DAISY

We mix everything to the desired consistency and get the brushes and other equipment ready. Once everything is set, we protect the floor and the rest of the furniture with cloths and plastic bags. Riley turns on a mini HomePod. We both grab the paint rollers and begin applying the paint to the white surface.

"Where's KC?" I can't help but ask. Maybe it's the scent of his shirt wrapping around me.

I hope I don't seem desperate.

"He has an appointment and some personal errands. He left an hour ago," she informs me.

Should I be satisfied? I think so, but why am I so curious about his whereabouts?

Well, the least I can do is keep my mouth shut before I ask something foolish.

"Can you turn up the volume, please? I love this song."

"Isn't it a bit loud? What if the resident downstairs complains?" I say.

"That should be fun because who would they report the building owner to?" she giggles.

"What?"

"I know, right?"

"No, I mean Kayy—C." Oh no! That was too close. I take a breath before continuing. "Owns this building?"

"Well, his parents do, but it's practically his since all of the Chandler business will be handed over to him when he graduates. His parents are eager to retire, at least in business. Mr. and Mrs. Chandler are the most inspiring hustlers I've met. They started from scratch; now look at what they've achieved. You should see the yacht they had built. Mrs. Chandler says she and her husband will sail the world when KC takes over the family business someday."

Wow, that's a lot. They seem to be all about hustling, leaving their child parentless on weekdays. I'm sorry if I'm being judgmental, but I've known Kay since day one and I know he lacked a parental relationship. He always came to my home for comfort.

I guess my family leaving America must have taken away the last blanket of warmth he used to have.

But who am I to say anything? Riley is practically Mrs. Chandler's daughter now. I have to watch my words. "That seems inspiring."

"It is. I admire them."

No way do I admire Kay's parents, though I would never say it out loud.

Riley and I might have some things in common, like music taste, clothing, and lifestyle. But I do not support parents who choose money over their kids. I also do not support money over happiness. Not that she isn't happy, but from my short time here, I've learned she's obsessed with wealth.

"Sure you do."

We continue coating the second wall smoothly.

Our once white shirts are now as paint-splattered as the walls before us, but the place is already looking great. We're doing a thorough job.

"Spent twenty-four hours, I need more hours with you, you spent the weekend getting even, ooh. We spent the late nights making things right between us." Riley smiles widely, dancing on her tiptoes as her blonde hair flips around her. She approaches me and pulls me into a dance. I can't help but laugh at her enthusiasm and our euphoric atmosphere. "But now it's all good, babe. Roll that back wood, babe. And play me close." She finishes, leaving a peck on my cheek.

I can't suppress the smile on my lips nor the urge to sing along with Riley while we dance, covered in paint. "'Cause girls like you run 'round with guys like me 'til sun down. When I come through, I need a girl like you, yeah yeah. Girls like you love fun and, yeah, me too. What I want when I come through, I need a girl like you, yeah yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah. I need a girl like you."

For the first time since I learned that Kay lives here, I feel cheerful.

I have always loved painting. I've always enjoyed painting; I love colors. My family ensured we repainted the walls more often because of me.

EIGHT YEARS AGO

"Go change your clothes, honey, and we'll go grab some paint, okay?" Dad tells me.

"Okay," I respond excitedly and head to the staircase, where I find Kay sitting with his backpack on his lap.

"You're going out?" he asks, his head downcast and shoulders slumped.

"My dad wants us to shop for the walls," I say.

"Alright, I'll wait for you," he sighs and stands up, hanging his backpack over his shoulders.

I feel bad for him. His parents are always at work, and he has no one to play with. If I go with Dad, he would be alone.

"Do you want to come with us?" I ask instinctively.

"Really?" He gasps with a hint of hope in his emerald eyes.

"Yes. Wait, I'll just ask my dad." I run back to the kitchen where Mom is making chicken tetrazzini and Dad is writing notes. "Dad, can Kay come with us?" I ask urgently.

Dad looks at me with the smile he always wears for unnecessary questions.

"Of course, he's welcome to join us. You two should change your clothes," he reminds me.

"Thank you, Daddy," I exclaim happily and head back to where Kay is. He must have heard because he looks excited before I even tell him. "It's a yes," I inform him, and we both giggle. "Dad says to change our clothes," I add.

Kay keeps some of his clothes at my house; he always changes here when we get back from school.

He is like family.

***

Kay and I are buckled up in the back of my dad's Ford SUV.

He stops and buys us hotdogs on the way to the paint shop.

We devour each bite as if it's the last piece, even though we have more than half left.

"I'll ride in a taxi someday," I tell Kay.

"I have a lot of money in my savings. I can pay for my taxi ride, and I can pay for yours too if you want."

"And I'll pay you back when my parents start giving me allowances," I agree.

Kay's parents give him an allowance every morning before he leaves for school. Although he never spends it, he saves it in a box under his bed.

"No one is following a taxi unless you want to get kidnapped, which neither of us wants," Dad says from the driver's seat.

Kay and I glance at each other and keep quiet.

By the time we reach the paint shop, we have finished our hotdogs.

We follow Dad into the store with wallpapers, various equipment, and buckets of paint. The place smells like chemicals.

Kay and I stop in the middle of the shop while Dad talks to the clerk.

"Wow," Kay murmurs as his eyes wander around the shop.

"I want all the colors," I whisper, leaning over to him with a smile.

He grins and leans in. Kay knows about my obsession with painting; I've made it clear I want to be an artist.

Kay leans toward my ear and promises, "I will buy you every color."

I can't help but blush, pulling on the sleeves of my orange shirt as I shuffle on my shoes.

"Guys, what would you recommend?" Dad turns to us, waiting for our input.

"Blue," I suggest.

He shakes his head. "Too boyish."

"Yellow?" I ask.

"Too bright."

"Perhaps navy blue?"

"Something lighter," Dad objects.

"Red?" I call.

"Not on the walls, at least," Dad cringes and scrunches his face in denial.

"Why?" Kay asks.

"They scare him," I giggle.

Dad arches his brows as he playfully brags. "Ah ah, young lady, I don't get scared. I scare others."

Kay smiles as he walks over to a shelf and traces the words on a note attached to a bucket. "What about repainting the same color? Your walls are unique; I think you should keep that," he remarks.

"What do you think, Daisy?" Dad turns to me with both hands in his cargo pants pockets and asks.

Smiling, I turn to Kay and quietly ask, "Do you like my wall?"

He nods instantly and reassures me, "Very much."

Without hesitation, I grin back at Dad and say, "I think it's the best."

"Well then, taupe it is," he agrees.