#magritte headers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whocaresstillthelouvre · 6 months

Text

See The Road You're On

Elks Chapter 1 Version 2.0

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's caretaker.. and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: soft jackson joel, outbreak and quarantine zone memories, ellie has a smart mouth, anxious reader, mentions of blood and an injury from falling, everyone lives happily ever after, joel and ellie don’t leave jackson, early 2000’s indie rock Words: 5,500 Header courtesy of @saradika-graphics

Next Chapter

Masterlist Playlist “Caring Is Creepy” - The Shins

The world ended the day after you bought your homecoming dress. You begged your mom for it–a beautiful deep forest green sequined sweetheart a-line gown–the neckline perfectly showed off your prized gold daisy pendant. You felt like a princess, life couldn’t have been better. Your alarm buzzed on the morning of September 26, 2003, the only worry floating around your teenage head was the grade you’d receive on your essay about René Magritte for AP English. While walking home after a typical boring high school day with your guitar slung across your back and headphones on, little did you know you were hearing the final lyrics before everything changed:

“Hold your glass up, hold it in Never betray the way you’ve always known it is One day, I’ll be wondering how I got so old, just wondering how”

Twenty years later, hardened by life in the Denver Quarantine Zone and gently softened by your now comfortable life in Jackson, you’re still waiting for your first dance.

Art and music have always been at the forefront of your life; you’ve never allowed anything to take away your creativity. Continuing to create no matter how much pain the reality of losing everyone you’ve loved to the plague roaming the earth brought you. You create for yourself using art as a way to soothe your thoughts and anxieties, you create for the Settlement of Jackson to give back to the town that has given you a good life for the past five years, and most importantly you create for your students at the school you’ve taught at since your arrival.

The fifteen years spent in the Denver QZ tried to steal your colors and mute your songs, joy became more difficult to find as each year behind the giant iron gates passed. The only sources of happiness were supplied by your small group of friends and your students in the desolate school you taught at. You never graduated high school, there was no pomp and circumstance, just a teaching job assigned to you because you were young and still remembered most of your high school education. That’s how your career was decided, funny how an apocalypse job search happens.

You tried to carve out as much of a life as you could under the overbearing and always watchful eyes of FEDRA soldiers, but it never felt whole. When the opportunity to leave Denver arrived thanks to your kind neighbor’s sister, you grabbed the few items you could and ran away from the only state you ever called home. Now, five years after your escape through the wasteland of the world to a better existence in Jackson, your life is now filled with art, music and purpose. Art supplied by the jars of paints you learned to make and what the patrollers bring you back. Music from the CD player in your house and the guitar you strum. Purpose from the weekdays spent teaching your impressionable students with actual well-rounded futures no longer doomed to become FEDRA fodder, along with the Saturdays spent working at the library you run out of your classroom. It's a good and comfortable life here, even if the nights are lonely and the only company you have in your small cottage are your cats Ripley and Penny. Some extra lonely nights, when the moon sits high atop the mountains, you can’t silence the thoughts that there’s nobody in your life who creates beautiful things for you. Too many nights you find yourself thinking about the man that lives down the street from you… Joel Miller.

He’s so intimidating, handsome and caged off, akin to an art piece you’d pay admission to be able to stand near. Your own little museum piece you keep to yourself now that museums are obsolete. You’ve never seen anybody more gorgeous… not even in the faded celebrity magazines you cut up to make collages and art out of. Soft and full lips always hidden under a frowning mustache that rests below a large hooked nose. His dark brown eyes often focused forward, always looking in thought underneath furrowed brows. Wavy hair that matches his eye hue with soft silver streaks painted throughout. His body is strong and broad, often hidden underneath a tan flannel lined jacket. He’s tall and big–so big–somebody who has always been a protector. His hands are also large to match the rest of his features with thick fingers that sit capable and dexterous… you can tell they’re efficient for any task you ask of them. His skin is golden, born that way and bronzed by years spent outdoors. The precious pages of your notebook quickly deplete when you try to sketch and master the lines of his face. Maybe you could get the minute details if only you could stop being so afraid of the feelings he stirs inside of you.

You’ve been enamored with him since he first showed up to Jackson– your life, and all of those feelings you’ve tried to avoid for years– upended by his presence.

