Текст книги "Forbidden Boy"
Автор книги: Hailey Abbott
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“It’s not anywhere near finished,” Jules started. “I’m having a lot of trouble with the light. The highlights on the water, especially. I don’t know what my problem is; I’m usually not this—”
Remi cut her off midsentence. “This is good. Like, really good. Julianne, you’re really good.” He crossed his arms over his chest, impressed, and stepped back to view 45
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the painting again from a distance. Julianne noticed that for a skinny guy, he was in no way lacking in muscle definition. She felt a little bit embarrassed at her blatant check-out but, really, that’s what he got for standing there and being so unapologetically attractive.
“I bet you say that to all the girls . . .” She smirked, her eyebrows arched.
“Not all the girls.” His eyes twinkled as he countered her teasing. He walked back around the easel and plopped down in the sand, staring at the waves in front of him. “So, will you tell me about it?” Julianne walked over and slid down in the sand next to him, hugging her knees to her chest. “Tell you about what? How good I am? I mean, clearly I’m fantastic.” She rolled her eyes playfully.
“Well, duh,” Remi replied, a smile creeping across his face. “And I’d love to hear about just how much you completely rock some other time. Maybe over coffee or something? But I was actually referring to your painting.”
“Oh.” Julianne’s breath leaked out of her slowly. She was sitting barefoot on her beautiful beach, splattered in paint, with a gorgeous guy who genuinely wanted to talk about her work. And she was ninety-eight point nine percent sure that he had just asked her out. She took a deep breath and started to talk about her painting.
“So, you know I told you about my mom?” Remi 46
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cocked his head and nodded. “Well, she was an artist. A really incredible artist. She showed her work all over the country—and in pretty much every gallery in Southern California. She also lectured at all these different universities and illustrated all of my dad’s children’s books.
There was really nothing she couldn’t do. When she first got sick, she still went outside and painted every single day. I mean, every day. But when she died, there were six paintings she never had a chance to finish. I’ve finished up three of them—I made two of them into multimedia things, that’s more my style. That and photography. But this one I’m trying to re-create as if she’d had the chance to finish it. Her paint, her light, the whole nine.” Julianne felt herself getting antsy—she had a hard time sitting still when she was talking about her mom—so she circled back around the easel and walked a few feet down the beach, picking up seashell fragments. “One of the other pictures is this really bright portrait of our house in November. The light is really ethereal and the beach is all vacant—it’s really cool. So I expanded it on a larger canvas and intercut some of my photography, prints, and etchings with it.”
“Wow. What are you doing with the other one?” Remi asked.
“It’s hard to explain,” Julianne started. “But I guess you could say I sort of rebuilt it.” She described how she had sliced it up into strips and installed it, strip by strip, 47
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into a huge wood-and-wire sculpture. The whole piece was huge—she had constructed most of it standing on a step stool smack in the middle—and Julianne loved the feeling that she could live inside of it. Both had won regional art shows in their respective years. The portrait of their little beach cottage was even on display in the lobby of the Chamber of Commerce.
“Wow.” Remi looked at Jules with pure astonishment.
“That’s amazing. You and your mom must have been close.”
“Very. Our whole family is.” She stared ahead at the ocean.
“So, is that why you’re an artist? Because that’s what she did?” Remi leaned in, scooting a little closer to Julianne.
“Nope,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, not really.
I’m an artist because I can’t not be. It’s like breathing, you know? I’ve been doing this since I was too young to understand that it was what Mom did. But I guess she’s become a part of it. Knowing it’s something we share, even if she’s not here anymore. Continuing her legacy, or whatever.”
“But you don’t want it to be all about the loss,” Remi said softly.
“Yeah, exactly.” She stared at him, hard, her blue eyes locking with his big brown ones. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
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Remi leaned in toward her and draped his arm across her shoulders. Julianne leaned into his side and breathed him in, surprised at how natural and easy it felt.
Suddenly, fat raindrops splattered everywhere, shooting down in rapid fire. Julianne and Remi propelled themselves up from the damp sand and ran around trying to collect Julianne’s things. Julianne quickly found her flip-flops and slid them on, then hurried over to pack up her palette and brushes. Remi had already disassembled the easel and was lifting her canvas gingerly off the sand. “You know what?” Jules began, an idea forming in her brain.
“Hmm?” Remi asked, still packing up.
“This looks like it’ll blow over in a few minutes. Let’s just toss a cover over the painting and wait it out. We’ll be fine,” she suggested.
