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Adeline

The air in the cafeteria at Havenwood Community Center hung thick and heavy, a pungent cocktail of industrial cleaner assaulting Adeline's nostrils the moment she stepped inside.

Underneath the chemical assault lurked the staleness of yesterday's coffee, mingling with a faint, unsettling aroma─old gym socks given up on life. Above the double doors, a polished plaque declared, "Harmony Hall." The name was a cruel jest, a slap in the face to the cavernous, bare room, a space that seemed to repel any notion of concord.

Vicky stood sentinel beside a mountain of paint cans, her smile as unwavering as a beacon in a storm. Her pink t-shirt, a fluorescent outrage decorated with a cartoon squirrel, blazed against the drab landscape. It was a desperate but somehow valiant attempt to inject a pulse of life into a room steeped in the quiet desperation of community service hours.

"Adeline! There you are! Right on time, almost!" Vicky chirped, glancing at her clipboard with a playful flair. "We've got a transformation to orchestrate here today, ladies! The cafeteria needs a facelift! Think rejuvenation, think─"

"Less soul-sucking," Meredith interjected, her voice flat, toneless. Her hands moved with practiced precision, meticulously taping off a window frame. Each movement was economical and efficient. She had short, dark hair pulled back and always had a slight frown. Her faded and stained clothing screamed, "Painting Day." She didn't bother to look up, but Adeline felt the familiar sting of irritation, ignited by the mere sound of the community director's voice.

"Precisely!" Vicky was too absorbed in her smile to notice the tension. "Adeline, you'll be joining Meredith on wall duty. And Darla, you will be on the bass line near the kitchen."

Adeline's eyes followed Vicky's gesture toward Darla, who leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, observing with the detached air of a queen surveying her peasants. Her painted pout hinted at the indignity of being assigned to something as basic as painting. Adeline offered a wave that barely lifted her hand. The day had just begun but already felt like an eternity stretching before her.

Vicky gestured toward the paint cans, her voice ringing with forced enthusiasm. "Behold the magic! We have chosen… Desert Sand! It's neutral and calming─the perfect choice for fostering connections and positive energy!"

Adeline stared at the beige paint. It was the color of stale bandages, of hospital waiting rooms, of dreams left to crumble into dust. "Desert Sand?" she echoed, struggling to keep the incredulity from her voice. "How about something with a little… pizzazz? What do you think of 'Ocean Breeze' blue? Or we could try 'Sunrise Yellow' instead?"

Meredith's monochrome grey eyes flickered upward and narrowed. "This is a community space, not a kindergarten. In the eyes of the general public, neutrality is not only expected but also acceptable and less offensive."

"Acceptable? It's dull and uninteresting!" Adeline retorted, her words tumbling out as her heart pounded. "I have nightmares with more color! It feels less like a cafeteria and more like a prison visitation room!"

"Some of us appreciate the power of subtlety," Meredith remarked, her voice cutting with the precision of a scalpel. She went back to taping.

"And some of us would appreciate not feeling like we're trapped inside a Picasso painting gone wrong," Adeline said, picking up a roller handle and testing its weight with what she hoped was casualness.

A snort echoed from Darla across the room. "Figures," she muttered, loud enough to ensure everyone heard. "Some people view this as a personal decoration rather than the necessary civic duty that it is."

Adeline fought back a sarcastic remark, the biting words scratching at her throat. Darla, perched on a shaky chair, pointed at a paint smudge.

"Honestly, Adeline, have you ever held a paintbrush?" This was common. Darla, the all-knowing expert, would probably criticize Mother Teresa.

Sensing the rising tension, Vicky, ever the peacemaker, intervened. "Alright, team! Desert Sand it is! Paint's ready, buckets are set; let's get rolling! Meredith, since you did a great job painting the music room last week, could you please guide Adeline through the process?"

Meredith offered a tight nod, her smile strained.

Adeline caught a glimpse of annoyance─a fleeting spark at the implication she needed assistance. "Relax, Meredith," she chirped, grabbing a brush with exaggerated flair. "I'm pretty sure I know which end to hold." Meredith's lips thinned. "Though, feel free to supervise," she added. "Wouldn't want to accidentally invent abstract expressionism in this room."

Vicky ignored the tension and went to handle another argument in the foyer, leaving Adeline and Meredith in silence. The scrape of tape was the only sound above Adeline's internal monologue, which drafted a scathing letter to Darla's therapist.

"So, where should I start?" Adeline asked, her voice dripping with false deference.

Without turning, Meredith gestured to the largest wall. "That wall is the biggest. Base coat. Avoid getting it on the ceiling, the floor, or yourself. And avoid getting it in your hair. It takes days to wash off the paint."

Adeline's eyebrow twitched. "Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, grabbing a heavy bucket.

As she plunged the roller in, Meredith added, "And mind the edges."

Adeline paused, the roller dripping. "Are you always this... aggressively helpful?"

Meredith turned at last, her expression neutral. "Are you always this... determined to misunderstand everything?"

A mischievous grin spread across Adeline's face. "I like to see myself as a driving force behind innovative solutions."

Meredith snorted, unimpressed. "I prefer 'a real pain in the neck.'" She resumed what she was doing, leaving Adeline to confront the vast, beige expanse.

The rhythmic whoosh of the paint rollers filled the air, a steady pulse against the oppressive silence. Meredith's tape measure would sometimes scrape against the wall, a small break in the hard work they were both doing together. Adeline, desperate to escape the growing tension, attacked the wall with a vengeance, slathering on the paint with more enthusiasm than accuracy.