It was a normal day, like any other, when you walked into the Tipsy Bison to drop off some extra shoelaces and push pins for the community swap basket. Your eyes paused at the long communal table where your friends Maria and Tommy were seated with two strangers. A small teenage girl with a tight pony tail and a tattered sweatshirt was talking animatedly with her mouth full. You know kids well after all your years of teaching, you could already spot her tenacity across the room. Sitting next to her bent over a plate of food untamely clutching a fork was a man with a mess of graying hair and a permanent scowl plastered on his handsome face. You noted his strong jaw as he chewed his food, his eyes stared straight forward void of kindness, you wondered when the last time somebody created something beautiful for him. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen– so intimidatingly sized even in his seated and hunched stature. You quickly flitted over to the corner where the communal basket sat and deposited your items before turning around to head back to your home when you noticed the handsome stranger looking right at you. His eyes darted away right as your eyes widened at his focus before you made your hasty retreat out of the tense room. That night you wrote a song about a once warm and inviting cabin sitting in the woods now cold and desolate with tattered floor boards and a cracked window.

The girl you saw at the Bison with the handsome stranger showed up in your class the next week. Ellie quickly became your favorite student thanks to her love of art and her smart mouth. She’s always so eager to learn in the mornings before heading out with the other older kids for patrol and community training. She doesn’t shut up about your handsome stranger, he’s Joel, Texas born and raised, he’s grumpy, and he loves coffee. He’s not her father, but he’s her protector, everything she tells you makes you think about him more.

Sometimes you’ll see him walking down the road headed right towards you, a quick tuck of your head down or dash around the nearest corner helps alleviate the panic of being near him. One night you see him with Tommy at the Tipsy Bison in the corner drinking whiskey, your eyes stared unblinking before you realized how anyone could look over and see the way you’re ogling, you quickly created a reason to your friends why you needed to head home, to overwhelmed by his presence just a couple of rows down. Seeing him stirs up so many foreign emotions inside of you, but you like the rush. You like having your little crush, as long as you can keep your distance from him.

“Jeez, what were they thinking when they named these bands? The Shins? The Strokes? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Did every band just pick a random word and put The in front of it?” Ellie questions as she peruses your CD collection while you grade papers. With training for the older students canceled due to the winter snow outside, Ellie decided that you needed company in your classroom after school.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you answer. “I’ll have to play them for you one day, those were some of my favorite bands when I was your age.”

“Really? Wicked! I’d love that!” she looks up from your CD book with an enthusiastic smile. You return her smile, happy for the bond the two of you share. “Joel loves music too, wonder if he’d like any of these.” Your pen pauses and your heart rate increases at the mention of his name, you feel foolish for the crush you have on your student’s “father.”

“I’m sure there’s something in there for everyone,” you say, stacking your papers and capping your pen. “I think we should get going, before the sun sets, El. I’ll lock up.”

“Aw man, there’s nothing to do at home,” she sighs.

“Sorry kid,” you shrug. “I’m helping Helen at the Bison tonight and I need to eat dinner beforehand.”

“Fiiiiiine, thanks for letting me hang with you, this was really fun,” she says as she grabs her backpack and jacket. “Bye Teach!”

Watching her leave, the thought plants in your head that she’s only a couple years younger than the age you were when the outbreak happened.

The world thaws when winter turns to spring, the sun stays up longer allowing patrollers a better chance to scavenge and bring their finds back. The wish list posted above the communal basket in the Tipsy Bison is filled with requests. Residents ask for a broom, a TV input cable, a glue gun, crayons, and other utilitarian items to help make life easier. You think about writing down the one thing you wish for the most, a new CD player. Your prized possession finally spun its last song a couple days ago making your home fall silent without your constant companion of music. The irony isn’t lost on you that your just as ancient guitar now lays silent against the wall, the crack on the neck finally broke from overuse. You don’t write down your main wish, instead choosing to note that the school needs chalk and you need a new oven mitt.

“Thought I told you not to touch my stereo kid,” the deep timbre of a Texas accented voice shocks you. Your heart begins to thud against your chest while goosebumps spread along your body; you’re frozen on the floor while you attempt to hide your internal panic. Joel is home. Of course he’s home, this is HIS home and you’re in it breaking HIS rules listening to your favorite mixed CD on HIS stereo system that’s much grander than your pitiful broken CD player. Why did you think letting YOUR STUDENT who’s half your age convince you this was a good idea?

