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This is an excerpt from a larger body of writing I am working on. It is pure fiction, and any resemblance to a real place or person is only a coincidence.

“Ah ha! I knew it.”

“Ok, ok, so I am not up to speed on every technique.”

My self-proclaimed artistic boyfriend was basically botching the paint job on our new place. An old walk-up in the city, it was perfectly sized for just the two of us. One bedroom with a den for me to write, a kitchen with counter space for him to prepare his infamous lasagna, and a walk-in closet. Mmm, walk-in. It had only been a few months since we had met, but we had clicked from first glance.

That innate chemistry. The type that made others green with envy.

It had all started over coffee a few months prior, or shall I say, the innards of my handbag. We, in the same weeknight painting class, had barely breathed a word to each other until I knocked over the contents of my purse. Everything spilled, lipsticks rolled around the floor. Mildly embarrassed, he swiftly reached over to grab the male friendly items.

He was a little older with gentle eyes. Seeing him reach for my wallet with strong hands made me wonder how we held the same sized paintbrush.

“Thank you, what a klutz.”

“A cute klutz, just don’t knock over any paint.”

After flashing a smile I went back to my canvas. Concentrate, concentrate. Cute? Ya, I guess I was a little cute. This was my night to throw my hair up in a bun and barely wear make-up. On all my dates I had tried. I had a go-to look where it took me 2 hours to look like I hadn’t tried. Here I was apparently cute blowing strands of my too-long-to-be-bangs hair out of my face periodically.

As class neared its inevitable end I swivelled my chair to thank him again, and he was gone. My new acquaintance couldn’t muster a “see ya”?

Packing up and putting away my canvas until next week, I was in my own head. What’s his story exactly…? As I pondered I quickly rounded the corner of the classroom only to knock right into a brick wall.

“A klutz and an aggressive walker…”

“Oh wow, I’m so sorry.” – not.

“Haha, it’s ok. Where are you headed?”

“Just up the street, are you walking in my direction?”

“No, but maybe you could bump into me again for coffee tomorrow?”

I looked down and glanced up through my lashes, “ya, I think I could swing that.”

Biting the inside of my cheek so I didn’t smile harder than I had in months, I could definitely swing coffee.

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