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It was pure happenstance when they stumbled on the art supply store.
“I’ve almost finished my current sketchbook,” Anne stated as she looked at the display in the window. “Oh, I haven’t been able to find these pencils at home. I have to special order them and I don’t trust my mailman enough to not lose them or break them or something.”
“Has that happened before?”
Laughing, Anne shook her head at the memory. “I ordered something online once...” then starting to correct herself, “I mean, I’ve ordered things plenty of times. Jewelry and some other presents from off of Etsy, mostly. But this one time I ordered these expensive drawing pencils from this store online. They shipped it in this bubble mailer with no cardboard to help protect the pencils. I didn’t expect this from a specialty store, but they assured me that it was a trainee error and shipped me a replacement order. But the problem was that my order had gotten lost somewhere through the post office system. When I got it, there was this huge tire mark across the bubble mailer and the pencils were broken.”
Shaking her head at the memory now, she admitted that it was bound to happen eventually, even if 98% of her online ordering experiences had gone perfectly smoothly, it was always that one time when things went wrong that stuck in her memory.
“Did they do anything?”
“Oh, they sent me a new package of pencils and let me keep the broken ones,” she shrugged. Her eyes hadn’t left the window display.
“Do you want to go in?” Derek offered. “We have time.”
“Do we?” she asked. “We’re meeting Ed and Ava at the restaurant in...”
“In over an hour. We still have ninety minutes to get to a restaurant that is ten minutes away.”
Pursing her lips, Anne considered her options. “Okay, we can go in,” she finally grinned, “But you have to cut me off in an hour. We’ll be late otherwise. Especially if I decide to buy something and there’s a wait at the checkout.”
“Yes, Dear,” Derek smiled down at her. Gesturing widely, he opened the door for her, earning himself a kiss on the cheek for his gentlemanly show of manners.
The first place Anne beelined to was the display of sketchbooks lining the back wall. She figured she could start from the back and work her way towards the front. This might make things easier when it came time to leave.
Opening the first book, the typical black book that the average beginning artist used, she felt her fingers across the paper.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m feeling the grain of the paper. Some people,” she explained, “like the feel of a smooth paper against the lead of their pencils or pens. They like the smooth glide. I like something a little more textured, but not too much,” she told him, placing the book back on the shelves. “I like feeling the slight catch that a mildly textured paper has. It’s like I’m having to work at it, pay attention to my strokes. I can feel what I’m doing instead of it feeling as if it’s going on too easily.”
Picking a blue book off of the shelf, she opened it up and ran her fingers lightly over the paper. Something came over her expression as she smiled slightly.
“I love seeing that look on a customer’s face,” a voice whispered from behind Derek.
“People run their fingers over your sketchbooks often?”
“Every day,” the owner admitted. “Far more often than you would realize. Some people, like your girlfriend said, love working with smooth paper. But some like myself, and your girlfriend, like the feel of a book’s rough texture.
Closing the book carefully, Anne turned it over to look at the price tag. Letting out a slight gasp, Anne’s eyes widened at the price. “Twenty-five dollars! For a sketchbook!” she exclaimed.
“It’s made from recycled paper,” the owner pointed out. “The cover is also a hardback and not the typical spiral bound like the average non-art store sketchbook. There’s also the personalization aspect. I can have your name or initials stamped on the cover.”
Sighing, Anne shook her head as she placed the blue book back on the shelf. “I need a new sketchbook, but I can’t justify the expense.”
Nodding her head, the owner sighed, “I get that a lot. Most artists that come in here are also students.”
Glancing back over at the blue book, Anne shook her head and returned to the spiral bound books. “Maybe next year,” she sighed. “I’m planning on applying to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago this year. I’m hoping to know early next year,” she told the owner. I’d love to have that journal for my portfolio, but...”
“I understand,” the owner smiled.
While Anne went back to running her fingers over the cheaper sketchbooks, Derek slipped the book she really wanted off of the shelf and told her he was going to look at the washi tape. “Ava loves washi tape,” he mumbled to his distracted girlfriend.
Instead, he went over to the check out where the owner was watching them. “You said you can personalize it?”
“I can have it ready tomorrow afternoon,” she told him. “I tend to do the personalization in the mornings and I’ll be closing in about thirty minutes.”
“I’d like an AE in a pretty swirly font,” he whispered. “Can I go ahead and pay for it while she’s distracted?”
“Of course,” the owner smiled. “Or tomorrow when you pick it up.”
Narrowing his eyes, he asked, “Aren’t you worried that if you personalize it without me paying for it that you’ll be stuck with a useless book?”
Sighing, “That’s what my husband keeping warning me about.”
Taking out his debit card, Derek handed over.
“Don’t you want to check out the fonts?”
“I’ll trust that you can pick something pretty that will look well with her initials,” he responded.
Ringing up his order, the owner slid the book under the counter before tackling the personalization slip. She saw Anne approaching, even as the girl kept getting distracted by the various artist tools that were in her line of vision. Slipping him his receipt, she waiting for him to sign her copy before slipping it, along with the quickly filled out personalization slip, into the book she had stashed under the counter.
“Is that all, Anne?” Derek asked as she slid her new sketchbook across the counter.
“Yeah,” she sighed, glancing back at where a now smaller stack of blue books was still on the wall. “I...” Shaking her head, she firmly stated that she was done, but she’d be back later to look at the selection of drawing pencils. “I saw some watercolor pencils that I’ve been wanting to try out. Along with a good set of colored pencils. I can’t find some of these brands at home unless I order online.”
“I order them special just to stock here,” the owner replied as she rang up Anne’s order.
Anne, ignoring Derek, handed over some cash.
“Anne,” he protested.
“You can’t pay for everything, Derek,” she shook her head. “At least let me pay for my impulsive art supply purchases. I could bankrupt you if you insisted on paying for everything I want.”
Shaking her head, the owner held back her laughter.
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He owned up to his wrapping paper faults as he handed over the present. Anne smiled at the uneven folds as he hesitated over handing over the gift. “It’s not that bad,” she giggled, her eyes glancing over the messy tape work. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I wanted to,” Derek mumbled, waiting impatiently for Anne to open the gift.
Grinning, Anne ripped the packaging down the middle, pulling both sides away until the blue sketchbook was staring up at her. Drawing in a gasp, she shook her head in surprise. “Oh, Derek!” Pulling the book to her chest, she started to cry, “You didn’t have to buy this for me!”
“I wanted to,” he repeated. “Why are you crying?”
Dropping the book on the table in front of them, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. “Thank you!” she cried. “It’s beautiful.”
“I had your initials stamped on the cover,” he pointed out, showing her the little swirly A and E in the bottom right-hand corner. “I know you really wanted it.”
Tears of happiness still rolling down her face, Anne stroked her fingers over the cover as she smiled up at her amazing boyfriend. “This is just incredible. You really didn’t have to buy this for me.”
Leaning forward, he whispered, “If you still want to go back and look at the store’s other art supplies, we can go back later. I don’t mind buying you things; you appreciate them.”
