*Delores Amelia Brown*

"Ok, just a few more strokes, and... done!"

The little girl's lips expanded into a wide smile.

"What do you think?" I held up a mirror so she could see the colourful butterfly blooming on her face.

"Eeee!" She squealed in excitement. "I love it! I'm going to show it to my mama."

As she took off, the other kids grew restless, almost knocking down my work table.

"Ok, Ok, guys. Calm down, everyone's gonna get their faces painted. But to do that, I need you all to form a queue. Can you do that for me?"

A collective "Yes!" came my way, and then the shuffling and squeezing began.

Sighing, I shook my head and asked the next kid to take a seat. "Hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Great. What's your name?"

"Thomas." He shot me a grin that strangely reminded me of Kwame, but I quickly brushed the thought aside.

"Well Thomas, what would you like me to paint for you?"

"Spider-Man!" He eagerly. "I want to be like Miles Morales."

"Oh, great choice. Let's see what I can whip up then."

Quickly mixing up a batch of black and white paint on my palette, I continued to stir till I got the right consistency. Dipping my brush in the black paint, I imagined Spider-Man's mask one more time before smearing the paint on his forehead.

Thomas let out a soft giggle.

"Tickles huh?" I smiled as he nodded.

Keeping a steady grasp on the brush, I painted the sides of his eyes and the top of his nose. Once I was done, I switched brushes and continued with the white paint, carefully coating his eyelids. I needed to be careful with the spider net design because that was the crux of the artwork. I took brief strokes, curving them at the required areas. Any wobbly moves would ruin the painting.

Finishing up the net, I switched brushes for the last time and dipped it in some red paint. Gently, I began to paint the rims of his eyes as a finishing touch. "There, all set. Take a look."

When I held up the mirror and the kid got a full glimpse of his new painting, I swear he almost burst with excitement. He pulled me into a tight hug and later ran off to go play with his friends.

Chuckling, I moved on to my next client. I had about ten more of them to take care of, and part of me wondered if I could actually do it. But after an hour, I felt a sense of relief as I finished up the cat design on the last person.

The moment the kid took off, I set the brushes down, closed my eyes, and cracked my knuckles until the familiar sound of a camera shutter broke through my thoughts.

My eyes fluttered open to find Kwame standing in front of me, grinning at his camera.

"Hey!" I attempted to snatch the device, but he was fast enough to move away. "You can't keep that!"

"Why?" He laughed. "It's actually a good photo, look." He tilted the side with the screen. "Delores Brown in her stress-relieving state. I also took a few photos of you painting." He pushed a button, and the previous photo popped up.

"Why are you even taking pictures of me?" I sat down. "I thought you were helping Trevor with that documentary of his."

"I am, and I've got enough footage to create two documentaries, but that won't be necessary." Kwame turned his camera off and plopped down on my client's stool. "Is there room for one more face painting?"

I couldn't help but chuckle. "You're a grown man. Why would you want your face painted?"

"Woah." He immediately went on the defensive. "You painted Dayton and Arturo's faces, and all three of us are about the same age."

"Oh, they don't count. They were my test subjects."

"Well, it doesn't hurt to have one more." When Kwame leaned in, my heart rate suddenly picked up. If this is how my body is going to react any time he's this close, I might as well keep my distance.

"C'mon, it's only one painting!" He pressed on. "It'll only take a minute.

"Depends on what I'm painting."

"Oh, you can paint anything you want. Today, my face is your drawing canvas." Still leaning in, Kwame shut his eyes and added, "Knock yourself out."

"If you insist," I giggled as my hands returned to my brushes.

At first, I just stared, not really knowing what to paint because, frankly... Kwame's face was already art. From the calm lift of his eyebrows to the full length of his nose and the shape of his mouth—the way they curled at the edges—I couldn't bring myself to ruin his beauty with my sloppy painting skills.

I set the brush down, and the moment I did, Kwame cracked one eye open, and then the other followed.

"You're not painting?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "No."

His eyebrows dipped low. "Why not?"

"Because your face is already what it needs to be."

"What's that?"

"Perfect."

Without waiting for a response, I stood up, eager to get a drink and to stop my heart from bursting with emotions.

¤¤¤¤¤

"Aah, that's the stuff!"

Dayton's sudden utterance pulled me out of my reverie, and I quickly took a sip of my tiger-nut milk drink.

"What's up with you?" My friend raised a curious eyebrow.

"Nothing, why?"

"I just finished my third drink, and you're still sipping your first one. What's on your mind?"

Obviously, I couldn't tell Dayton that for the past twenty minutes, I'd been thinking about what it would feel like to kiss Kwame Asante, so I steered the question into her love life.

"Are you in love with Arturo?"

She laughed out loud. "Now where's that from?"

"Oh, c'mon, you spent the entire day with him. You knew I'd have to ask at some point."

"Ok, fine." Dayton sat up in her chair. "I'm not in love with Arturo because love is a very strong word, and I'm still getting to know the guy. But I can say I like him," she admitted with an earnest look in her eyes. "I like Arturo a lot. Unlike my ex, we both have a lot in common. We get along really well, we have a big love for food, we enjoy the same type of music, and we have similar goals in life. Sometimes it feels like I've met my soulmate, but then I remember that I've only known the guy for like three to four days."

"Hm." I took another sip of my drink. The way Dayton spoke with certainty made me feel a little bit... insecure. I mean, we both met the guys on the same day, yet she and Arturo were on a completely different level compared to me and Kwame.

