“You see what I mean? Who doesn’t go to their own mother and father’s funeral?”
Richo shrugged, momentarily distracted as he filled an order for two bacon and egg sandwiches. “Bit weird, though. Most people go to catch up with the rest of the family.”
“There’s nobody else, she says. No family. No friends. No nothing.”
Richo shook his head as he cracked a couple of eggs into rings on the sizzling plate. “Must have been a hell of a family bust up, in that case.”
“Yeah,” he said, chewing his bottom lip, “that’s what I was thinking.” But only after he’d gotten home and played it over in his mind a few times and realised was an ass hat he’d made of himself, telling her what to do like he knew all about it.
“Maybe you should try talking to her about it?”
“She won’t and now she’s pissed off with me and I really need to talk to her, but she’s so busy painting faces.”
“Well,” said Richo, pointing with his tongs in Ava’s direction, “there’s your answer. Get in the queue.”
Caleb blinked and looked at his mate for all of two seconds. “Here,” he said, handing over his own tongs and pulling off his apron. “Cover for me.”
Thirty seconds later he’d bought his ticket and was duly queued up in Ava’s lineup. He didn’t care he was the oldest one in the queue by a quarter century at least, not if it gave him an opportunity to talk to Ava.
She glanced up at the line as she finished off her current customer, her brows knitting when she saw him, before turning her attentions to the young boy at the head of the queue. “What would you like to be today?” she asked with a smile, as he sat down.
“A pirate,” the boy said.
“Good choice,” he heard Ava say, as she set to work.
One pirate, a tiger, and a rainbow princess later and it was Caleb’s turn. He sat down on the kiddie-sized chair, praying it would take his weight.
“What are you doing, Caleb?” she asked, keeping her voice low as she washed her brushes.
“Getting my face painted, like everyone else in this lineup.”
“You’re not really here to have your face painted, though, are you?”
“Hey, I paid five bucks over the odds for this. I’m getting my face painted, just like everyone else in this queue.”
She sighed, looked at the kids lined up behind him. “Some kids just never grow up,” she told them, as she reached for her paints. “Okay, so what do you want to be?”
“Oh.” He hadn’t figured that far ahead.
One year ago he’d similarly had no idea and she’d chosen to paint his face so full of dark shadows, he’d come out looking uncannily like Hugh Jackman’s Wolverine. He’d liked the look, but that was then and it would be a waste not to rock a different look this time.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ve seen a few superheroes wandering around today though.” And that was the truth. A fair few Batmans and a Spiderman or three. He could live with being any other kind of superhero. “How about you choose something appropriate.”
She raised her eyebrows at that and gave him his first smile, which he took as a win. Richo had been so right.
“Okay. Close your eyes for me.”
A few seconds later he felt the damp of the sponge against his skin, and he knew she’d be applying a base colour. “So what are you going to paint me as?”
“Wait and see.”
He could wait. Especially if it gave him the opportunity to talk to her. “How are you feeling today?”
“Fine,” she said, without telling him anything at all, the sponge patting at his eyelids and over his eyebrows.
“I was worried about you last night.”
“There was no need to be worried. Sit still.”
It was no hardship sitting still. It allowed him to concentrate on the feel of the stroke of her sponge and then the brush against his skin, the long sweeping lines, the short stab of dots. He had no idea what superhero she was painting him up as, but he had Ava sitting before him and right now that was all he cared about. He didn’t have to crack open an eyelid to know she was right there, intently staring at his face as she worked. So close he could smell the verbena scent of the soap and shampoo she favoured. And after a couple of hours with nothing but the smell of frying bacon, onion, and sausages in his nostrils, that was enough right there to give him a hard-on, even without the sensual stroking of her brush. And coupled with the brushstrokes... His whole body hummed... “You know what that brush of yours does to me, don’t you?”
Her hand stalled, mid-stroke. Yeah, she knew, because he’d told her the first time they’d spent the night together.
“This is a family show, Caleb,” she warned, keeping her voice low, as she resumed her work on his face, his forehead this time. “There are children present.”
“I know. That’s not why I wanted to see you, anyway.” He sucked in a breath, shifted his voice lower. “I was hoping we could talk some time later. Maybe I could drop by your place, or you could come to my place and I’ll fix us something to eat.”
“Call out for pizza, you mean?” she scoffed, hard at work on his cheek.
“Like I said, I’ll fix us something to eat.”
He heard a ripple of laughter coming from somewhere behind him and figured one of the mums in the queue must have overheard and enjoyed his joke. “Okay, you’re done,” she said, with a decisive dab of her brush, a final full stop to her work, “I’ll meet you at your place. If you still want me to come, that is. You can open your eyes now.”
He blinked, wondering why she’d qualify her agreement while his eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright daylight. Of course he wanted her to come.
She handed