Remi grabbed a tarp from Julianne’s art supply stash and covered her painting gently before sliding back down beside her in the sand.
They sat side by side and took in the sights of the beach in the rain. When she squinted, Julianne could just make out her house in the distance. Even dwarfed by the huge glass-and-metal McMansion that had sprung up next door, Jules thought her house was beautiful. Even from down the beach it looked warm and cozy—small, but completely charming. She silently fumed looking at her new neighbors’ pretentious monster 49
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home, but then she took a deep breath and decided to let it go. She turned to Remi and said brightly, “You know what? I feel the rain letting up. I think I’m going to start setting my stuff up again. I’ll be able to do some really neat stuff with the light after the rain clears out.” Remi nodded and smiled, obviously impressed with Julianne’s dedication. “Since I took all of your stuff down, I think it’s only fair that I help set it back up.
Sound like a deal?”
“Deal,” Julianne said, grinning back at him.
They got up from the sand and walked in small circles, gathering Jules’s discarded art supplies, just chatting. As he turned and checked out the full panoramic view of the area, Remi’s face lit up. “Oh—I totally know where I am!” Great, Jules thought. If Remi is figuring out his way around already, he’ll definitely be able to find his way back! The tiny hairs on her arm prickled at the realization that her hand was nestled in his. Standing on this familiar stretch of sand with Remi, the beach looked more gorgeous than ever. Just as Jules had predicted, the rain was weakening, the clouds brightening and clearing. By the time Jules and Remi had reassembled her work spot, the afternoon storm had all but cleared up. Surveying the horizon, Jules noticed that most of the surfers hadn’t even come off the water when the rain started.
As Julianne removed the tarp from her painting, Remi plunked down on the sand next to her, his surf-50
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board sitting by his side like a loyal dog. Jules eased down into the sand beside him and he scooted just a millimeter closer. They were near enough that she could practically feel the tiny goose bumps dotting his arms.
She was tempted to rest her head on his shoulder and recreate the cozy scene that had been interrupted by the rain a few minutes earlier, but Remi beat her to it, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Julianne was shocked and giddy—it was like he could read her mind. The heat of his body touching hers seemed to electrify the air, and Jules half expected the wooden legs of her easel to go up in flames.
“So, you surf?” she asked, breaking the silence with a question she could have answered herself.
Remi laughed. “No. Not at all. I just carry around this surfboard to impress the ladies. It was pretty awkward in Seattle, but I think it could work magic down here.
What do you think?” he joked.
“Oh, yeah,” Jules replied, looking from the surfboard to Remi’s bathing-suit-clad body. “Definite chick magnet.”
“How about you?” Remi asked, turning his head toward Julianne. “You’re a California girl. Do you surf?”
“I’m okay,” Julianne admitted, shrugging, “but not great. My best friend, Kat, is a fierce surfer, though.” Her blue eyes sparkled wickedly as her gaze locked with Remi’s. “Maybe you could show me a few moves? Help improve my game?”
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Remi took his arm down from around Julianne’s shoulders and gestured toward his board. “Have time for a lesson?”
Julianne felt the tiniest bit shy as she peeled off her tank top and lay down on Remi’s board. “Okay!” she called over her shoulder. “Surf school is now in session.” Crouching next to her, Remi laughed. “So, show me how you usually paddle out.”
Julianne windmilled her arms above her head, imi-tating her freestyle stroke. She could feel the muscles of her back moving as she fake-paddled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She also couldn’t ignore the irony of Remi, who was new in town and from a city basically devoid of ocean and sunshine, giving her pointers on surfing. Not that Julianne minded. Sneaking a glance at Remi, who was paying complete and total attention to each movement of her arms, Julianne didn’t mind one bit.
“Good,” Remi instructed. “Now, push up!” Julianne tucked her arms back within the perimeter of the board and, in one strong, fluid motion, used them to lift herself off of her stomach and onto her feet. Once she was up, she readjusted her bandana, put her hands on her hips jauntily, and turned to Remi. “How am I doing, Coach?”
“Your form’s pretty good,” Remi answered earnestly, standing up. “I think you might want to use your upper 52
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arms a little more when you’re pushing up, though. It’ll give you more momentum. Can I show you?”
“Sure. Do you want to demonstrate, or . . .” Julianne trailed off.
“Nope. Get back down on the board, and I’ll show you, as you’re doing it. That way you can feel it while it’s happening,” Remi suggested.