“I know, relax! I’m being active in the community like you asked me to,” Ellie’s response drips with her unshakeable sarcasm.

Your head turns to find his deep brown eyes boring right into you, he gives you a half smile as you stare back at him, mouth slightly agape. Joel Miller is in Joel Miller’s house with you.

“This is the teacher I told you about, her stereo broke and I know how important music is to her–kinda like how it is to you. I invited her over so she could play me some of her stuff,” Ellie reasons. The kid is never not convincing.

You quickly stuff your CD case into your backpack and stand, trying to escape the anxiety of being here in the cozy Miller household with the not-so-cozy-looking Mr. Miller.

“Mm,” Joel grunts out before turning to you and reaching his hand out. “I‘m Joel.” His big hand envelops yours when you softly grab it to say hello.

You nervously give him your name, trying to calm your panicked heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries... I-I really appreciate her offering to help me. My stereo broke a couple days ago and she knew it upset me.” You nervously stammer feeling like a thirteen year old in trouble again as you begin to fiddle with the gold daisy chain around your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urges before looking at Ellie, “I can look past this if it means means you’re getting out of that damn garage.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, you wonder if every conversation they have is Joel putting a rule down and Ellie breaking it. “She has way better music taste than you have old man. None of that twangy sad music you try to get me to listen to.”

You start to feel antsy as Joel crowds the small space around you.

“I-I have to head out, I promised Helen I’d help her at the Tipsy Bison.” You’re not due for another hour but you can’t fathom the idea of being unwelcome in Joel’s house.

“Oh, okay. Well, you’re welcome back whenever you want… right Joel?” Ellie looks at him, angling her eyebrow, knowing she’s going to get the answer she wants from him.

“Uh— of course. S’pose any friend of Ellie’s is welcome here,” Joel hesitates with a smile, his deep brown eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s ridiculously handsome this close, it’s staggering.

“Thank you again Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow, make sure you bring your notebook,” you say, turning to walk out the door.

You rush home, hoping the distinct woodsy smell of Joel’s house on your clothes will linger for a while. You almost trip when you realize you’ve left your favorite mixed CD in Joel’s stereo.

Weeks pass, and the weather gets warmer. Spring is in the air, the trees are covered in bright green leaves, flowers bloom along the vast gardens of fruits and vegetables, everyone’s days turn longer with more tasks to accomplish. There’s always a hopeful breeze in the air for everyone, no longer bunkered down and locked away by the snowy weather.

Your mixed CD is now a victim of your inability to be anywhere near Joel. Either Ellie decided to keep it for herself, or Joel's decided for you that you don't want it back, especially since you obviously crossed a line. In an odd way, it’s actually a nice feeling, kind of like old times when you'd forget a CD in your friend's car or in your locker over winter break. It's not like you have anything to play it on, your house is still silent, save for the purring of your cats or whatever song you can remember to hum to yourself.

It's a warmer day than usual, the sun shines bright and hot in the clear blue sky; all you can think about is getting home and taking a long bath after helping out at the community garden. Your hurried footsteps pitter patter against the warm asphalt in front of Joel’s house. Your heart always begins to race as it comes into view, once in a while you'll get to steal a glance of him leaving for patrol at the same time you're heading to school– those are good mornings. This sweltering afternoon you’ve certainly lucked out, he’s in his yard working on repairing a broken fence post. Your steps begin to slow as you see him set the hammer down, wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, and stretch his back. Panic sets in at the realization he could look right over and see you in the state you’re currently in. You’ve been up to your knees in soil since school ended, watering and deadheading plants while letting the dirt on your skin bake in the warm sun. Your anxious steps pick up pace, failing to hop over the divot in the road you always remember to avoid. A trip and a fall ends with you landing hard on your stomach knocking the wind out of you. You can just make out the fall of heavy boot steps on the ground over the sound of your lungs gasping for air as you turn over.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you okay darlin’?” Joel asks. His broad body eclipses the bright sun when he bends over your body splayed out on the pavement. “S’alright, s’alright, breathe.”

