized. I smiled at them and waved, enjoying their familiar faces while they pointed at my newest painting on the wall. It was an outline of myself I’d done, filled in with swirls of gray and black. The canvas behind the silhouette was swirled with a few pastel colors, but the overall tone of the painting was much bleaker than what I’d been doing as of late. And it honestly made me smile when the couple noticed. “Why is it so gloomy?” the woman asked. “I think the better question is why the fact that gloomy bothers you,” I said. “Well, your paintings are just so upbeat, in a way,” the man said. “The idea of beauty is that it can be found anywhere, even in its counterpart. Having something contrasting the idea of upbeat makes

you treasure it all the more, does it not?”

“What do you mean?” the woman asked. “Well, you said this painting was gloomy. Does that mean it bothers you or that you miss the upbeat paintings I used to do?” I asked. “I miss them,” the man said. “Would you have missed them had I not painted this painting?” I asked. “Well, no, I guess,” the woman said. “And isn’t that a beautiful feeling? To know that there’s something else you appreciate in this world?” I asked. The recognition slowly started to ease over their faces, and it made me smile a genuine smile. “The idea of beauty in darkness isn’t simply placing beauty in the darkness. It’s also about showcasing only darkness, or gloomy in this aspect, and making you appreciate what is sometimes only beauty or only upbeat. The occasional contrast between light and dark prompts people to appreciate the lightness all that much more.” “Or the darkness, depending on which they favor,” someone said. I turned around and saw that everyone in the gallery was gathered around me listening, and my eyes threatened to fill with tears. Holy hell, I was going to miss this. “Exactly,” I said breathlessly. “But what if no one buys it because it’s too gloomy?” someone asked. “Sometimes art isn’t made to be purchased. Sometimes it’s made to release an emotional state from the body, so the mind has a better chance of recuperating and coping,” I said. “So, you don’t ever expect your art to sell?” someone else asked. “Nope. I’ve just been lucky enough to have people who enjoy it,” I said. “Is it true that Van Gogh didn’t sell any of his paintings while he

was still alive?” the woman asked.

“Well, he did sell a few, contrary to the popular legends. But, they weren’t for much. In this day and age, he maybe sold them for five dollars.” “Five dollars?” the man exclaimed. “Yes,” I said, giggling. “Van Gogh was not revered in his time. Not like Michelangelo was.” “So, the guy dying made his stuff more valuable?” someone asked. “How did that work?” “It’s strange, thinking about how an artist dying could do that to their work. How come they can’t get that recognition while they’re alive?” another person asked. “It’s got to do with the simple act of business,” someone else said. “If an artist floods the market with their work, then it drives the prices of their own work down. The rarer something is, the more valuable it becomes.” “Yes, but who’s to say one artist’s work is worth millions while another artist’s work isn’t worth a penny after they’re dead?” another person asked. “The idea of supply and demand does play a role,” I said, “but I think it’s also the artist’s story. Everyone loves a good sob story. They enjoy the life of the suffering artist as much as they do the art itself. Some people purchase art because of how it looks, but some people purchase art because of the story behind it. In terms of the suffering artists, Van Gogh is one of the ones who take the cake.” “Well, I’m not sure my parents are going to enjoy this type of painting hanging on the wall in their room,” the woman said. “And that is perfectly fine,” I said, smiling. “There are plenty of paintings with much lighter themes to them if you’d prefer those.” The couple ended up purchasing one of my more conventionally beautiful paintings. It was a basic scenery painting with the sun barreling down into the top of a forest of trees. They paid for it and thanked me for their help while the rest of the people simply meandered about the room. The conversation we’d just had got me thinking about the European tour and how all that money, especially after I was gone, could go to helping not only Bryan but my sister as well. She could use it to help fund her low-cost legal aid. It could help her reach more people like I knew Bryan wanted to do. I hadn’t been selling paintings long enough to flood the market or anything like that, but my story would resonate with a lot of people. Especially if I painted those paintings in lonely hotel rooms while I dwelled on my state of life. I could turn myself into the struggling artist who rendered so many people posthumously famous. Fame wasn’t what I was after, but the riches that came with it could really help the people I’d surrounded myself with. Anna and her outreach. Bryan and his passion for the homeless community. Drew and his tattoo shop. They could all benefit from what was currently an agonizing experience. I still had a chance to pull some beauty out of this pathetic scenario I’d found myself in. But as the people trickled out after lunchtime, I felt my head beginning to throb. It throbbed so deeply, in fact, that it moved me to tears. I went over and locked the gallery door for lunch before I shut off all the lights. Then, I went back into my little shop and lay down on the floor. The cold floor was soothing to my head, but my vision was beginning to blur. Tears were pooling underneath my cheek as I curled into myself, and I had to close my eyes to keep myself from becoming nauseous. This was the worst my headache had ever been, and a frightening thought crossed my mind. What happened when I could no longer remember this place?

