Page 1 of Paint Our Song

Chapter One

The note left on his windshield reads, “Thanks for being a jackass.”

Miles groans. It’s written, in pencil, on the back of a receipt, and he knows it’s because of his horrible parking. In his defense, it’s not his fault. When he got here, all the parking spots were taken except for one, and all the other cars were parked wrong—most likely as a chain reaction from whoever did it first. The only place that was left forced him to park over a line, taking up two spots.

He was only going to be in the store to grab a snack, andthoughthe wouldn’t look too much of an ass when the other cars were clearly the reason.

To his horror, the two cars that were next to his are gone, and he definitely looks like an ass. “Sorry, stranger,” Miles sighs.

He had been in such a good mood, too. The line in the convenience store had been long, but there were teenagers playing “Garden” by Cloverlily, one of his all-time favorites. Miles had beensinging along with them even when the guy in front of him didn’t look too amused with the music, but there’s never going to be a day that Miles didn’t sing along with that band. He’s been obsessed with them since he first heard their music.

Flipping the receipt, he sees that it’s a month-old purchase for a… cat keychain? He snorts, crumples the receipt, and tosses it in a nearby trash can. Miles looks around, wondering who left the note. The only movement he sees is a red car driving off. Miles squints. Stuck on the bumper is a sticker of a cartoon black cat. Not a keychain, but it’s the same theme.

The person must like cats. Miles chuckles.

It sucks that whoever this cat person is left that note, though. He’s still musing about it when his phone rings.

“Hi, Ma!” he answers as he climbs into his car. He glances out of the rear-view mirror, where there’s a middle-aged man shaking his head. Oops, he needs to get out before someone posts him on the internet.

“Hi!” Mom sounds cheerful, as usual. “I wanted to check up on you. Are you arriving soon?”

“Yes. Just doing a quick stopover at the gas station outside town.” Miles puts the phone on speaker and places it in the passenger seat. “I’ll stop by the inn first and see if anyone needs me.”

“Nonsense. You’re here on holiday.”

“No,” he corrects. “I’m here to help you out, and I’m staying indefinitely. I told you this!”

“Are you driving?” she asks.

“Uh. Yes.”

She makes a disapproving noise. “Don’t do that. Will you pass by your dad before getting to the inn?”

“Of course.”

“Perfect. Say hi for me.”

“Sure!”

“Drive carefully—what’s that, Gabby?” Mom’s voice is muffled, as if she’s holding the phone away. Gabby, his long-time best friend, speaks in a quick and excited tone in the background.

There are shuffling sounds, then Gabby speaks more clearly. “Miles! Hurry! I have a surprise for you.”

“Yeah? What?”

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, would it? Hurry, before you miss it.”

He chuckles. Okay, then.

After she hangs up, he opens a bag of gummy worms he picked up at the gas station and pops one into his mouth. With nobody to keep him company, he turns up his stereo. His phone’s still connected to it, and his playlist blares. It’s the latest song from Cloverlily and he sings along horribly.

The drive to Ridgeford—the lakeside town where their inn is—is two hours from the city, and, as always, he takes a quick stop to Dad’s resting place. Right when he passes the sign that says he’s entering Ridgeford, Miles turns the corner and drives up the zig-zag streets that circle around various hills and lead to the town’s cemetery. His dad’s grave is on the farside, and he parks by the curb and rubs at his sternum as he walks up to it.

“Hi, Dad!” Crouching down, he pats the gravestone, ignoring theway his heart aches. There are some dead leaves, so he crouches down and plucks them away. He didn’t bring anything, but there are still fresh flowers there, most likely from Mom. She likes to leave behind flowers from her garden. “I’m taking a break from work to help out at the inn. You know I don’t know much about running it, but I’ll try my best.”

No response, only rustling leaves in the wind.

“The gallery agreed to let me take a break from painting commissions, as long as I attend the already scheduled exhibits and make new paintings for my wall. So, I’ll be here in town, but driving back when there’s an exhibit.”