The Gratitude Guarantee (Boyfriend in the Bargain #4)

28. Zach

28

ZACH

I can’t agree fast enough to Amanda’s idea. She just plopped the perfect solution to my half-baked plan right into my lap. I want to spend time with Brenna as a friend, and what better way to do that than under the guise of choosing new hobbies?

Well, not a guise, exactly. I’ve already admitted to myself that I don’t have a life outside of work and I actually do want to develop a few interests. It can’t be healthy to really only have one friend—well, two, now that I have Brenna—or to work, run, sleep, repeat. That kind of thing might be feasible for a while when you’re getting a new business off the ground like I’ve been doing, but my work is pretty stable now. I can afford to occasionally turn my attention to other things.

Entertaining, enjoyable things. With Brenna.

“It’ll be fun,” I tell Brenna, trying my best to convince her without being too obvious about wanting to spend time with her. “Amanda’s right. It’s easier to be a newbie at something if someone else is new too, so we’ll be partners. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Exactly.” Amanda nods her agreement and holds out the plate of garlic bread to me.

I take a slice. “You can pick the first activity if you want. Anything you choose is fine with me. We’re just trying stuff out, right?”

“It sounds like I don’t have a say in the matter,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “You two have it all planned out.”

“Only if you want to,” I tell her. “I won’t try to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with. But I do think it might be fun.”

“And it would take your mind off of being unemployed,” Amanda chimes in, passing the bread to Brenna. “You know how you get when you have too much time to think. I don’t need you sitting here ruminating twenty-four seven.”

Brenna twists her mouth, then lets one corner inch up into a half smile. “Alright, we’ll try a few things out and see if anything sticks. What should we do first?”

“I don’t know,” I say calmly, even though I’m rejoicing triumphantly inside that she agreed. “Is there anything you used to like doing that you could pick back up?”

“Hmmm.” She serves herself some lasagna as she thinks. “I used to like crafting and art. Hey, I know what we can do.” She sits up straighter, excited about her idea. “I’ve been seeing these videos on Pinterest about how to make pour paintings. It looks pretty easy and the end results are very cool. Should we try that?”

“Whatever you want,” I tell her with a smile. I take a bite of lasagna and barely contain a groan. “I think you should just stick with cooking. This is incredible.”

“Thank you!” She looks pleased. “So when are we going to do our paintings? And where?” She frowns and looks around. “It looked kind of messy, but we could probably put a sheet down in here to keep from destroying the floor.”

“But the fumes might kill you,” Amanda points out nonchalantly.

“That’s true.” Brenna bites her lip.

“Why don’t we just do it at my place? We can do it in the backyard where there’s plenty of space and air, and it won’t matter if there’s a bit of a mess.” I feel like a hero when her smile comes back brighter than before.

“Okay, great! When are you free?”

“Tomorrow afternoon? I only have a few jobs so I’ll be done pretty early. This is a slow time of year in my business.”

“Tomorrow it is! Say four o’clock? I’ll get all the supplies and meet you there. What colors do you want for yours?”

I shrug. “I don’t really care. What do you recommend?”

“Depends on what you want to do with it. If you’re going to hang it in your house, you’ll want to pick colors that match your current décor.”

I snort. “I’m flattered that you think I have “décor”. What I have is basic furniture, although I did put up my little Christmas tree last night. It’s even smaller than that one.” I wave at the one in the corner.

“Well…” Her brows dip, creating a v in her forehead. “What color is your furniture? Or your curtains? What’s your favorite color?”

“The furniture is mostly brown or black. I don’t have curtains, just blinds. And my favorite color is green.”

“Like forest green or mint green?” Amanda jumps in. “Or lime green or sage?”

“Uh, dark green, I guess? Or like the green of grass in the middle of summer.”

Both girls are nodding now. “Okay, I can work with that,” Brenna says. “Just leave it to me.”

“And be thinking about what you’re going to choose for your hobby,” Amanda adds, pointing at me with her fork.

“I will,” I promise, though I have no clue what I want to do. Coming up with an activity idea might require some serious effort.

I’m a little nervous for my first foray into art since middle school until Brenna shows up with three bags full of materials. She’s practically bouncing with excitement, and it would be nearly impossible to avoid absorbing some of that enthusiasm just from being in her presence.

“Ready?” she asks eagerly before I can even invite her in.

“Ready,” I confirm. “Come on in and we’ll go out back.”

I lead her through the house, noticing that she’s not shy about perusing my house as she walks. I hope she likes what she sees. I know it’s just a plain old bachelor pad, but hopefully it doesn’t send her running and screaming. It’s not fancy, but I try to keep it tidy and clean.

“I think my choices were right on,” she says when she turns to face me just inside the back door. “I got several shades of green to swirl together with black and white for contrast, and I think it will fit perfectly with the colors in your living room.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. It doesn’t sound like she is judging what she saw, just observing, and she doesn’t seem to be put off by the lack of throw pillows and candles. I couldn’t help but notice the difference between our abodes when I looked at my place after coming home from hers last night. Her apartment looked homey and welcoming. My house is purely functional.