Chapter 17

Bryan

I

wanted to surprise Hailey at her apartment tonight. I went by dur

ing lunch to try and bring her something to eat, but the door was locked, and the lights were out. There wasn’t a sign on the door stating whether she was coming back or not, so I decided not to bother her. But I worried about her for the rest of the day, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I’d seen her with my own two eyes.

I pulled up to her apartment complex and parked my truck. I felt my hands shaking for some reason as I walked up to her door. I rose my fist to knock and listened to the shuffling behind the door, and already a smile was rising on my cheeks. I hadn’t seen her since the dinner she had with her parents, and I was anxious to know how it went. I knew she’d been nervous and didn’t want to go, but the moment she told me Anna had organized it, I’d encouraged her to give it a try. She’d called me that night and told me it went as good as it could go, and I didn’t press the matter anymore.

But I wanted to know everything about it.

I tried to convince her to let me join them, but she was against it. She told me that she didn’t want to make things worse by springing a guy on them, and while I could understand, it hurt that she didn’t want me there for support. I wanted to hold her hand through the entire thing and make sure she was all right. I wanted to provide a buffer like she had for me with my parents in case things got out of hand. So,

I simply made Anna promise me she would be the buffer I wanted to be and left it at that.

However, the moment Hailey opened the door and saw me standing there, all the questions I had for her fled from my mind. My eyes fluttered up to her head. Her smooth, bald head. I could feel her eyes on me, studying my reaction to her as she slowly stepped away from the door. I walked in as she shut the door behind me, turning around to keep my eyes on her hair. Or rather, her lack of hair. “Is it bad that I already miss it?” I asked, snickering. “Nah, not really. I had this random vision today in the shop and thought I’d try it out. I couldn't decide on a color this morning, so the only obvious direction was to shave it all off.” “Obvious?” I asked, giggling. “Does it look that bad?” “No, no, no. Not bad. Just different.” “I don’t really know if it’s for me, honestly. The vision looked much better than the outcome. I’ll give it a few weeks, and if it doesn’t grow on me, I’ll just get a wig,” she said. I watched her saunter over to her fridge as she grabbed a couple of drinks for us to have. This strange and wonderful woman I was in love with just did whatever she wanted at the drop of a hat, and it was almost inspiring. She simply envisioned herself doing something and then did it. She saw herself with a gallery, so she did it. She saw herself selling her artwork, so she did it. She saw herself painting instead of being a doctor, so she dropped out of school and did it. She saw herself with no hair, so she did it. I’d never known her to be quite so mercurial before, but she was an artist. She changed the color of her hair at the drop of a hat, so it was only a matter of time before she changed the style of it. Granted, her hair was getting long, and I was enjoying running my fingers through it, but as I studied the back of her head I realized she had a wonderful shape to it. There were very few divots and the top of her head was the same color as the rest of her skin, and there was a beauty to its bare nature that called to me. Then she turned around and smiled, and all I wanted to do was cup the back of that beautiful head and pull her in for a kiss. “Here you go,” she said. “Thanks.” I tipped the beer up to my lips while we sat down on her couch. She looked better than she had the last few times I’d seen her, and I wondered if that was from the thrill of shaving her head. She grinned at me while we sipped our drinks in silence, her hand dancing over to mine while I threaded our fingers together. And that’s when I noticed something odd. “When did you start shaving your arms?” I asked. “Huh?” “Your arms. They’re smooth, too. When did you start shaving them?” Her eyes fluttered down to her skin, and I could see a blush creeping across the top of her head. It quickly trickled down into her cheeks before rushing down her neck, but the playful glint in her eye I expected to see wasn’t there. Instead, it was like she was trying to hold back a type of dread. “I shaved them this morning in the shower,” she said. “Did it look weird to have hairy arms with a bald head?” I asked playfully. “Weirder than you would’ve thought. The bald head offset everything. I’m surprised I still have my eyebrows.” That playful glint was back, and something told me I’d actually given her an out instead of an avenue to let me in. “I can see you still staring at it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m used to seeing you with hair.” “Do you hate it?”