You lose even more breath at the sight of him. The sheen of sweat against his skin makes it glow bright. This is the first time you’ve seen him without a jacket or flannel, there’s a constellation of freckles on his neck you’ve never noticed. His biceps strain the fabric of his short sleeves when he reaches to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You can’t tell if you’re still panicking from your fall or the stress of Joel seeing you as pathetic as you think you look. He called you darling and you feel like a fool.

“I’m okay–I-I’m sorry…. I’m okay,” gasps out between breaths. You whimper from pain as you attempt to stand but it hurts far too much.

“Hold on, hold on, there’s no need to rush, you took a mighty fall. Ya’ got a big cut on your knee, let me help you,” Joel’s eyes roam you under brows wrinkled with concern.

“No, no, I’m okay really, I-I’m really okay,” you try to calmly assert, losing terribly against your rising embarrassment.

“S’alright now, I have some peroxide and bandages in my house, Ellie’d kill me if she knew I left you injured,” he implores reaching his hand out. "I want to help you, come here."

“I– okay,” you grab his hand, his strong fingers wrap around yours, oh god he’s so warm, “I-I don’t want to bother you.”

“Now, I’ll have none ‘a that, come on,” he helps you stand steadying you with an arm around your waist, the adrenaline of being this close to him makes a bit of the pain fade, though the humiliation remains.

He slowly leads you up his walkway, his hand lays splayed against your hip holding you tight. Your head rests against him close enough to feel the dampness of his sweaty shirt against your cheek.

He leads you into his house, the realization isn’t lost on you that this is now the second time you’ve been inside his home. Both times you’ve felt like an idiot. What is your luck?

You slowly sit down on his couch, Joel gently helps you settle against the cushions before placing a pillow behind your back for support. "You alright?” he asks, his voice drags heavily with concern. You nod, keeping your eyes focused on your bare legs, marred by dirt and gravel mixed with blood. “Just relax for a second, I’ll go grab everything." He retreats, his loud boot steps get fainter allowing you to take a deep breath and attempt to center yourself.

The last time you were in Joel’s home you were far too anxious to focus on anything besides Ellie and the music coming out of the stereo. Solitude now allows a chance to look closely at Joel’s living room; for somebody with so many stories swirling around town about his gruffness and irritability, his home sure is warm and inviting. Wood carvings sit on shelves, a couple of tattered sports magazines lay on the coffee table, a chipped owl mug sits atop a book on the side table next to a chair. All of it presents quite domestic and comfortable for a single man and an adopted daughter in the apocalypse. Your eyes roam along the beige walls and pause when you spot a familiar painting hung near the front window. An elk stands alone, amongst a field of flowers, large antlers reach into the light blue sky. You painted it just a few months ago, using your favorite water colors. You gave it to Tommy for Christmas, as a thank you for always making sure you have first dibs of paints that patrollers bring in. Why does Joel have it?

“Don’t have any large bandages but I got a gauze roll,” Joel startles as he takes a seat atop the coffee table across from you.

“That’s my painting? I painted that… for Tommy,” your inner thoughts escape your mouth, surprising you.

He turns and follows your eyes to the small piece of paper pinned on his wall. “You painted that? S’good. Saw it on my brother’s wall and asked him if I could have it, he was kinda reluctant but I told him how it reminds me of the painting I used to have over my bed before… everything.” The last word comes out as a huff, like he still doesn't know what word to use for these last twenty years.

“I love elks, they remind me of where I’m from… I’ve always liked painting the wildlife I grew up around the most,” your eyes remain focused on your painting. “Herds of elk used to live near my Dad’s home in the mountains, I used to hear their calls during the mating season.”

“S’nice to remember those small moments, I guess your painting helps me,” he gently muses.

“I’m glad,” you whisper.

Joel delicately lifts your leg up and places it on his lap, resting it against the soft strength of his thighs. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest when you look down at this intimate moment with your dream man. Your breaths escape your mouth in rapid succession, your only hope is Joel blames your panic on the threat of the peroxide and not his close proximity.

“S’gonna sting,” he warns before pouring the clear liquid onto your knee. Your breath catches in your throat when it hits your sensitive skin and burns. You suppress a whimper and feel slightly dizzy at the sight of him bending forward and delicately blowing on your wound. His breath cools the heat of your burning skin but lights a fire inside of your body you haven’t felt in years. He glances up, his dark brown eyes stay focused on your face. “Doin’ alright?”

