Page 25 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

The album showcased eight pieces of similar quality with two things in common: a kind of swirly, dreamlike quality, and they were all in varying states of incompletion.

Included in the visuals were her simple watercolor pencil renderings—acceptable for a woman with no formal training but loads of family exposure. These pieces required long hours and attention she couldn’t provide, not with Luce’s business as a priority.

Mingled in the Florentines’ mostly free-range parenting style were Luce’s pearls of strictness. She’d tried to teach Skye not to stare. It came with the territory to zone off into other worlds.

And her current world was gliding through the depth, the complexity that many people overlooked in dark hair. Some of Celene’s spilled over her face, and Skye wondered if it felt the same all these years later. Then, she swiveled her gaze to her own hands, remembering the tall dude in the button-up on the Vale property. “I work on them in my downtime.”

“They’re incredible,” Celene stated with a drabness only tempered by her soft smirk and the next question. “How much do I pay for one?”

“Oh.” All over the place, she’d started these projects over the past two years. And Skye loved them so much—as incomplete as they were—that they’d become her babies. “They’re not for sale.”

Standing this close, Skye noticed an imperfection on Celene’s diamond-cut features. When she spoke, one side of her top lip kinked upward more than the other. And as pointed as it peaked, it reminded her of a curious cat.

“Then why did you show them?” Kinky kitty lips accused, “You’re a tease.”

Seriously, whydidSkye show them? “Well, these pieces...” Her mouth went rogue again. “Are mine. They’re experimental. Anything for you would be brand new.”

“Like a commission.”

“Exactly, yeah.” Skye snaked hair behind her ear in two twisty strokes, dropping her arm when she noticed Celene watching. That type of restlessness undercut the appearance of a confident artist selling her work.

But Skyewasn’tconfident. She’d been formally trained as a data analyst, not a sculptor. And she’d never sold anything personal before.

Her interactive statues fit the pointless category more than priceless—an expensive, time-consuming hobby. A secret one at that. Revealed not even to June, whose shadow darkened the sliver of light under the door. Skye smacked the door to scare her off, and Celene didn’t question it.

“I can tell by their intricacy they’ll take weeks, maybe months. Here’s what we’ll do.” Celene took control of Skye’s phone, exiting the gallery to open the contacts. “Text me your rate. My dad’s covering the costs of the renovations, but this is my own expense. I’ll want to keep it for myself after the house is sold.”

One spring ago, a customer—Teresa, she recalled—gave Skye her number. Teresa’s life sounded fascinating, and she’d beencute, but Skye’s texting attention span fluctuated. It led to meandering exchanges Skye thought went naturally, but turned out to be shitty for the other party.

However, this wasbusiness. She’d worked in mid-rise offices and navigated monotonous performance reviews. Chats on compliance, pipelines, and metrics. Soul-crushing, but Skye had corresponded competently. “Okay, I can do that.”

“I’ll leave Wednesday evening, so I expect your contract before then. You have a sophisticated, polished style. It’s refreshing.” Celene dedicated several seconds to scrutinizing the creased candy wrappers giving the room its flair. “I don’t understand extremely, uh, eccentric art.”

Skye whirled her pinky into her necklace, blown away by this many sentences out of Celene, uninterrupted. Positive sentences at that. “I want everyone else to perceive the outdoor world the way I do. This is the only avenue I could come up with.”

“Am I your first customer?”

“You’re my first anything.” She clarified to skeptical eyes. “You’re the only one who knows I make this stuff, as it’s a new-ish discovery about myself. I’d respect your discretion.”

Celene pushed herself off the desk, hooking her handbag on her shoulder. She held out a hand. “I excel at discretion.”

Skye smiled despite herself during their handshake. “Thanks. I’ll type up a contract.”

“I anticipate it.” And instead of pulling away, Celene lifted Skye’s hand to her face, lightly swiveling it under her nose. “You’re making me hungry. What are you wearing?”

Croaking her words was so pitiful, and Skye did it anyway, picking up on the content of the question on a delay. “Honeysuckle. Uh, body cream.”

“Mmm.” Celene confirmed in another drift, nodding. Their fingers slipped apart when she turned to let herself out.

“Hey, wait, what do you want me to make?” That should’ve been Skye’s first inquiry. Man, her spacey mind, brought to life by Celene’s shockingly warm hands.

Celene wavered and, before opening the door, replied, “A fuchsia.”

7

“Where’d you send Big J this time?” Elise asked, pouring from the bottom portion of Celene’s French press.

Mornings in Yielding came with some bite. Celene draped on a gray cardigan she found in the primary suite, deciding not to gripe about her sister taking the rest of her coffee without asking. A fair exchange for borrowing Ajay again. “He’s cleaning out the shed.”