The Soul Painter [completed]

-Chapter Twenty-Two-

Location: Central

Femi holds my hand as we walk along the sidewalk, just like past times. She bumps her shoulder playfully against mine and grins at me, her bright, blue and brown eyes sparkling with playful mirth. I turn my head as we walk and kiss her temple. 

The plan today is to take a bit of the money that I earned on Tuesday from fixing the guy's car and go to the park. I'll buy an ice cream, and Femi will buy a hotdog. Or that's the way I think it will go. Who knows, she might get an ice cream, too. 

"What are you getting?" I ask, squeezing her hand.

"I don't know. Haven't decided yet."

I nod, stepping carefully over several cracks in the sidewalk.

Today is a nice day, somewhat warm, with a cool breeze blowing in from some direction. I haven't stopped to see which direction, or cared. 

Femi begins to sing as we walk, slightly out of tune, and not singing the lyrics right—as usual—which would get on my nerves at least a little bit, normally. Today I can only smile, but if she asks me how good the singing is, I may not answer honestly. Or I may. I don't know which one would be less likely to get me awarded a playful slap. That's the problem with people. They don't like the hard truth, but they also don't like being lied to.

This always puts me in a very perilous situation, depending on what everyone wants to hear. 

She stops singing just long enough to shoot me a smile that makes my stomach flop so violently that a hazy grin plants itself firmly on my face.

"Hi," she says, waving. 

"Hi."

She laughs, and we keep walking as the sidewalk gradually becomes a path of cobblestones like the ones that carpet the park. 

That food stand still rests on the ground as it did last time, between the weathered umbrellas, looking out of place as always.

I toss the man behind the counter a polite nod, and give him our order. Two ice creams. 

After a few minutes, he hands them out the window, sticky ice cream already beginning to melt and run over the edges.

She shoots me a grin after licking the spills around the rim of the cone. 

"Good?" I ask, my mouth watering.

She nods happily, and we sit down on the bench. 

"So..." I make an attempt to start up a conversation, but she just smiles at me. "Remember, you can talk."

She sticks her tongue out. 

"Okay. Just making sure." I take a bite out of my cone, flinching at the cold as it comes in contact with my teeth. "Gah!" I grimace. "I always forget how bad that hurts. Geez."

She laughs, a little bit of ice cream on her nose. "Aww. Let me kiss it better."

"No. I'm fine." I scowl playfully at her, before passing my ice cream to the other hand, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

She laughs again. "Poor Paris."

"Yep. Poor me."

Shaking her head laughingly, she takes the last bite of her cone. I don't know how food disappears so quickly with her. It's almost disturbing.

"Why aren't you eating your ice cream?" she asks.

"I was, but then it attacked me and wounded my poor, sensitive teeth."