Page 76 of No Match Found
Whyhad Katie let me come on this date?
“Where are you going?” Grant asked.
I stopped mid-stride and gave him a funny look. “To dinner?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in uninhibited amusement. “You thought I was taking you on a date to Hungry Hank’s?”
A flicker of annoyance shot through me. “Well, Grant?I don’t know. You gave me a tumbleweed instead of flowers, so it’s not a huge stretch, is it?”
His smile only grew. “Did youwantflowers?”
“No, but I didn’t want tumbleweed either.”
“Good thing I didn’t give you any.” He jerked his head to his right. “We’re headed this way.”
I looked at the shop sign.Swirl, it said in black, loopy script. Below it, in sans serif lowercase letters were the wordsArt Workshop. The shop windows were framed with twinkle lights that couldn’t compete with the setting sun.
I looked at Grant, certain this was just another part of his never-ending quest to mess with me, but he grabbed the door handle and pulled.
I stayed rooted in place. “We’re doing art?”
“Yep.” He was dead serious.
I had no response. If someone had asked me where I thought Grant would be taking me on a date that would put both Matchify and me in grave danger, an art workshop wouldn’t have even made the list.
So far, he’d gifted me a dead weed and brought me to the sort of place I’d have expected to go for a tween girl’s birthday party.
“You coming?” he asked, vaguely amused by my reaction.
I girded my loins and went through the door of Swirl, preparing to channel my inner twelve-year-old. If tonight was any indication of Grant’s approach to romance, I couldn’t help feeling a sliver of sympathy for his ex.
TWENTY-THREE
The shop was certainlya step above the art spaces I’d gone to as a tween. There, I’d picked out a ceramic item to paint, generally from an assortment of cutesy dogs and cats and cups and plates.
This place wasn’t like that. It was minimalist and neat. The walls were lined with wood shelves showcasing various pieces of art, and in the center, a wood table covered in butcher paper awaited us. Across the top sat a mason jar with popsicle sticks, some small glass containers, a few pairs of gloves, and a row of small squeeze bottles filled with all the colors of the rainbow. Two rotating fans pointed downward from opposite corners of the room, making it pleasantly breezy.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A resin art workshop,” Grant said, watching me take in the space.
I’d heard of resin art, but I had no idea what it entailed, which meant I was about to betray my distinct lack of feminine artsiness. Not that Grant would’ve assumed I possessed any. But I wouldn’t have assumedhewas a crafty person, and yet he’d chosen this for our date.
“Have you done resin art before?” I asked.
“Nope.” He waved and smiled at the woman who emerged from a back room. She looked to be about forty with a head of frizzy brown curls and a colorful tunic beneath her messy apron.
I watched Grant as he approached her, still trying to figure out why in the world he had chosen this of all places.It was so…random. So unexpected, which, to be fair, was par for the course with Grant.
“Welcome to Swirl,” the woman said cheerily as she shook his hand. “My name is Misha, and I own the workshop. I’ll give you a quick tour, then let you settle in and get to creating. Does that sound good?”
“Sounds great,” Grant said.
I nodded politely.
Misha showed us the shelves of art to our left, which held everything from bookmarks and coasters to large blocky letters. Each piece was unique, but most held various items suspended in a clear or colorful material.
She guided us to the table next, explaining what was in the bottles and what it would need to be mixed with before we poured and added anything in.