"You're thinking about him, huh?"

"Who?" My eyes flickered over to hers.

"Duh, Kwame." Dayton poured herself another drink. "I know you like him and he obviously feels the same way about you. But for whatever reason, both of you are trying to ignore that magnetic force pulling you together, and I find myself wondering why."

Dayton was clearly poking at the history of love life, and because I wasn't in the mood to think or talk about Cas, I just averted my eyes. "It's nothing, Dayton."

"C'mon, Delores, don't be like that." Dayton pressed on. "I know someone hurt you in the past, but you can't use that as an excuse to deny yourself love."

"I'm not denying myself love!" I quickly remarked. "I just think my life will be better off without it."

"Is it?"

That simple question rendered me speechless. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't come up with a coherent answer because, deep down, I knew my life wasn't better. At all.

"Look, Delores," Dayton sighed. "Body no be firewood."

I quirked up an eyebrow in confusion. "What's that?"

She beamed. "It's one of the few quotes I picked up from my interactions with the locals this afternoon. It basically means that your body isn't a piece of firewood. At some point in time, you're going to crave a man's touch. Even if you've decided not to give in, there's going to be a time you won't be able to resist those emotions."

A sudden buzz soon filtered past my ears, and Dayton reached into her bag for her phone. "Oh, lemme take this." She quickly slipped out of her seat. "Hey, Richael. What's up? How are the preparations for the fashion show?"

As Dayton wandered off to have her conversation, I chugged down the rest of my drink and poured myself some more. I didn't want to think about the things she was saying earlier, but the more I refused to think about them, the harder it was to keep them at bay. In as much as Dayton was generally right, part of me felt that she hadn't known me long enough to know what I could and could not resist.

Yeah, I'll admit a man's touch is irresistible, especially if it comes from someone as good-looking as Kwame. But I'm a grown woman. I know what's best for me. If I've decided to keep love and affection out of my life, then I believe I have what it takes to pull it off.

Gulping down the last of my drink, I watched the sunset in the west, leaving the clouds in a myriad of gold colours. A quick glance at my watch told me it was 4:16 pm. The fashion show was scheduled to begin at exactly four, and I was beginning to wonder what had caused the delay.

Nonetheless, I shoved my worries to the side and decided to use the free time to set up my camera. That way, when the fashion show starts, it will just be a matter of snapping away.

It took a few minutes, but I was able to get everything locked and loaded. The moment I was done, my ringtone blared out, and I looked down to see Dayton's name on the screen. I swiped right.

"Hey, where are you? You didn't come back after your phone call."

"Uh yeah, I had to rush over to help a friend," she replied. "Listen, do you mind grabbing my stuff and meeting me backstage at the fashion show grounds?"

My eyebrows furrowed. "Why? What's the matter?"

"Nothing much. I just want you to come over with my bag. You ok with that?"

"Uuhh, yeah, sure."

"Thanks, I'll meet you backstage then."

The line went dead, and I pulled the phone off my ear. I didn't understand how Dayton had managed to loiter all the way to the fashion show grounds without her equipment. I just shook my head, grabbed her bag and mine, paid for the drinks, and set off in the direction of the show.

Though several artists had closed and packed up everything, a few of them still loitered around, trying to sell off their paintings.

I weaved past people to the fashion show grounds, where a colourful runway had been set up. Several technicians moved around, trying to get everything in check since they were already behind schedule.

I soon made it backstage and immediately noticed Dayton standing at the end of a corridor with a dark-skinned acquaintance. She had long braids with colourful beads hanging at the edges. She seemed a bit frantic, as she kept twitching and fidgeting with her glasses.

"Hey guys." I greeted both of them, and Dayton was the first to respond.

"Hey Delores, glad you made it with my bag. Thank you so much." Gratefully, Dayton took her property out of my grasp.

"Wait, this is Delores?" The dark-skinned lady stared at me wide-eyed.

"Yeah," Dayton beamed. "This is the friend I was telling you about."

"Oh, she's perfect!" The lady squealed. "A 5'9", definitely a good replacement for Brenda."

"Brenda?" I frowned. "Who's Brenda?"

Dayton sucked in a breath. "Ok, so Delores, this here is Richael."

The dark-skinned lady gave me a shy wave.

"She's an artist and a fashion designer. She's showcasing her first line of clothing tonight, but one of her models, Brenda, called in sick. Sooo... I was thinking maybe you could fill in for her."

"Whoa, wait, what?" The whole thing sounded absurd in my ears. "Dayton, I'm not a model."

"Yeah, I know. But you're a perfect match for Brenda's dress. The two of you are the exact same height."

"But I'm not a model," I stressed, hoping to get myself out of this. My efforts, however, proved futile.

"Please, Delores, I'm begging you." Richael cried out. "If you need me to go on my knees, I totally will." She started to bend, and I quickly pulled her back up.

"Oh no, no, Richael. There's no need to go on your knees."

"Please, look, I really need your help. This is one of the best dresses I've made, and it would kill me if I didn't get the chance to showcase it."

Richael sounded so desperate. And as much as I didn't want to, I found myself heaving out a sigh and saying, "Fine, where is the dress?"

"Eeee!" Both Dayton and Richael caught me in a hug.

"C'mon." Richael pulled me in the direction of the hallway. "We have it ready in dressing room two."

********