Be My Friday Night

by Claire, Devin

  The next morning Sam cleaned the hardwood floor. She walked down to the newsstand, bought every decorating and design magazine for sale, and picked up a bottle of champagne and a bar of dark chocolate on the walk back to the gallery.

  She sat on the floor of the gallery, paging through the magazines, cutting and tearing out anything and everything that caught her eye. She loved all the possibilities for the space. There were so many ways to make it her own.

  Yes, there would be white walls to display the art, but there needed to be something more. She wanted the space to have a warmness most galleries lacked. She wanted the gallery to glow with a welcoming feeling.

  Next, it was time for paint. She returned from the hardware store and plunked the paint buckets onto the white sheet covering the hardwood floor. She cracked open the paint cans with the stir stick, dipped her new brush into a pool of a lacy white paint and began. The paint was smooth and wet on the walls. Sam fell into a meditation; she felt alive and calm all at the same time.

  “Need some help?” Otto’s voice came from the doorway.

  Sam’s stomach tingled in surprise and anticipation from the sound of Otto's voice. She decided not to turn around for fear that the anticipation could be seen on her face as well. She was still feeling vulnerable in her new space, and not even Otto would disturb her alone time.

  “Grab a brush if you want,” she said as she reached for a spot high on the wall.

  Otto leaned over and began covering the spot with long strokes from his paint brush.

  “Thanks,” Sam said. She turned to the next wall.

  “So you came back. I just wanted to reiterate that you’re back for sure,” said Otto.

  “I am, and I'm also a renter of commercial real estate in this town,” said Sam, continuing to paint.

  “I would have come with you wherever you ended up, wherever you wanted to be,” said Otto. He stopped painting and faced her.

  Sam turned to him, the paint brush held in a fist placed firmly on her hip.

  “I know. I just realized I was going against everything I was being led to. Led back to Grover, led to this space, led to you,” she said. She averted her gaze, the last part being the hardest to say out loud.

  Otto grinned.

  “And here you are,” he said.

  Walking away from Otto the night before had not been the easiest move to make after not seeing him for almost a week. Sam was done talking. In a quick movement of the wrist, she flicked her paintbrush in Otto’s direction. Small splatters of paint covered his long body.

  “Oops, looks like my brush slipped,” said Sam.

  Otto lunged for the paint stick, and before Sam could do anything, she was also covered in paint. Sam closed her eyes and let out a shriek. Eyes closed, Sam could feel Otto rush close to her body. He wrapped his arms around her. Sam let her body relax in his embrace. Otto took this as his chance to let a cold finger slide one single line of paint down the side of her face.

  Sam jerked back.

  “Hey!” she said. Paint brush out, she flung more paint in Otto’s direction, every once and a while hitting his chest with the bristles of her brush.

  Otto laughed out loud and pulled her back into him for a long kiss. Sam surrendered. It tasted so good to be back.

  Slowly, Sam realized Otto was nudging her toward the couch. He was also tugging on the sleeve of her tank top.

  “The windows,” she said between kisses, motioning to the wide windows lining the front of the gallery.

  Otto pulled away from her and dashed over to the wall next to the windows. Gently, he began pulling the ties for each set of hand sewn curtains for the windows. Each curtain fell into place, creating a room full of dashes of light and shadows.

  Otto returned to Sam, picked her up, and placed her on the couch. Sam couldn’t help but grin as he kissed her. It was good to be home.

  Epilogue

  Sam relaxed her shoulders and shook back her hair. She let her curls fall playfully around her face. The gallery was dimly lit with carefully placed candles in hurricane lanterns Julia had blown especially for the event. The candlelight glistened amongst the other delicate glass creations sitting on pedestals foraged for the occasion: large smooth stones and tree stumps from the outskirts of Grover were the perfect foundations for the sea inspired sculptures.

  Suspended from the ceiling hung the piece de resistance, a gorgeous chandelier with graceful tentacles in muted pinks, oranges and purples. It would be lit after dinner. It was also the older sister counterpart to the coral-like chandeliers hanging from the trees above the dinner table on the patio. Tiny twinkle lights had been woven into the tree branches as well, complementing the glass chandeliers.

  Sam heard voices outside on the patio as guests began to arrive. She delighted in the joy in their voices as they saw and commented on the table spread, the decorations, and the front of the gallery.

  The warm mix of festive voices and blurred party lights made Sam giddy with anticipation for the dinner. She stepped toward the party, her heels clicking under her. It felt as if she were walking into a dream. She halted under the party lights when she realized everyone was watching her. She swallowed, unsure what to do next. She looked over to Otto. He had already spotted her and raised his champagne flute toward her.

  “To Samantha,” he said.

  “Samantha,” everyone replied in unison. The party started.

  Otto stepped toward her, and handed her a glass of champagne. They clinked glasses and each took sips from their flutes. The bubbles matched Sam’s excitement.

  “There’s another bottle in the fridge for later,” he said before kissing her soundly on the mouth.

  Sam let it all sink in: the kiss, the champagne, the lights, her friends and family. It was perfect, and she was going to enjoy it. She walked to the long dinning table and pulled out a chair, signaling everyone to join her for the meal.

  About the Author

  Writer of romance.

  Lover of good dinner dates.

  In favor of selfies after a day of writing.

  There are books in the works!

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