Giggling silently, she hopped back down onto her stomach, already giddy with anticipation. She situated herself on her stomach in the middle of the board. Remi leaned across her, and Jules shivered slightly, both from his shadow creeping across her back and from the proximity of his body to hers.
“Okay, now move your arms in like you’re going to push up,” Remi instructed. As Julianne began drawing her arms inward, she felt his hands on her shoulders. She was momentarily afraid that her arms would give out under her, and she’d belly flop on the surfboard. Talk about embarrassing! “Now,” Remi coached, his hands never leaving her shoulders, “move your arms a little bit farther apart, and try pushing up again.” As Julianne prepared for her second try, she heard a series of quick beeps, and Remi’s hand suddenly flew off her shoulders.
“Crap!” Remi muttered. Julianne rolled over and looked up at him.
“Sorry,” he explained sheepishly. “The alarm on my 53
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cell went off. I’m supposed to be home for dinner with my folks in ten minutes. I guess I, um, lost track of time.”
“Then I guess I should get off of your surfboard,” Julianne suggested regretfully. Why did it feel like they were always interrupted before the best part?
“In a minute,” Remi agreed, sliding down next to her.
He lifted one hand to Julianne’s cheek and wiped away some sand. “But not quite yet.” He leaned in and softly planted another mind-numbing kiss on Julianne’s lips.
Jules felt her pulse quicken as she kissed him back. This was definitely the best part.
Reluctantly, Remi pulled his lips away. “Um, I guess I should be getting home.”
Now it was Julianne’s turn to act on instinct. “In a minute,” she said. She scrambled up off the surfboard and dashed over to her abandoned easel. She grabbed one of her tiny paintbrushes and dunked the end in blue oill paint. “So it might be possible that I, maybe, lost your phone number on the beach the other night.” Julianne approached Remi with the paintbrush. “Maybe.
A little bit.”
“Oh, really,” Remi said, feigning offense.
“And it’s definitely possible that I don’t want to make the same mistake twice,” Jules continued. She reached over and took Remi’s arm by the wrist, turning it so the underside of his forearm was facing up. “So this time, I’m giving you my number.” Julianne took the paint-54
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brush and jotted her phone number in blue oill paint along the inside of Remi’s arm.
“That tickles,” he protested halfheartedly.
“Yup,” Julianne responded in mock-seriousness. “I know. And it will until it dries. So the tickling will remind you to put my number in your phone.”
“Very clever.” Remi laughed. “I love a girl with fore-sight.” He leaned in and gave her a soft peck on the cheek, as if to illustrate his point. Julianne sucked in her breath involuntarily. Even his kisses on the cheek made her shiver.
“So I guess you’d better head home, huh?” Julianne asked.
“Guess so. And I guess you’d better get back to painting before you lose the light?” he replied.
“Guess so,” she answered, even though she’d forgotten about the painting entirely. “Call me sometime?” she asked, half teasingly.
“Absolutely.” Remi smiled. “If for no other reason than because I don’t have any turpentine in the house—
your number will probably be on my arm for the rest of the summer,” he joked, picking up his surfboard.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Jules grinned back.
“Enjoy dinner.”
“Thanks! See you later.” Remi smiled at her one last time before turning and jogging back up the beach.
Julianne wiped sand off her arms and turned back 55
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toward her easel, determined to keep her cool and not check Remi out as he jogged away. She picked up her paintbrush and got exactly two strokes onto the canvas before she just couldn’t resist. Trying to be as subtle as possible, she turned slowly and looked for him on the horizon.
She spotted his lanky figure several hundred yards in the distance. Her eyes locked on to him just in time to see him place his surfboard gently on the ground, dust himself off, and walk right through the giant glass door of the Moores’ giant glass house.
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Chapter Four
!
Several hours later, Julianne was still in shock. Every part of her churned in confusion, even as she tried to focus her attention on hanging out with Chloe.
She’d thought that some quality sister-time would be just the thing to help her get it together.
“I mean, he’s still pretty perfect, though,” Julianne mused out loud. “Isn’t he?”
Chloe swept her hair off of her shoulders into a high ponytail and then adjusted the drawstring on her pink-and-yellow-striped lounge pants. “All I know is that we’re never going to a party where they only have PBR
ever again,” she mused. “Think about it—crappy beer, crappy guys. They go hand in hand. From now on it’s good drinks or bust.”
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“Things went that well with Michael, huh?” Julianne chucked a pillow at her sister.