“Not at all,” I said as I brought her fingertips to my lips. “I don’t love you because of your hair.” “You love me because of my curves,” she said, winking. “Oh, do I ever love those.” Ileaned over to plant a kiss on her neck, and she giggled. I set my empty beer bottle down before I took her water from between her fingers. I allowed it to fall to the floor while her hands snaked around me, my lips pressing kiss after kiss into her skin. She smelled of paint and berries and something metallic, a new scent I’d come to associate with her while my tongue danced along her skin. She undulated into me while her skin stood on end, but it was her hands pressing against my chest that caused me to stop. “You okay?” I asked. “You didn’t tell me about you meeting with Ellen yet,” she said. “Ah, yes. Ellen,” I said as I sat up. “She’s an ... interesting woman.” “Interesting how?” she asked. “Well, the job sounds wonderful. Actually, having that conversation with her solidified the fact that I eventually want to do something exactly like what she’s offering me.” “Bryan, that’s fantastic. So, what’s holding you back?” “Well, I get this feeling that we might not completely mesh,” I said. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” “Bryan, you know you can talk to me,” she said. “What happened?” I felt her hand wrap around mine and, for a second, I wanted to throw her words back into her face. She wanted me to open up, but she wasn’t willing to open up herself. I drew a deep breath through my nose and sighed, quelling that part of me as I closed my eyes. I was not looking forward to having this conversation with her. “Ellen came onto me.” “She what?”

“Several times during the course of the dinner,” I said.

I opened my eyes and sought out Hailey’s stare, but the annoyance I expected to see wasn’t there. Instead, there was a bit of amusement in her eyes, and the grin that crossed her face took me completely by surprise. “She did, did she?” Hailey asked. “What exactly did this wild woman do to you?” I furrowed my brow as Hailey sat back, readying herself for what she assumed would be an amusing conversation. “She kept making these innuendos. She asked me at one point if I was enjoying everything, but it was the way she sat back and flaunted her chest that tipped me off on that one. Then she tried scooting her foot toward mine underneath the table.” “She tried playing footsies with you?” she asked. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “Then I told her I was in a relationship, and it didn’t seem to faze her at all. She even wrapped her hand around mine on the table before I stood to leave.” “But you didn’t.” “Not until she verbally acknowledged the fact that I was in a relationship and how, even though she was attracted to me, she would respect my boundaries. Went on this whole diatribe of how she was used to flirting with men to get them to do what she wanted.” “Oh, I bet,” Hailey said, grinning. “It’s really not that shocking. You’re an attractive man. Women are going to hit on you, believe it or not. Did she hit on you after she said that?” “No. I sat back down, and we enjoyed dinner and talked some more,” I said. “Did you tell her about your idea to fuse your company with her foundation?” “Yep. We even talked about some ways I would garner connections with people and businesses across the cities we helped in order to implement other programs I threw at her,” I said.

“Sounds like a very productive evening. I think you should take the job.” “Seriously?” I asked. “Even after knowing she hit on me like that?” “Did she make sleeping with her a requirement for the position?” she asked. “Hell, no. Nothing like that.” “Then take the job. Bryan, you should see the way your eyes light up talking about this. This has you written all over it. Take the damn job,” she said, giggling. I was absolutely stunned at the fact that she was okay with me taking this position. I just knew she would tell me it wasn’t a good idea, and I was wholly prepared to call Ellen tonight and tell her I couldn’t accept. Honestly, a part of me was hoping Hailey would’ve said no. That meant I wouldn’t have to think about this anymore at night, which meant I could finally get some fucking sleep. “Bryan, I love you, and I trust you. I don’t want you passing up opportunities you truly want in life because you’re worried about my feelings. That’s not how this works.” “How what works?” I asked. “This. Between us. I want to be here to support you, not hold you back. If I really thought she made you uncomfortable, then I would advise against it. I think she rattled you, but you held your own and you stood your ground. I know you would never cheat on me, and I know you wouldn’t still consider working with someone if you thought they were going to continue with that kind of behavior. Take the job.” “Hailey, are you sure?” “Take the damn job and stop asking,” she said, giggling. But even though she was giggling, her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hailey, are you okay?” The question cut her giggle off automatically, and I knew I had her attention.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, are you all right? You’ve just seemed off lately. I know we had a harsh conversation the last time we went out, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something really wrong.”

“And for the last time, Bryan, I’m just stressed. This gallery has taken off way faster than I’d imagined. Painting is taking up my life in the best ways possible, and I’m still learning how to juggle all this in the air. I figured I’d have the first year to figure all this out, and I had to do it within the first three months. It’s a bit much,” she said.