Page 76 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Fumiko frowned. “I don’t remember.”
“Shall we get one order of each?” Akira got her moving.
“Can we do that?”
“I’m feeling extravagant. Why not?” He waved to Rafter, who tipped an imaginary hat.
Much as he’d been doing for Suuzu since middle school, Akira coaxed Fumiko to the fringes of her comfort zone. And gave her the courage to step beyond them.
Akira distracted Fumiko with doughnuts, then the displays in shop windows. They took selfies wherever they found a setting, and he told her stories about the crossers at Stately House. She let him distract her, but he knew she was conscious of every step. Fumiko never once let go of his arm.
“Can you see it?” he asked, pointing to their actual destination. “Juuyu thought you might like this place.”
She looked between him and the sign. “Seascape?”
“He didn’t mention anything to you?” Akira was used to acting as a phoenix’s personal liaison. “Juuyu is both really good and really bad with details. They can overwhelm him. But he can overwhelm them, too. I mean … once he looks closely, he sees everything. And knows stuff, because he puts the pieces together.”
“Is Juuyu a detective?”
“Kind of, yeah. A really good one.” He checked the time on his phone and beamed. “And I have good timing. They just opened. Want to go inside?”
The art shop smelled of paint and paper and wood, and it was nice to see Fumiko get lost in her delight. Her hand slipped from his, so he trailed after her, keeping watch, just in case. It was a little like bringing crossers to the convenience store.
When she finally looked for him, he stepped closer. “What do you need?”
“I’m not sure what I still have.”
“Probably best to assume your old things are worn out or used up. What kind of art do you do?”
“Paint.” Her whole face was aglow. “I paint.”
So they found a long aisle of paints—tubes, pots, jars. One of the shopkeepers came over, and Fumiko’s conversation veered straight into artist jargon. Akira’s grasp on English wasn’t this specialized, so he meandered away. He translated color names, sometimes relying on the smattering of French he’d picked up from Uncle Jackie. He took a picture of the rainbow display for Suuzu, then turned and took a picture of Fumiko wavering over too many choices.
Why had she given up something she clearly loved?
A painting kit with smiling children on the box caught his eye. He picked it up and deciphered the directions. This might be just what she needed. Different enough. And fun.
“Fumiko?” He offered the set. “Could we get this?”
She studied the box of body paints—water soluble, non-toxic, easy-wash, and in a range of sixteen vibrant colors.
Akira explained, “You wouldn’t need a canvas if you’re painting on skin.”
“You want me to paint on you?” She seemed a little confused, but a little intrigued.
“I’ll volunteer. Zuzu would, too.”
The shopkeeper produced a book on fantasy face painting for all ages, and the longer Fumiko flipped through it, the more excited she became. “Yes. This would be fun. Do you think anyone else would let me?”
“Sinder for sure.” More softly, he added, “Dragons like to be pretty.”
“And … Juuyu?”
That was harder to answer. “I’m not sure. He doesn’t like messy things, but I know he likes beautiful things. And we’d have to wait until after work. I need to wait, too. Can we start in the afternoon? I promised to meet a friend for lunch.”
“I’ll show Zuzu first. And when you get back, we’ll play with you.”
“I’m not a child. Remember?”
