The Color Project



Thankfully, I’m able to get home five minutes earlier than expected. (A miracle.) I pull into the roundabout and wave to my sister, who’s sitting on the front porch with a book in her hand.

“Hey, Astrid! Will you help me?”

She lopes over to me. “What’s up?”

“I need you to carry these two buckets in.” I open my trunk and set the buckets into the crooks of her arms. “Send Millie out here, too, will you?”

Astrid wanders off, watching her step so she doesn’t splatter peony blooms all over the porch. A few moments later, Millie runs out of the house. “Hey Bee! Guess who’s here!”

I look up quickly, brushing my (bothersome) hair from my eyes. Millie streaks past me, grabbing the basket of supplies I hold out to her. Levi’s on my front porch, hair a mess, hands in his pockets. He starts to walk toward me.

(Oh, God.)

“Oh, hi,” I say. “I didn’t even see your car.” But when I look around, I see it right on the street, as obvious as the GIANT palm trees in our front yard.

He shakes his head, half a smile lifting the corners of his lips. “No need to stress, Bee. We’ll get this done.” And he hugs me, as if that’s super normal, as if it isn’t going to squash my lungs and paralyze my limbs. I lean against him like the helpless child I am and heave a sigh.

“Thanks,” I say. I grab the remaining bucket and the second supply basket, but he takes them from me. I just look at him in response. I’m afraid if I open my tired mouth, I’ll blurt out something stupid (like, “I kind of love you”), or if I try to grab them back I’ll trip over my own feet. So I let him go and shut my trunk and follow him inside.

I shut the front door behind me, and when I turn, Millicent is smiling dreamily at Levi. “Levi met Dad,” she says to me.

“Oh?” This news wakes me up. “And how did that go?”

Levi cracks a smile. “He told me he was disappointed that I haven’t seen Back to the Future, but he was pretty impressed with my knowledge of Adam Ant and Danny Elfman.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s my sci-fi buddy. I get all my nerdiness from him.”

Levi follows me out to the backyard, where I set everything on the patio table. “I’d like to watch Back to the Future now. I’m feeling…out of the loop.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “Don’t say anything, but…I haven’t seen it either.”

Levi clears his throat. “Speaking of…”

“Hey, Bee.” My dad puts his arm around my shoulder. “How was work?”

I hug him tight around the middle. “Really busy, actually. Aren’t you supposed to be at work today?”

“Nah, I got the day off.” He ruffles my hair.

“Papa, please.” I duck my head. “It doesn’t matter how old I get…”

My dad winks at Levi—winks! “You’ll never get out of the hair-ruffle,” he says to me.

Levi smiles at me, eyes lit by the pretty sun. (Or maybe it’s that his pretty eyes are lit by the sun?) “It makes you look like a wild pixie.”

I reach up and flatten my hair. “Gee. Thanks.”

Papa puts his hand on Levi’s shoulder, glancing between us. “You want anything to drink? Root beer? Orange juice?”

“Only if you put it in her sippy cup,” Astrid comments, passing through the room. Her grin is smug.

I choose (with some difficulty) to ignore her. “I’ll have a root beer, if there’s enough.”

Levi nods. “I’ll have one, too.”

I set up the buckets, my dad brings root beer to us in the mason jars my mom saves as cups, and Levi sits patiently, waiting for my instruction. I take a sip of the cold drink and sigh happily. “Okay. Levi. First, I need to teach you how to make bows.”

(Ah, the smirk. It returns.) “How manly,” he says, deepening his voice an octave.

“I know,” I say. “You should feel so privileged.”

“Dude, yes.”

I laugh, holding up a bow for him to see, and launch into an explanation. I show him an example and watch closely as he tries his own. Soon he has the hang of it, making the eight bows I need in rapid succession. While he’s busy, I pop four rose buds and loop a wire through each one. Levi sets down the ribbon and, catching on, starts to copy me with the wires, the leather, the green tape.

And so it begins. It takes us half the time to get through the boutonnieres, but we slow down again when I get to the bridal bouquet. My fingers, while accustomed to working with flowers, are not used to holding the stems like this. My wrists start to ache after a few minutes. Levi puts down the ribbon and tape and reaches for the buds, lightly covering the tops of the flowers, keeping them steady for me.

“Damn, Bee. I don’t know much about bridal bouquets—”

I give him a look.

He grins. It’s a sheepish grin. “Okay, I don’t know anything about bridal bouquets. But this is really beautiful.”

I fumble. “Thanks.” My vision narrows as I add flowers and filler inch by inch. With Levi there to hold everything down and fix strays, however, my load becomes lighter and I’m finished in two minutes. I grasp the stems as Levi ties everything off and cuts the stems down so they’re even. Then I hold out my arm and we look at my newest “masterpiece”.

“Wow.” Levi sits back on the bench and whistles. “Bee. I think we have something here.”

“What?” His words distract me from my (relatively pleased) inspection.

“I mean, like I said, I know nothing about this stuff—I work with cars, you know?” He laughs. “But.” He lifts a finger to make his point. “I know when I’m seeing talent.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, but I’m grinning. “A-ny-way,” I say with emphasis, setting the bouquet in its square vase. There’s a bit of water at the bottom, just enough to keep it alive and healthy, but not enough to seep into the ribbon. “Will you put this in the fridge? Erm, the extra one in the garage. Millie can show you.”

My sister pops her head around the corner upon hearing her name. “Yeah, I sure can. Right this way, Mr. Orville.”

He grimaces. “Don’t even go there, Millie.”

She laughs and flounces her hair as he follows her into the house, out of sight. I stare after them, half thinking about Levi in the sunshine, half thinking, Oh my gosh, my sister is going to be such a flirt.

While I wait for them to come back, I start on the rest of the centerpieces. I sense my dad watching from the door, and after a few moments, he joins me.

“Bee, is there something going on?” He clears his throat. “Between you two?”

I blush. “No,” I say, because it’s the truth.

Dad looks at me pointedly. “But you want it to.”

My fingers idle, and I drop my hands to the table in a gesture of surrender. “Am I really that obvious?” I whisper.

“Maybe not to him. But I know my little girl. You look at him the same way you look at Henry Cavill on the TV.”

“Ohmygosh, DAD.”

“What?” He laughs when I punch his arm.

“I’ll stick you with these pins—just try me!”

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