“Like I said, crappy beer, crappy guys. He seemed like such a sweetheart in physics lab.” Julianne picked at the spots of dried paint still clinging to her hands as she considered her response. “Well, you know, clearly it’s time to start paying less attention to physics and more attention to chemistry.”
“Oh Lord, Jules. Stick with art, okay? Because comedy? Not your thing.” Chloe tried to look miffed, but her hazel eyes were laughing.
“When did it start going downhill?” Julianne flopped onto her back and stared up at the floral border edging its way across the top of Chloe’s bedroom walls.
“Oh, I don’t know . . . about half a second after he told me that I was pretty good at physics ‘for a chick.’ ” Chloe’s heart-shaped face screwed up into a horrified grimace. “I’d say it was a pretty quick descent to rock bottom from there.”
“No way!” Julianne squealed, popping bolt upright again. “There’s no way—he couldn’t have actually said that!” She tossed another one of Chloe’s smooshy throw pillows at her sister for emphasis. “Wait, did he actually say that?”
“How could I possibly make this up?” Chloe lobbed the pillow back at Julianne’s head. “What part of ‘arrogant jerk’ isn’t coming across clearly here?” She paused 58
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and gnawed her left thumbnail thoughtfully while Julianne continued to stare, wide-eyed. “Good thing he’s not a communications major, I guess,” she said, sighing finally.
“You mean, because he should really never talk to anyone ever again?” Julianne asked, laughing, before taking a swig of water. “I mean, honestly—ew!”
“Julessssssss!” Chloe wailed. “Why is every guy I meet a complete loser? Are there no guys on the entire West Coast who aren’t completely sketchy? And you—” She turned her attentions toward Julianne. “You cannot even think about things going any further with Remi!”
“But . . .” Julianne snapped open her mouth in protest. “He’s . . .”
“I know, I know.” Chloe cut her off decisively. “He’s smart, he’s hot, he’s funny, blah blah blah. So are lots of other guys. But you know what he’s got that other guys don’t? Parents who are trying to bulldoze our beach. I wouldn’t mess with that, Jules. Crazy runs in families.”
“Not everything runs in families, Chloe. Dad has green eyes, and neither of us do. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, right? Besides, if you’d seen him this afternoon . . . oh my God. He completely got everything I was saying about painting. And his surfing lesson was pretty much the hottest thing ever. And—”
“Okay, points duly noted.” Chloe was all business.
“So you’ll have some awesome memories. But you can’t 59
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keep seeing him. There’s no way it can go anywhere good.”
“But why not?” Julianne pressed.
“Because he’s one of them, Jules. He’s a McMansion Moore. His parents are terrors. They are the living embodiment of bad news.” Chloe was on a roll. “And that house! Can you honestly imagine someone living in that glass house who isn’t a complete and total jerk?”
“He’s not a jerk,” Julianne said quietly, feeling both absolutely certain of it and utterly confused.
“Maybe not yet. And maybe he won’t turn out to be as complete a jerk as his parents, but still, nothing good can possibly come of dating him. The Moores are nothing but trouble.”
“Can we please change the subject?” Julianne pleaded, her head swimming.
“Yeah, of course.” Chloe’s tone was bright again and Julianne felt herself relax instantly. “But promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”
“Sure. Of course. Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Julianne assured both her sister and herself. “We have the entire summer to meet guys who don’t completely suck. Forget guys, even. I have an awesome job working for Bill’s crew. You’re going to be over at the children’s hospital—surrounded by hot med students, might I add—
and it’s going to be perfect beach weather for the next three months.”
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“That’s more like it, except for the forgetting-guys part.
Summer is totally a time of infinite possibilities. We’ll work hard; then we’ll beach harder. There is no room in that schedule for wasting time on two-faced boys who are tacky enough to hit on us after we’ve sustained minor head trauma.” Chloe’s voice was resolute. “So, what exactly are you doing for Bill this summer anyway?” Julianne scrunched up her nose, thinking. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. He’s going to give me a whole orientation on my first day. It’s this cutting-edge house, though. I think I’m going to be doing some of the more creative touches. I know Mitch and Hunter work for Bill, but I think I’m going to be the only girl on the crew.”
“That’s the kind of detail I was looking for! That’s what we should be focusing on! Forget construction.
You’re doing your art stuff, and that’s cool, but it’s the abundance of guys that’s key in this scenario,” Chloe cut in excitedly. She smirked. “I mean, of course, I don’t care if you’re working with truckloads of guys with serious manual-labor muscles,” she intoned in mock-seriousness. “It’ll just be nice to have some contacts if, you know, we need a handyman or two.” She grinned mischievously and cast her eyes down toward the carpet.
