35- Lincoln

Throughout Hannah’s shift, I texted her. Even though I was finding it easier to actually say what was on my mind, now that a lot of the uncertainty had been removed, it was easier still to tell her what I was really thinking without the pressure of her standing before me, her eyes on mine.

Me: You look ridiculously hot in that apron.

Paint Fairy: I can swipe it after my shift if you’d like to see it later.

The very idea sent heat rushing through me.

Me: Yes please.

Paint Fairy: What do you want to do after I’m done with work? Me: Is this a question about dinner? Or something else?

Paint Fairy: What kind of question do you want it to be? Me: Something else. Very much something else.

Paint Fairy: I’ll keep the apron then.

When Hannah’s shift was over, we stood on the sidewalk for a moment, looking at one another. We’d spent almost twenty-four hours together at this point, with the exception of the half hour at the beginning of her shift where I’d run home to shower and change, and while