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“No, it’s my responsibility-”
“Mackenzie.” I wait till she looks at me before telling her in no uncertain terms, “Go finish what you need to do. I’ll handle this.”
She bites her bottom lip, gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks.” She squeezes my arm briefly, the action making my stomach dip in delight.
How freaking hard up am I for something like that to get me going?
Or just how completely gone for her am I?
I walk over to the edge of the garden area, calling the first listing that comes up on the search engine. But after seven calls of straight to voicemails or apologeticsorry, I’m already bookedreplies, I’m sensing a pattern that any worthwhile face painters in the city aren’t available for day-of gigs.
Okay, new plan. I’ll paint faces. How hard can it be?
I call up Davis and ask him to go buy some kid-safe paints and brushes and go to inform Mackenzie of my idea.
“Great,” she says distractedly as she directs another attendee to place their present on the gift table just to the right of the photo booth. “Hold on, what?”
“I called seven people, but they were all either booked or not answering. Probably because they were already at some other birthday party considering it’s the middle of the day on a Saturday.”
“You’regoing to paint the kids’ faces?”
“If you remember correctly, I make an excellent assistant.”
“Oh, believe me, I know. I’m just saying, you don’t have to-”
“Why thank you, Gabriel. How kind of you to offer your services.I think that’s what you meant to say.”
She fails to hide a smile, gazing at me for a moment. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The words themselves are innocent, but something about the way she says them… I step closer, no plan in my mind for what I’m actually going to do when a little girl runs between us, chased by her mother.
We jump apart, soon interrupted by Mackenzie’s client asking where she can go to the bathroom.
I pull out my phone as she directs her, starting up a YouTube crash course on face painting, and after fifteen minutes, I’m semi-confident in my abilities to transform a child into one of two options: a butterfly or Spiderman. Hope you like those, kids.
Mackenzie runs out to grab the supplies from Davis when he returns, and we quickly set up a booth as a small line forms. Are these children that ravenous for face paint?
An hour later, I’m fairly sure I’ll need a chiropractor after leaning forward for so long, and as the last child skips off to one of the carnival games, I stretch my arms over my head to pop my back.
“I see you expanded your repertoire,” Mackenzie smiles as she saunters up, stopping in front of my table. “I saw a rogue Batman out there.”
“Kid wouldn’t let me do Spiderman. Apparently he’s a ride or die DC fan.”
“Gotta say, I’m pretty impressed considering you just learned. At least, I’m assuming you don’t have some kind of face painting side hustle I’m not aware of.”
“I took a couple of art classes in college,” I admit. “But that’s the extent of my artistic abilities.” I rinse off the brush in front of me in a cup of water and pat it dry with a paper towel. “Do you have a free minute?”
“Yeah, everything’s running smoothly for now.”
“Here.” I motion for her to sit down and wave the paintbrush enticingly. “How about a butterfly? I’m a recently credentialed expert.”
“I can’t get my face painted. Danielle would flip.”
“No, no. Here.” I take hold of her hand, stroking my thumb over the back of it, her skin soft against mine.
She bites her lip, watching as I continue to rub my thumb over her, then nods her head.
I dip the smaller of the two brushes I have in a dark violet paint and set to work, leaning over her hand to draw the wings.