“You were in the zone!” he cries.

I raise my eyebrows in question, and he laughs so hard he has to lean a shoulder against the wall for support.

“I was saying your name for like five minutes before you heard me!”

My smile is due to his amusement more than the fact that I find humor in the situation. It’s a part of any sort of passion. We all zone out when we care about something enough. I’m confident he knows exactly what it’s like to lose the world around you and find yourself in one where nothing exists but your craft. “Yeah, sorry.”

“This is crazy! What are you doing here?”

“I used to work here.”

Kash raises his eyebrows and juts out his chin. “You worked here?”

“For three years.”

“No shit. What a small world.” His last word is spoken softly, distracted by the mess of color I’ve applied to the wall tonight. “What are you painting?” he asks, still following lines to blotches of color that will be used as my outline.

“She won’t tell us.” Mia’s response is delivered with her red-painted lips spread wide and a smile that I recognize from going out with her after work a couple of times—she’s interested in him.

“Can we guess?” Kash asks.

“She only smiles when you do.” Mia places a fresh container of water and cup of coffee on the table beside me. “It’s a mischievous smile, like she wants us to keep guessing.”

My lips climb because I do. “Mia, this is Kashton, my boss.”

“I’m pretty sure Mercedes thinks she’s your boss,” he says, making me laugh out loud and causing my palette to drop down just far enough that one of my yellows mixes with a red.

“That’s cool. She says really great things about you guys,” Mia says.

“That’s because we’re pretty great.” I have to turn away from where I’m adding some paint to an area I don’t want to dry before finishing, to see if Kash is truly flirting or if his tone is just getting mixed in the chaos of the ensuing noise. His back is straight, his chin angled and eyes bright. I feel the urge to say something. Anything. I can’t understand why he’s flirting with Mia when Summer is so perfect for him.

“Do you know who’s closing tonight?” My words are too fast and too loud to be subtle. Both of them turn to me, but my focus is on Mia, my eyes rounded in warning. Her eyebrows rise, telling me she’s misreading my warning to avoid him as a staked claim, before she takes a step back and smiles guiltily at me.

“I’ll find out. Do you need anything else? Some food?”

“No, I don’t want to stop and eat right now.”

She nods a couple of times and then turns, giving a brief smile to Kash before disappearing.

“King! Get over here! You were right!” Mia’s departure doesn’t seem to faze Kash as he yells through the restaurant, making me frown slightly. I’ve never appreciated when people disregard everyone else, and yelling in a restaurant doesn’t seem courteous in the least. Then his words repeat in my head and each of my muscles grows tense. King’s here? He recognized me? “King! It’s Lo!”

Half the restaurant is now looking at me, and for the first time tonight, I’m looking at them. “Do you know everyone here?”

“Yeah.” His gaze follows mine to the first couple of tables before he looks back at me and shrugs dismissively. “Just some friends.” I’m pretty sure this is twice as many people as I actually know.

My thoughts stop as King appears with an arm slung loosely around Summer’s shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me you were painting when we were here.” Summer’s tone holds a slight trace of offensiveness, but her eyes are distracted with following my blocks of colors. “Your colors are beautiful.” Her eyes find mine, and there’s an authenticity behind them that makes me feel slightly sheepish.

“She won’t tell anyone what it is yet,” Kash explains.

“That’s awesome,” Summer says, her lips spreading into a smile that makes her nose crinkle slightly. It’s an approving smile, and for the first time, I feel as though Summer is being genuinely accepting of me. Maybe she wants to be my friend after all.

“How often do you work on it?” Kash asks, his eyes once again following my paint.

I shrug and run my brush through a color on my palette I had created so a shell doesn’t build over it from remaining stagnant. “When I get extra time. I’ve never done anything this big, so I don’t know how long it will take.”

“You’re doing this in the shop!” Kash cries.

My heart is beating so fast I feel nearly dizzy with the thought. Painting on a wall is different from a canvas because of its permanence. Sure, someone may paint over it at some point, but for a period at least, my work will be present on Kashton Knight’s wall for him and all of his riding buddies to see. The fact is intimidating. The shop is open and so bright and minimal that even if I were to use a gray palette, it would be impossible to miss.

“I’m serious,” Kash says. “I didn’t realize you were already contracting work out when we discussed you doing this. I want you to paint my shop. I want a Lo Crosby original.” He turns to his brother. “King, draw up a contract tomorrow. I want this shit done before the Swiss team gets out here. I want everyone to see it, and have it be a part of the marketing plan.”

My vision goes fuzzy with the onslaught of terror and pressure Kash just passed me. “I don’t know how to do a logo. I can paint something for you, sure, but …” My words fade because the only ones I have left are screaming I can’t.

“Sketch some designs out. Create a portfolio of ideas, colors—the works. I want to see what you can come up with, and we’ll all sit down and discuss it.” Kash is in business mode, his thoughts precise and deliberate. I wish I saw him act more like this with Mercedes. “Can you get something ready in two weeks?”

The muscles in my shoulders and neck feel strained as I stare at him, my brush still. Thoughts of what possible doors this could uncover, and how badly I could possibly mess this up, make my jaw feel rigid.

“Two weeks.” Kash nods, setting the date.

“Two weeks,” I repeat in some form of confirmation.

“Now, come have a beer with us! King, did they bring more pitchers out?”

“That’s okay,” I begin. “I need to get some more work done on this before I leave, and my paints are starting to dry.”

“We’ll be back next Tuesday, see your progress.” Kash says the words like an assurance, but they’re anything but. I don’t want the added pressure of having someone continually checking in to see the development of my work. It makes the tiny creative receptors in my brain shrink as my panic levels grow.

“You look nervous,” King says as Summer follows after Kash.

I turn my attention to him and think of every previous tip I’ve used to relax. “I don’t create logos.”

King lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug that makes them look even wider. “You said you don’t paint murals either, yet here you are.”

“Yeah, but this will sit on one wall. Not on stickers and bikes, websites, and everywhere else.”

“It will still become a part of this restaurant.”

I shake my head. He’s being ridiculous trying to compare these situations. As a part of Kash’s business team, he of all people should be on my side.

“Eventually you’re going to have to make the decision. There’s a shit ton of artists out there. Are you going to be able to cut it?”

The fine hairs on my arms bristle though my cheeks heat. Only King can make me feel chilled with fear and heated with anger all at once. “I’ll be sure to sign your copy.”

“WHAT ARE you doing, Lo?”

I feel each of my muscles contract from the concern of Kash seeing me looking like this, causing the load I’m bearing to briefly lighten as my imagination works to picture the mess I resemble. Turning my head to face them, I feel a muscle in my shoulder protest. Kash is standing in the hallway holding a large box. The sight of King standing directly behind him makes me feel slightly mortified.