But the silence was a battlefield, each brushstroke a parry and thrust in a silent war. Every glance at Meredith revealed a woman consumed. With her brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line, Meredith was a picture of focused diligence. An unsettling intensity radiated from her, even in the act of painting the wall.

Adeline found her gaze straying more often to Meredith than to the canvas of plaster before her. A strange pull, a flutter in her chest, belied the usual simmer of annoyance she felt in Meredith's presence. Meredith didn't command attention; she didn't need to. Her silence filled the room, just as Adeline's own vibrant personality did.

The radio, set to "Easy Listening," then spit out a sappy song about finding love over a shared latte.

"Ugh, kill me now." Adeline let out a groan as the roller fell back into its tray with a thud. "Can we get some actual music in here? Something with a beat?"

Meredith sighed, a sound that scraped at Adeline's nerves. "Must we have music at all? It's distracting."

"Distracting? It's background noise! Unless you'd prefer the dulcet tones of complete silence and your own fascinating internal monologue?"

"At least my internal monologue isn't a non-stop replay of the last ten years of pop hits," Meredith retorted, her voice sharper than Adeline expected.

"That's what we call having diverse musical tastes! How about some upbeat pop? Get the blood flowing, maybe even crack a smile?" Adeline marched toward the radio, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "How about something instrumental? Something that won't assault the eardrums?"

"Assault? It's Madonna, not a death metal concert!" Darla exclaimed.

"The principle still stands," Meredith said with determination.

Darla, their self-appointed efficiency supervisor, appeared beside them, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. "Honestly," she sniffed, leveling a withering stare at both of them. "Some people can't even paint a wall without turning it into a full-blown melodrama. Just pick a station, or turn it off. Stop wasting time."

She retreated to her trim work, leaving a palpable air of disapproval in her wake.

Meredith bristled, ready to launch a witty counterattack, but she stopped herself. "Darla's right," she stated, her voice low but firm, her gaze fixed on Adeline. "We should be working, right?"

Adeline stared, shocked by Meredith's sudden alliance with Darla. "You're siding with her?"

Meredith met her gaze, the steely glint in her eyes daring Adeline to challenge her. "There are no sides, Adeline. Just the job. And unlike some people, I'd like to get this over with."

The unspoken accusation hung thick, a stinging barb disguised as pragmatism.

Adeline felt a surge of real anger, hotter and more potent than her usual playful frustration. "Maybe if you weren't so busy being the perfect little model offender, you might actually loosen up and enjoy something for five minutes!"

Meredith's jaw tightened, a noticeable clench that conveyed a powerful message. "And maybe if you took anything seriously, you wouldn't be here in the first place."

Adeline would never admit it, but the words were true and hurt like a punch. A sudden heat rose in her cheeks, a flush of mortification and anger.

"That's rich coming from you," Adeline snapped back, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She knew nothing about Meredith's past, what caused her to destroy someone's property. It was a cheap shot, a low blow delivered in the heat of the moment, and she regretted it the instant it left her mouth.

One could almost taste latex paint and unspoken tension. After halting her rant, Adeline focused on her energy. The sound of her brush hitting the wall over and over again was like a grim metronome, marking the passing of an agonizing second. The only thing interrupting the rhythm was the sound of sharp, angry breaths.

She painted the wall with her roller, wielding it like a weapon against the knot of unease tightening in her stomach. Each deliberate stroke was a desperate attempt to obliterate the memory of Meredith's accusation, the unsettling glint in her storm-cloud eyes. It was a futile effort. Stealing glances, she observed Meredith: shoulders hunched, jaw clenched, a portrait of tightly leashed fury. The painting activity was like a shield, a way to protect herself from the world around her, something Adeline had done over and over again.

An hour passed with Darla's sighs and disbelief at her situation.

Nearing completion on her section, Adeline realized she needed a smaller brush to navigate the awkward angles of the wall. She hesitated, then looked toward Meredith's workspace, a chaotic assortment of brushes scattered like discarded art.

"Hey," Adeline ventured, the word sounding loud in the confined space. "Mind if I borrow one of your smaller brushes for a corner?"

Meredith straightened, like a marionette manipulated by an unwilling hand. Despite her messy ponytail and paint smudge on her cheek, she seemed like a normal person.

Adeline's gaze lingered on the messy hair. Meredith's eyes, holding the concentrated power of a lightning storm, replaced the previous bitterness, stilling the air between them. As if drawn by an invisible force, their hands reached for the same brush.

A brief, electric shock surged through them as their fingers brushed. Meredith's eyes flicked downward to the point of contact, then snapped back up to meet Adeline's, her expression unreadable.

"What a bunch of time wasters," Darla said, glancing at the other women. "Get to work."

Meredith had a slight twitch in her mouth. "Darla better be careful," she said in a voice that was barely a whisper. "No one crosses me without facing the consequences."

Adeline's breath hitched. The paint-splattered brush felt heavy in her hand. She met Meredith's intense gaze with a playful smile and a surprising warmth in her chest. Instead of reaching for the brush to paint the wall, her hand, guided by an unseen force, floated upward. Light as a feather, her fingertips brushed a stray strand of raven hair from Meredith's eyelid, sweeping it behind her ear.

A fleeting, electric touch. A subtle hint of warmth caressed Adeline's smooth skin. Time seemed to slow, each second drawn out like a stroke of paint.

"Consequences?" she asked, her voice barely audible above the hum of the fluorescent lights. The word was a tentative question that echoed her sudden, pressing curiosity.

The walls of the community center, the smell of industrial cleaner, and their previous conversations all faded away.

In that moment, there was only the weight of Adeline's hand on Meredith's cheek, the unwavering intensity in Meredith's dark eyes, and the terrifying, exhilarating realization that something had shifted between them.

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