Page 13 of A Small Town Spring

I get a text as we’re saying our goodbyes, and my pulse immediately kicks up when I see who it’s from.

Toby

If you still want me to come take photographs, I could do it this coming Saturday.

I don’t hesitate and rip off an instant reply.

Anytime.Looking forward to it.

Damn.Was that too enthusiastic?I frown down at the phone.

Jack looks at me, a concerned expression on his face.“What’s up?Everything good with your mom?”

“She’s doing fine, thanks.It’s something else.”

“Remember, you can talk to me,” Jack says, putting an arm on my shoulder.

I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t tell him that I have a crush on a probably straight guy in a serious relationship.“Thanks, Jack.Everything’s completely chill.”

He gives me a doubtful look, but lets it slide.Now I just have to make it to Saturday without blowing Toby’s visit all out of proportion.

Six

As soon asI get back to the city on Monday, work explodes—two contract negotiations encounter major snags, then I have to work out reparations from a publisher over a printing error.All in all, I’m too busy to spiral about Toby, which is probably for the best.By Friday, it’s also clear I’ll be too swamped catching up on work this weekend to make it to Rosedale.I text Toby.

Not going to be in Rosedale tomorrow, after all.Can we push our appointment by a week?

He writes back hours later as I’m about to drop dead asleep, but when I see the name on my notifications, I’m suddenly wide awake.

Not a problem.Sorry for the belated reply.Lost my phone (again).

I grin, imagining his melodious voice saying the words and type back.

Did you find it in a stack of newspapers?Or the cat food bin, perhaps?

There’s a slight delay before his response, enough time for me to wonder if we’re not good enough acquaintances for me to joke with him over text.But then?—

In the fruit bowl.Not sure how it got there, tbh.

I laugh, the sound echoing in my sparsely decorated bedroom.My New York apartment is much more minimalist than my place in Rosedale, where I’ve given up on any sort of order and have instead embraced a sort of bohemian baroqueness.

I’m debating continuing the conversation when he writes again.

I turned in the painting to the Greystone today, so that’s good timing to begin working on yours.

We haven’t talked specific monetary terms yet, and my agent brain wants to get it all settled, but ten PM on a Friday night is not that time for that.Instead, I write?—

I’m sure they were blown away by it.Congratulations.

He writes back quickly.

They did seem to like it, actually.Thanks.

I bite my lip as I read the response.I could leave it there, get some much-needed sleep.I have to go into the office tomorrow morning, unusual for a Saturday, but necessary to catch up on some contracts I’d neglected while dealing with other fires this week.But then he writes again.

Spring is in full swing around here.Are you going to want the picture to reflect that?

I hadn’t thought about it, but he’s right.The trees around my house are budding, not the fully leafy lushness that they’ll be in summer, nor the crispy red-yellow-orange of autumn.It would be interesting to have a series, the four seasons, but though I’m more than comfortable, I’m not made of money.I’ll have to be okay with one.And besides, I love spring.

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