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SIX

The days that followed after my first date with Charlie seemed to pass ever so slowly. It did not help that every spare second, I found my mind wandering back to that day, attempting to unravel everything that had happened.

After lunch, Charlie and I miraculously escaped from Hunter's watchful eye and walked back to my apartment alone. I forced myself to not overthink that kiss and the spark I didn't feel. I blamed it on everything but Charlie, all the reasons I could think of fell onto Hunter. Him showing up at the restaurant, taunting our past, and that tattoo I spotted.

That butterfly tattoo.

Above all else, that was topped my list of what I wanted to be erased from my memory.

Abby, as always, was the voice of reason I desperately needed. She talked me into another date with Charlie, which thankfully, went uninterrupted. The two of us shared dinner at his apartment on a night that Hunter worked. I was finally able to see the painting he wanted to show me, and quite honestly, it was a beautiful piece of work.

The kiss that ended the night created much more of a spark than after the first. I was glad Abby had talked me out of my doubts because when I returned home that night, I found myself inspired to create. In what felt like ages since my first encounter with Hunter, I painted. It wasn't my best work, but it was something.

I was glad that the creativity continued to flow after that dinner with Charlie as I spent almost every hour of each day working in my spare bedroom. Converting the spare bedroom into a studio space was one of the first things on the list I completed.

#3: Convert the spare bedroom into a studio

It was helpful to have a designated space to create. It was also a painful reminder whenever I lacked the desire and kept the door closed. For the past few days, however, the door remained open, and it was where I found myself spending every waking moment.

Sitting on the floor in front of the canvas, I dipped my brush into the cup of water as I contemplated my next move. After a few moments of swirling the brush around in the container, I lightly tapped the handle against the rim, allowing the excess water droplets to fall. My eyes darted back and forth between the painting and the pallet on the floor beside me. The decision of which shade of blue to use may seem minuscule to most, especially when the colours were almost identical to one another, but I knew one wrong choice could possibly ruin the piece.

"Pickle! Where are you?" The front door burst open, the sound of Abby's yell filling my apartment.

Giving Abby a spare key was an easy decision to make considering the amount of time she already spent here. And, clearly, the girl put it to good use.

"In here!" I called back.

Though I could hear Abby's footsteps move from the door, I was still surprised when her voice spoke up from behind me.