Julianne smiled and shook her head. “Enough about my summer plans. Speaking of too much to do this summer, where does your final tally stand at the moment?” 61
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Julianne watched her sister count off her obligations silently before answering. “Okay. I’m working at the children’s hospital. Then I’m tutoring two afternoons a week and giving surf lessons on Saturdays. And I still haven’t decided if I’m going to jump in for pickup volleyball. I want to have some time just to read and hang out on the beach.”
Julianne smiled at her sister. Chloe was such an over-achiever, yet she always found time to have fun in the midst of all her other commitments.
“I can’t wait to go out with my camera and spend an entire day just hanging out by the ocean,” Julianne gushed, visions of sunshine and brand-new surfer boys with guitars and dreadlocks already elbowing their way into her thoughts.
“And you know,” Julianne added, “any poor decisions we make while on the beach can totally be blamed on our surroundings. I mean, if, for example, I happened to go for le petit joyride in the Moores’ shiny yellow backhoe and their tacky glass house happened to get a little bit broken, clearly I could not be held accountable. It’s that tricky beach terrain. No traction whatsoever.” A devious grin spread slowly across Julianne’s face. She twisted one long brown curl around her finger, relishing her own half-serious troublemaking.
“Ugh, there you go talking about backhoes,” Chloe grumbled. “Don’t get all Ty Pennington on me. If you’re 62
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going to talk construction, can we at least talk about what you’re wearing for your first day of work? The outfit is key, you know.” Chloe leapt off the bed and bounded toward her walk-in closet.
Julianne looked at her sister. Chloe’s warm face was frozen in determination. “You’re totally right. A girl’s gotta have her priorities straight. And clearly my fashion sense isn’t focused at the moment. Style me. I am turning myself wholly over to your vision for my first day of work.”
“Pinky swear?” Chloe’s almond-shaped eyes looked even larger than usual.
Chloe extended the pinky finger of her right hand to her younger sister, who entwined it with her own. They both leaned in and shook on it.
“Pinky swear.” Julianne shook a second time for emphasis. “But nothing white. And no blazers. Blazers are your thing. And also, if we could keep the UCLA paraphernalia to a minimum . . .” Chloe and Julianne both looked at each other and stifled a giggle. Chloe stepped into her closet and tossed out a dozen items for her sister to try on. Pastel colors and scoop necks were flying fast and furious, and Jules had to cover her head to avoid being beaned by the better part of the Marc by Marc Jacobs summer collection.
“Try those. All of those. Then we’ll reconvene for a final decision tomorrow night. Now that that’s taken care of . . .” Chloe trailed off.
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“On to the next matter of business,” Julianne finished.
“Popcorn?” Chloe was halfway out the door and darting in the direction of the kitchen.
“Popcorn,” Julianne concurred.
“Chick flick?” Chloe called behind her.
“Chick flick,” Julianne called back. “Just give me one second!” She ran over to her computer and typed out a quick email to Kat.
K—
Do you think summer love is too good to be true? Ran into the guy from the party last night on the beach today and he’s beyond amazing. We had an awesome conversation about painting and everything just felt so right. He gave me some surfing pointers.
Maybe I’ll be able to hold my own with you in the waves by the time you get home. One
*major* catch, though—I think he lives next door. You know, in the monster house! What do you think that means? I’m so confused! Help!
In other news, work starts tomorrow. I’m excited. How are your classes? Any cute Madrid boys? Send me pictures already!
xoxo
—J
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Chapter Five
!
Julianne’s curly hair spilled out of her bike helmet and trailed behind her in the warm breeze. As she pedaled her blue beach cruiser down familiar Palisades roads, she was thrilled that the environmen-tally conscious philosophy of her “green” summer job had inspired her to bike to work. Seeing familiar faces and gorgeous scenery on her twenty-minute bike com-mute put Jules in a fabulous mood before the day had even really started.
As she pulled up in front of the construction site, hopped off, and locked up her bike, Julianne spotted a half-dozen workers already hanging out, drinking coffee, and looking at blueprints. Solar panels, wood beams, and a ton of different kinds of tile were scattered 65
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everywhere. The outline of the house that was already standing was boxy and sleek—modern without being obnoxious. After a few quick hellos, she set out pacing around the skeleton of the house. She was unbelievably excited to help design the rest of the project. Not only was it great from an artistic standpoint, but Bill had explained in his last e-mail that everything about the project was eco-friendly. Green building materials, green power, clean design. It was going to be a totally cutting-edge house, giving as much back to the neighborhood as it took in the building. This project, Julianne thought, is going to completely and totally rock my world.
