Page 3 of Her Painter Bear Mate

Dee

Foster's Art Supplies was exactly how Dee remembered it from her childhood. It was a relatively small store on the corner of the village square with outdated posters in the windows and a cardboard cut-out of an anthropomorphised pencil with creepy eyebrows.

The little bell announced her presence as Dee entered, quietly begging she wouldn't be here. The store smelled like they all did, of paper, paint, and graphite. It was one of her favourite scents in the world.

She went to the back where the paint brushes were sold, only to find the rack stacked with notebooks instead. Surprise laced through her. She hadn't expected them to change the layout of the store, not after all this time.

"Looking for the brushes?" a familiar voice said.

Dee's whole face scrunched up into a grimace before she turned around to face the one and only Clarissa Foster. Dee should've known there would be no escaping her old nemesis, this was her father's store after all.

"I see things have changed around here," she said, her voice dipping into that lower cooler register that she reserved for people she didn't like. Not that Clarissa would know the difference.

"We moved things around a few years ago.” Clarissa paused, her gaze flitting up to hers. “Hey. It's been a while."

"It has." Dee gave her a tight smile. "Brushes?"

“This way," Clarissa said, gesturing to come along.

Dee followed her, her gaze dipping down Clarissa's body. She looked exactly how Dee remembered, tall with long red hair still and freckled cheeks. There were flecks of dried paint on her pale jeans which suggested she was still an active painter. Dee knew that already though, she kept up with the blogs. She was well aware of what Clarissa Foster had accomplished over the years.

As far as fame went, Clarissa didn't hold a candle to Dee's reputation and renown. It wasn't even a competition and yet, Dee didn't feel that sense of victory she'd been chasing.

The brushes were near the till and Dee grabbed an identical replacement of the one she just broke.

"Dame & Stamer," Clarissa remarked.

"What about it?" Dee returned.

"Nothing."

"Your tone clearly said it was not nothing. Dame & Stamer are the best brushes on the market," Dee defended her choice. She didn't have to, she knew she didn't, but she couldn't stop herself.

"You know I'm more of a Kingston kind of girl," Clarissa said, pointing at her preferred brand. "You should give them a try, you might not need to buy replacements as often."

The cheek.

This was why Dee didn't like her. Clarissa was observant beyond what was required of a regular painter's eye. She could always read situations with frustrating accuracy.

"They're not for me, they're a gift," Dee lied.

"Hmm-hmm, sure they are. Who are you buying expensive brushes for?" Clarissa asked, clearly not believing a single word.

"That's none of your business." Dee stomped away, disappointed in herself with how easily she let the other woman get under her skin. Old rivalries just died hard and she had plenty of reasons to dislike perfect goody-two-shoes Clarissa Foster.

To her horror, Clarissa followed her to the till and held out her hand. "Just the brushes?"

"Of course you're the only one manning the store," Dee muttered under her breath. "Where's your dad?"

The smile on Clarissa's face thinned. "Dad isn't so mobile these days. He’s pretty much chained to his bed nowadays."

"Oh." Dee's ears burned hot. "Sorry about that. I always liked your dad. Tell him I said hello."

"I will." Clarissa had the grace not to turn the whole interaction vicious and scanned the brushes. "Anything else? We currently have a deal on kneadable erasers. Buy one get one free."

"Thanks, but I'm not twelve anymore," Dee remarked.

"I'll just give you the free one then," Clarissa said, grabbing a red eraser from the glass jar. "There, red to match your nail polish. And if I remember correctly, also your favourite colour."

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