K. R. Treadway
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Late Night Date Night - 2: Graffiti Giggles
🕑 Added 2023-11-19 18:41:46 +0000 UTC
August 22, 202X, 12:16 AM
Donnel City - College District
She had stayed.
Jerome's blood sang with it, a potent cocktail of excitement and fear. Hollis had stayed and she seemed nervous and oh God what did it mean that they were both so nervous?
She had stayed.
“It was on the house,” he answered. Then he kept talking because his nerves wouldn't let him stop. “I’ve got a lot of pull after working here for two years.”
“So you're a man with connections?”
“Don’t doubt it.”
He stepped past the counter and entered the dim center aisle, two steps from her. Shadows hid her face, but his memory supplied the details. Intense eyes with their dark, sharpishly-arched eyebrows—every time she raised one it felt like a poke in the belly. A pert nose with a tiny white scar across the bridge that made her look like a pop-art rocker. But it was her lips, lush and sensual, that made a man want to do something stupid just to get her to curve them.
“You're looking at a guy whose name the owner almost gets right.”
“Wow. You must get so many perks.” The smile was obvious in her words, softening the sarcastic edge. He could picture that too: her mouth quirked up ever-so-slightly, because a gentle smirk was all the flair those lips would need.
“Tons. You know those cardboard cup sleeves? I can score as many as I want. Not for free—that would be nuts—but at cost.” Every sentence felt dumber than the last. But then, just before he could panic, Jerome heard an answering huff of laughter.
Hollis followed behind as he made his way to the front of the shop. The bell jingled as he opened the door and gestured her through.
“Somewhat humid,” he noted.
“Like breathing through a wet sock,” she said, watching him lock the doors. Then it was done, and they were out of excuses. Jerome took his time putting his keys away.
“Well…” He glanced at her and smiled. Under the streetlight, her pale hair was ethereal, almost ghost-like.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” she said.
“It was my pleasure.”
A few more seconds of silence. Now they would wave and go their separate ways. As if he’d caused it to happen, Hollis’s hand came up—
“Want a pancake?” he said.
Hollis blinked. Her arm dropped. “I don’t think I heard you correctly?”
“You did.” He grinned and pointed to a blur of bright light several blocks away. “There’s a food truck right over there. It’s only open for a few hours after midnight.”
“Seriously?” she asked.
He nodded. “Yup. Really popular with the party crowd. And one boring grad barista who closes a lot.”
“That’s…strange.”
Jerome wasn’t sure if she was being skeptical about the food truck or his company, but decided to be optimistic. “Maybe, but it does a ton of business after 1 a.m. Sometimes they even get a decent cross breeze. Want to see?”
She hesitated.
It hurt, but he could hardly blame her. The air was cloying and his backpack full of art supplies made him even dorkier than usual. The kindest thing to do would be to give her a second non-awkward exit.
“Unless you have to be up early?”
The next moment was agonizing. He kept his face neutral while she bit her bottom lip, considering. Then she cocked her head to the side and gave him a reluctant smile.
“Dammit, I kind of want to see the weird food truck,” she said.
Jerome chuckled, hoping his elation wasn’t completely obvious on his face. “Let’s go.”
They strolled along the sidewalk in silence. Unlike the lulls in their earlier talking, this time felt slightly more natural. Jerome loved this part of town and it seemed Hollis agreed. So they walked and let the sights and noises wash over them. The distant bass of a raging party, so like a heartbeat, accompanied them into the warm shadows of old brick and under the frosty circles of new streetlights.
“You said you’re a grad student?” she asked after a time.
“Yup. In my last year.”
“What are you studying?”
“Printmaking.” His impending degree usually elicited a bemused response. He awaited hers with a twinge of apprehension.
Hollis’s nose wrinkled. It was a surprisingly cute look. “Explain.”
“Explain printmaking?” At her nod he grinned. “It’s…all sorts of techniques that involve transferring an image from one surface to another. You know, like wood-cuts? In the old days it was all about printing presses and practical use. Like, it used to be the way they printed newspapers. Stuff like that. These days it’s art.”
Hollis uttered a single syllable, an “I’m thinking about this” noise. They crossed in front of a pure black stripe of alleyway before she asked, “What kind of art?”
“Almost anything. Limited edition prints, wedding invitations, even screen-printed shirts. It depends on how you want to specialize. A lot of people think it’s a useless degree, but they’re wrong.” And if his own fledgling business continued to do well, he would show them how wrong.
“What are your specialties, Jerome?”
Hearing her say his name in that husky voice nearly made him stumble. “I, um, like wood-cuts and lino-cuts, both for myself and clients.” He cleared his throat. “I actually do a fair number of wedding invitations on the side.”
She turned to him with an unusual smile, both surprised and pleased. “That sounds great, to be honest.”
Her simple approval was a shot of confidence to his ego. Too much confidence. He couldn’t help but blurt, “I also do a little street art.”
Hollis actually stopped. When she turned, fixing the full power of that assessing gaze on him, he swallowed. They were only a block away from the food truck, but the air around them seemed hushed. They might have been isolated in a frozen slice of existence. Her face was a stunning chiaroscuro painting, sharp shadows offset by the loving caress of light brushing one cheek and her magnificent lips. He wanted to make a print of it.
“Street art?” she said. Up came that eyebrow, and his breath caught a little. “Is that just a fancy word for graffiti, Jerome?”
It was the second time she’d said his name, but he still had to work to recall the thread of the conversation. “Uh, no…it’s street art.” He tried for a suave smirk, but probably just looked flustered. “Though if you’re asking me if I put indelible images on walls I don’t own…the answer is ‘yes.’ ”
A look of amusement slowly bloomed across Hollis’s face. Then it happened: she gave a cute little laugh.
His own face pulled into a fierce grin. “Oh my God, you just giggled at me.”
“Nope. I don’t giggle. That was a snicker. Because you paint graffiti.” She giggled again, making his insides fizz.
“If you call my street art ‘graffiti,’ I get to call that giggling.”
She shrugged, but her smile was more open than it had been all night. “Suit yourself, but this place of yours had better serve pancakes. You better not have said ‘pancakes,’ but meant ‘waffles.’ Some of us care what words mean.”
She sashayed away like a one-woman ad touting the benefits of yoga pants, leaving no doubt in Jerome’s mind: that had been flirting. They were flirting with each other. Miraculous. She had looked so unhappy earlier. It had been worse than sad, almost…forlorn. But Hollis’s black mood had evaporated, and he dared to believe his presence was the difference. Just knowing that his company could cheer her up made him him wish tonight could last a few more days.
He hurried after her to the brightly lit food truck.
