Read Online Meant To Be by Karen Stivali - Free Book Online

attire. What’s with the bandanna?”
    “Guess what we’re painting today?” She glanced up at the porch ceiling.
    “Ughhhhh.” He groaned. That meant paint, splattering, everywhere.
    She giggled and walked over to the box of paint supplies. After a few seconds of rummaging, she withdrew a white painters’ cap. She shook it open and placed it on his head, brim facing backward.
    “There.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’ll be a pirate. You can be the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”
    “What?” he said. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to be the Fresh Prince. And how come you get to be a pirate?”
    “Because I remembered we were painting today, so I brought a bandanna.” She laughed. “Stop pouting. Next week I’ll bring you one too. Then we can both be pirates.”
    She pulled an old flannel shirt out of her duffel bag and put her arm through one sleeve.
    “Were we supposed to bring shirts, too?” Daniel asked.
    She couldn’t seem to stop giggling at him. “Here.” She pulled another shirt from her bag. “I have an extra. It’ll fit. It’s enormous.”
    “Thanks.” She was right. It was huge. He cuffed up the sleeves and flipped back the collar. The shirt smelled sweet, like Marienne. She was busy sorting paintbrushes, so he went back to work trying to pry the lid off the paint can.
    “Ha,” he said, as the lid popped open on one side. With two more taps the rest came loose.
    “Well done,” she said.
    He pried the lid off with enough force to cause paint to slosh over the edge of the container and all over his shoe.
    She clapped her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a laugh.
    “Uckkkkk.” He felt the paint seep between the folds of his Converse high tops.
    Marienne grabbed a roll of paper towels from the paint box and knelt beside him.
    “Stay still,” she said, mopping as much excess paint off his sneaker as she could.
    He stayed motionless, except for the fingers that rubbed against his forehead
    I’m such an idiot.
    He watched Marienne’s profile as she wiped around the perimeter of his shoe. A smile tugged at her lips, and she pressed them together, trying not to laugh. He flashed back to the way she’d looked at the park the week before, the same playful smile, the same vanilla scent wafting off her.
    She turned and caught him staring. “Take off your shoe,” she said.
    “What?”
    “Take off your shoe. Otherwise the paint’s going to dry and your sock and shoe will fuse together. Trust me. I’ve done this sort of thing before.”
    Daniel complied. She took it, pulled out the laces and stuffed paper towels inside.
    “I can do that.” He tried to grab the shoe back from her, but she moved away, handing him the roll of paper towels instead.
    “You work on your sock.” She giggled. “I’ll be right back.” She disappeared behind the back wall of the stage, with his shoe.
    Daniel closed his eyes and shook his head. The paint was already starting to dry, leaving a powdery trail along the edge of his sock. He sighed. How do I manage to do these things? Feeling ridiculous with one bare foot, he removed his other shoe and sock and returned his attention to the paint can. He stirred the paint with a wooden stick, wishing Marienne would come back.
    “Okay,” she said.
    He turned to see her approaching with two Cokes. “I rinsed off your shoe and set it against the a/c, so it might be dry before we leave. Here.” She handed him a can.
    “Thanks.” He popped it open and took a mouthful.
    “Try not to spill it,” she said.
    He nearly spit out the soda. “You’re enjoying all this, aren’t you?” he asked, putting down the Coke.
    “Little bit.” She grinned.
    Without thinking, he removed the painters cap and raked a hand through his hair, feeling strands cling to his palm. He groaned as he realized that his hand still had paint on it, and now so did his hair. He closed his eyes and heard Marienne once again struggling to contain her laughter. It wasn’t working. The