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“You’re—you’re good!” I said, latching on to this safe subject.
That chimney in her rendering though…
“Well, not as good as you,” she said. “I suck at art.”
“No one sucks at art.”
“False. Some people just suck.”
I was pretty sure I was emitting a high-pitched sound only dogs could hear. “Well, you’re not one of them.”
“Yes I am.”
“That,” I gestured to the paper, “looks like a concept we’d show on a projector at Glass Candy. It does not suck.”
She brightened a little. “Well, it took me a while. I get really into the details sometimes—”
“What a coincidence. Me too. Also, I may have noticed that you included building materials on the side?” I asked with a grin.
The distractions were working.
This was a safe area the conversation could go. This was refreshing.
It was nice. Nice and boring.
Nice and non-sexual and harmless and surface-level.
Just where I wanted it. Just where it needed to be so we could draw up a solid foundation together. That was always the first step:
Pick a flat piece of ground to build on.
She smiled. “Yeah. Gotta make sure you have enough peanut butter bricks, you know?”
My grin widened. “Oh, I know. You can never have enough peanut butter.”
“I’m guessing that means you brought something peanut butter related?” She asked, looking at the back seat with curiosity.
“Maybe,” I answered with a conspiratorial grin.
She smiled and looked down at her phone. Then I watched as her face shifted into a frown.
I knew it was Sam. Ithadto be Sam.
Her, riding Sam…
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Y-yeah. Sorry, I’ll put my phone away. I’m being rude.”
“No worries, I’m driving. You can keep texting.”
I loosened my grip on the steering wheel.
I was being crazy. She could have easily been texting someone about work, or her sister, or one of her friends…
But I couldn’t shake the gut feeling that she was talking to Sam.
She finished her text, and I saw from the corner of my eye a blue text bubble appear on her screen. Then she tossed her phone into her purse.