She meandered from room to room, making sure she knew where everything was before she got to work.
Wending her way through the maze of beams and drywall, Julianne walked smack into Mitch.
“Jules, hey!” His greeting jarred her into focus.
“Oh, hi, Mitch. How’s it going?” Julianne smiled and gave her cross-country teammate the once-over. So far, the job had been good to him. Sweat slicked his muscles, and his face had the glow of someone who’d spent a good amount of time outside. “Lookin’ good.”
“Thanks,” he replied. “You look . . .” He paused, seemingly surprised at the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Great. Really great.” He caught himself.
“Um, I mean, it looks like you’re having a really great summer.” His cheeks flushed slightly. Julianne made a 66
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mental note to thank Chloe for insisting that she wear a pair of gray Roxy shorts and fitted green American Apparel T-shirt with her Timberland work boots.
“Okay, people!” Bill was waving them over to the front of the house.
Julianne and Mitch shuffled back to the group of workers, Jules saying hi to a few guys she recognized from her interview with Bill a few weeks earlier. A few of them, decked out in their cargo shorts, tool belts, and T-shirts looked at Julianne with widened eyes, but mainly they nodded their heads in acknowledgment.
“Okay. First things first,” Bill started back up again.
“Jules, you already know Mitch?” Julianne and Mitch both nodded. “Great,” Bill said, adjusting his tool belt.
“Then if there’s anything you need, you can just ask Mitch. I’m sure he’ll be happy to take care of you.
Anyway,” Bill continued, “are you ready to jump into the wonderful world of bathrooms?”
“Excuse me?” Julianne asked, laughing. She plunged her hands into the pockets of her shorts and leaned back a little, waiting for Bill to clarify.
Bill smiled and explained. “The owners of this place want to see some pattern options for their bathroom tile before we start laying anything down. How would you feel about sketching some designs for them to choose from?” Julianne beamed, thrilled to have an artistic project 67
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to work on already. “That sounds fine,” she said, trying not to gush.
“Good. After Mitch introduces you to the rest of the guys,” Bill concluded, “you can head into the trailer. I’ve got you all set up.” He smiled and walked off.
Mitch and Julianne made their way through the site, greeting the other members of the crew. “That’s Jack.” Mitch pointed across the yard to a burly college guy wearing a Lakers cap and a sleeveless T-shirt. Julianne recognized him from last summer, when he had bussed tables at the Fishtail, but Mitch told her that he had also competed in the lumberjack games for three years running and was a silver-medal holder in log rolling. Tom was on the baseball team at Stanford (and, Julianne noticed, had the arm muscles to prove it). Beau was an English major at UCLA. Nick, who was Julianne and Mitch’s age, was just in town for the summer visiting his aunt and uncle; he was a snowboard pro up in Utah, where he’d be returning at the end of the summer.
Jules tried to keep her mind from wandering during the introductions, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the lines of the house, the angles, and there was a Lily Allen song playing on repeat in her head. “Sun is in the sky, oh why oh why would I want to be anywhere else?” She was still humming to herself and bobbing her head softly when she heard Mitch saying her name.
“Jules? Julianne? Earth to Julianne?” 68
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“Oops. Sorry.” Julianne blushed. “I was just thinking about my first project.”
“Yeah, sure.” Mitch smirked. “You’re surrounded by college guys and you’re busy thinking about bathroom tiles. I buy that.”
“Hey, I’m a much better multi-tasker than you give me credit for.” Jules laughed, punching him lightly on the upper arm.
“I’m sure you are. C’mon, let’s head over to the trailer.” He pointed and led the way.
“Thanks for the tour, Mitch. Let the guys know that it was great meeting them, okay?” she joked, winking.
“Later, Jules.” Mitch laughed.
Julianne walked up the steps of the trailer and knocked three times. When there was no response, she propped open the door and walked in. Then she spotted a note on one of the empty desks.
Julianne,
Unfortunately we don’t have a desk for you, so you’ll sort of be drawing wherever you can find space. The desk I’m setting you up with to start is the new project manager’s, but I’m sure he won’t mind if you borrow it for the day. He seems like a nice guy. Give a holler if you need anything.