You nervously chew on your bottom lip and nod. “Y-yes, yeah,” you mumble, “I-I’m okay it just hurts a lot to move.” Heaven forbid you tell him the truth, that you’re acting this way because he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and now his hands are on you.

"I know, that gravel is a sucker," he gently reassures, picking up your other leg and placing it on top of his lap. “S’bouta sting again,” he warns.

You try to focus on the burn of the peroxide and not on Joel’s fingertips resting against the back of your knee. He blows on the peroxide as it bubbles again, your heart skips a beat when his deep brown eyes meet yours again. You get the sense that he knows exactly why you’re responding the way you are.

He lifts a faded gray wash cloth up and wipes both of your knees with the utmost tenderness. He picks up the fabric bandage, and lifts your knee higher to rest your foot against his broad chest.

“Place a finger here so I can wrap you,” Joel directs just as gently as his touch, “let me know if it’s too stiff for you.” His hand tightens around your knee as he slowly unravels the gauze around your leg and bandages your wound. “How’s that?”

You bend your leg back and forth and place it on the floor. “Feels good, thanks.”

“Course,” he says, lifting your other leg higher to start. He smirks when you place your finger on top of the bandage without him asking, and begins to wrap the gauze around your other leg.

“I’d try to take it easy the next few days, give you a chance to heal,” Joel utters, tucking the bandage in and smoothing it down.

“I will. Thanks for all your help… you really didn’t have to,” your voice cracks in embarrassment.

“You don’t have to thank me, Ellie’d kill me if she found out I left you hurt in front of my home,” he cracks a smile at the mention of her name. “She talks about you a lot, I should be thanking you for giving her a reason to love goin’ to school.”

“She’s one of the best parts of my day,” your smile matches his when you think about her smart mouth, “I love having her around, she’s always so eager to learn and give her opinion."

“She's always showing me some new art way she learned from you or talking about a band she wants to hear that you told her about. You mean a lot to her.”

“She’s a special kid.”

“She is,” he says, his deep brown eyes look into yours. You’ve never noticed just how much his dark eyes glisten. Like the perfect color of black coffee.

The sweet shared moment turns more awkward as you both maintain eye contact and nod over your shared adoration of Ellie. It feels like he’s looking at you under a microscope.

You cut the tension and softly clear your throat before slowly rising from the couch. “Well, I should get going, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I really appreciate everything.”

“S’no problem at all,” he quickly stands and places a steadying hand on your back before leading you to the door and down his walkway.

You spy his tools laying abandoned and strewn across the lawn. “I hope I didn’t keep you from finishing your fence,” you apologize.

“I’ll manage… take care of yourself,” his hand retreats from your back when he opens the gate for you.

“Thanks Joel, you too.” You really shouldn’t have looked back at him to get one last glimpse, he’s beautiful, especially now lit by the slowly setting sun.

Walking away from him as confidently as you can, you feel his eyes follow you the whole way. You’ve never been so thankful to see your little cottage, escaping behind the protection of your front door before you grin and grab your paints and brushes. That night you paint another photo of an elk, this time with golden toned fur and deep brown eyes.

Saturday mornings are always busy, running your library never allows you the luxury to eat pancakes at the hall like everyone else on the weekends. You’re always turning to the left rushing towards the schoolhouse while everyone takes a right heading to eggs, pancakes, and coffee. This particular Saturday you’re moving slower thanks to your injured knees and the large box of books patrol brought you from their runs.

“Mornin’," Joel shouts, quickly striding towards you from the hall exit. “Lemme take those for you.”

“Oh, hi,” you pause in your tracks when he stops in front of you and grabs the box out of your hands. “You really don’t have to take–"

“None ‘a that,” he shushes, effortlessly lifting the box of books higher. "Where are we going with these?"

"Just over to the school house for the library," you nod your head towards the little brick building.

“How are the knees doing?” he asks, slowing his gait to match your slower pace.

“A lot better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear.”

You fish the key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and let Joel follow you down the hallway to your classroom. You flick the lights on, fluorescent bulbs buzz illuminating your second home.

You sit in your chair to rest your already aching knees, you’d still be halfway to the schoolhouse if it wasn’t for Joel’s kind assistance.

“You can put the box on my desk,” you direct, rubbing your sore knee.

