Summerfield: Chapter 10

It was a Thursday morning. The coffee and espresso machines finally came in from my order. I had set them up the night before so I could have a decent cup this morning. I let the smell of coffee permeate the air. I wished it would cancel out the musty smell coming from the old walls.

As I tasted the brew and sat down at the only chair: a fold up one I had used in my apartment in New York, I could hear my breath and tiny movements echo on the walls. I thought about my day ahead.

I had some friends from New York who suggested I hire a painter from Atlanta. He was coming in today for a consultation. I wanted him to paint a cloudy sky scene on the ceiling of my coffee shop. We had been conversing through email. He gave me a good estimate, so I was excited to meet him today and get the ball rolling.

“Nice to meet you in person,” his grip was firm as he shook my hand.

Matt’s outfit reminded me of a hipster or yuppie, but I didn’t mind. He wore a button-down shirt with a grey vest over it, horn-rimmed glasses, converse shoes, and dark jeans. I just noticed his dark brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and refreshing lack of accent. He didn’t draw out his words and phrases like most southerners. He spoke more directly and succinctly.

“Do you want cumulus or cirrus,” he laughed at his joke and showed me photos of prior sky scenes he’d painted for other buildings.

We were huddled around a small table I had set up in the middle of the room, poring over the pictures, when Josh came through the door.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me.” His eyes quickly darted from me to Matt and then he backed up. “I’ll come back later,” he looked at me.

I must have given him an irritated look, because he took off quickly, leaving the door ajar.

I didn’t bother explaining but kept trying to decide as Matt explained his creative process.