“Awesome. Let’s get started.” I lead her out the sliding glass door onto my patio. Beyond stretches my yard, where we’ll be working. “You have everything we need in those bags?”

“I think so.” She rests her load on the edge of the patio and starts pulling things out. “I got four canvases in different sizes and several paint colors to choose from. Here’s the medium that we mix the paint with to make it thin enough to pour, and…” She wrestles with the last bag. “My hair dryer.”

“A hair dryer?” My eyebrows shoot up to meet my ball cap. What in the world is that for? Maybe I should have googled some videos of what we’re doing ahead of time and been more prepared. Too late now.

“Yes, to push the paint around after we pour it. It makes this pretty feathery pattern while it blends the colors. See, look.” She pulls out her phone and pulls up a screenshot of a finished painting.

“Oh, I see. That makes sense.” And the painting she showed me is pretty cool. I’m feeling more enthusiastic now. “What do we do first?”

I follow her instructions to choose two canvases and three paint colors to mix up from the greens and black she brought. She does the same, choosing a hot pink, vibrant purple, and sunny yellow, highlighting her penchant for bright colors. I’m told that white paint will be the base for both.

She lines up a row of disposable cups and adds some of the medium and a squirt of paint into each while I lay out the canvases. After some discussion, we agreed that saw horses would make the job easier, and I fetch a pair from my garage, along with an extension cord for the hair dryer.

Then we start pouring, beginning with a generous splash of white and layering in the other colors in a wide strip down the middle of each canvas. Brenna takes the first turn with the hair dryer and I watch in fascination as she twists and turns it, directing the air stream into the paint to move it around and cover the entire surface.

“Your turn.” She hands it over, and I awkwardly aim it right at the middle, sending a stream of paint into the grass. “Easy there.” She grasps my wrist and redirects the dryer, guiding me. I barely pay attention to what’s happening with my paint, my focus instead on the feel of her fingers on my skin.

“There,” she says, releasing my arm to flip off the dryer. “All done.”

I examine my paintings critically. “Not bad.”

“Not bad at all.” She looks practically gleeful. “That was fun!”

“It was,” I agree with a smile. “Now what?”

“Now we, uh…you know what? I should have asked ahead of time if you have a place inside where we can let them dry for a few days.” She winces regretfully and turns hopeful eyes on me.

“I do,” I reassure her. “We can put them in the spare bedroom once they’re dry enough to move. I don’t have anything in there except an extra bed and a few boxes I never got around to unpacking.”

She lets out a breath, obviously relieved. “Great.”

“Why don’t we clean up and then maybe go in and get something to drink while we wait for them to be ready to move?”

“Sounds perfect.”

It only takes a few minutes to gather up the unused supplies and discard the paint cups. Brenna follows me into the kitchen, and we take turns washing up at the sink. We stayed pretty clean overall, but both of us have a lot of paint on our hands.

“You think you’ll be able to get the paint off the handle of your blow dryer?” I ask her as I dry my hands.

She shrugs. “I’ll give it a try, but if not, it’s no big deal. Who’s going to see it? I don’t usually have an audience when I style my hair.”

“True. So, what’s the verdict? Is this going to be your new hobby?”

“It was fun, and the paintings turned out well, but…I don’t think it’s sustainable.”

I give her a curious look that invites her to continue.

“I’m going to hang those two paintings in my apartment, but what would I do with more? I could probably give away a few as gifts, but then they’d start to pile up.”

“I see your point. Maybe you could sell them?”

She makes a face. “I doubt they’re actually worth that much, and I wouldn’t know where to list them anyway. Online maybe?” She shakes her head. “I don’t think I want to deal with all that. It’s supposed to be a fun hobby, right?”

“Another good point. You want something to drink?” I open the fridge to reveal a collection of sodas, sports drinks, and water.

“Purple Powerade, please. It’s the best flavor.”

I toss it to her and grab a Dr. Pepper for myself. I know they aren’t healthy, so I limit myself to three a week. This is my first one in four days. I pop the top and smell the carbonated fumes like a sommelier with a glass of fine wine.

“You okay over there?” Brenna looks amused.

“Yep, great.” The first sip goes down smooth, and I relish the burn.

“You look like you’re crushing on that soda,” she comments with an inscrutable look.

I grin and shake my head. “It’s my guilty pleasure. I try not to drink too much of it so I enjoy it fully when I do.”

She takes a long sip of her own drink, then screws the cap back on and leans back against the counter. “It’s your turn to choose the next activity. What are you thinking?”

“Have you ever been rock climbing?”

“No.” She looks dubious. “Have you?”

“Nope, but I’ve always thought it looked fun. I checked and there’s a gym not far from here where we could try it out.”

She nods slowly. “Okay. When do you want to go?”

“Are you free Saturday?”

She levels me with a look. “Of course I’m free.”

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to assume. I’m sure you have other things to do besides hang out with me.”

“Not really,” she says with a sardonic smile. “Hence the search for a hobby. So Saturday? What time do they open?”

“Ten, I think.”

“Let’s do it.”

“Great.” I resist the urge to say the cliched “it’s a date”. “I’ll text you the address.”