He places the box on your desk before his eyes focus on the bright mural on the wall behind your desk. “Wow, I haven’t seen something like this in a long time. S’beautiful,” he breathes out incredulously.

A grin lifts your tired face before you swivel in your chair to look at the mural. “Goodness, thank you. I just finished it a couple of weeks ago. I really wanted to make sure the kids had something fun and colorful to focus on while in class. It was hard for me to work in this plain, white room for so long. It took a long time to save up enough paint.”

He slowly walks over and places his hand on the cold cinder block wall. “Bluebells. The flower of Texas,” he faintly whispers.

His large fingers trace the outlines of your painted indigo petals, you feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to see this type of gentle tenderness coming out of such hard and strong hands. He delicately touched you like this when he bandaged your knees. There was once softness surrounding all of Joel, the permanent grimace and rough reputation for him brought on by the harshness of existing in this world.

He turns to you, keeping his hand on your mural. “Where you from?” he asks, curiously gazing into your eyes.

“I was in the Denver QZ.”

“No, where were you from before everything?”

“Oh, sorry. Still Colorado, just more in the mountains,” you say, concentrating on the columbine flower next to the bluebell. “Florissant to be exact. It’s a little town famous for dinosaurs. My students, especially Ellie, love to hear all about dinosaurs. I was very lucky to be where I was when everything–happened–just far enough to escape.”

“Nice state, I went skiing there once as a teen, had plans to go again before… everything,” he turns to look back at the bluebells again.

“Big of a Texan to compliment Colorado,” you jest, standing up and grabbing the library supplies from your desk.

He chuckles with a shake of his head. “Good one. Did y’know you forgot your CD at my house?”

“I did, sorry about that. I figured Ellie just decided to keep it for herself. I don't mind, not like I have anything to play it on right now,” your voice drops thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve heard your favorite songs.

You begin to place down your hand painted placards on the tables.

He walks over and picks one of the cards up and admires it. “Can I help you?”

“If you want, just pick up a pile of books and put them on their respective tables. Children’s, Mystery, Romance, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Miscellaneous.”

He dutifully picks up a stack of books. “You do this by yourself?”

“Usually, I sometimes have help but I think everyone here works so hard during the week they like their slow Saturdays, I can’t ask them to give up sleeping in.”

“Sleeping in, must be nice. Can’t do such a thing. Ellie would sleep all day if I allowed her.”

“You’re right,” you say, squeezing by him to grab a pile of books. “Must be nice.”

He holds up a thick paperback with yellow pages and a burgundy cover, a muscled, orange toned man with long blonde hair holds a wispy brunette damsel. “I take it with a title like ‘Burning Tenderness’ it goes in romance?” Joel winks. You’d never imagine you would ever see someone like him joke.

“Well, I’d fire you on the spot if you placed it in non-fiction.”

His bellowing laugh echoes across your classroom. You like hearing him laugh.

The library is set up a half hour before opening thanks to yours and Joel’s expeditious work.

You take a seat on the edge of your desk to rest your knees. “I’ve never gotten done this early before. Between your help earlier this week and today I feel like I owe you something. Is there any way I could repay you for your kindness?”

He sighs, glancing back at your mural. “Those bluebells you painted,” he inhales a large breath, “do you think you could paint some of those for me in my house?”

“Oh my, I’d love to,” your face lights with a smile. You can’t believe he’s asking this of you. “I can start it anytime.”

“D’you want to come over Monday after you’re done at the school? I told Ellie I’d spend the day with her tomorrow.”

“That sounds great,” you reply, not believing your luck that Joel Miller is inviting you over to his house.

“Great. Should probably head out and start my day. Taking this as payment for my work today,” he says holding up a book.

“‘As I Lay Dying?’ Didn’t pin you as a Faulkner fan,” you muse, opening your logbook to note the title down.

“Liked the horse on the cover.”

“You’re so Texas. It’s a good book, enjoy it Joel.”

“See you Monday. Good luck today.”

“Yes, Monday,” you respond, trying not to smile too hard. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“Course,” he nods before walking out the door.

Today’s going to be a great day, it already started out better than you ever could have hoped.

Back home after a busy day you sit in your favorite chair with your cats on your lap and sketch bluebells until you fall asleep with your pencil in hand.