“Georgie, I’ve gotten you coffee twice now,” he said in between chuckles. “You don’t have to pretend.”
I let out a long sigh of relief and immediately began ripping them open. “I don’t know why I did that. It seriously made me question why I drink coffee in the first place.”
He leaned back, arms stretching across the booth. For a few minutes, there were no sounds beside the tearing paper of sugar packets and the soft drip of creamer. I didn’t notice he was watching me until I stirred it together and took a generous swig.
“Okay,” he said finally, eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. “Your turn. What’s the best thing you’ve ever made? Pottery-wise.”
I thought about it, clasping my palms around my coffee and savoring the heat. “There was this mug… simple, nothing fancy. But it fit in your hand perfectly, with indentations for your fingers and everything. My visual arts teacher bought it and said it reminded her of one her grandfather had growing up. That was the first and last piece I’ve ever sold.”
Rhett didn’t respond right away. He just nodded, quiet for a long beat, then said, “My uncle used to whittle little figurines in his spare time. Birds, mostly. Said they kept him company while he worked.” He smiled faintly, eyes distant. “I never got it. Thought they were just scraps of wood. When I came back after he passed, they were all gone—sold at a market. Took me a while to realize I kind of missed them.”
Dottie swooped in just then, tapping her pen against her pad and cutting through the quiet that had settled between us.
I was half-tempted to try ordering a meatloaf pancake, but I decided to see how their cheeseburger stacked up against Captain’s instead. She jotted down our orders, popped some bright blue bubblegum at us, and started for the kitchen.
“Do you think she—” I leaned over to get a better look— “cooksthe food, too?”
Rhett put his elbows on the table to peer over at the swinging doors in the corner. “If there’s some gum in our fries, then we’ll know.”
I turned to him with a laugh that immediately died in my throat. His face was inches from mine, our smiles falteringsimultaneously as if I glanced in a mirror. I perched at the top of the rollercoaster hill as I greedily studied the dark stubble on his chin, the tiny scar on his right cheek, and his eyes that sparkled like gilded chocolate.
“All we need is a milkshake to share, huh?” he murmured.
I dragged myself back to my seat and pulled on a half-convincing smile. “Who said I’ll share my milkshake with you?”
Rhett ran a hand through his hair and swallowed. “I think it’s your turn for a question,” he replied, gaze fixed on the surface of his coffee.
“Okay.” Trying to remember what it looked like to act casual, I sank into the booth and kicked my sneakers up on the seat beside him. My heart still fluttered as I asked, “What do you do for fun?”
A lame question—I knew that. But it was all my Rhett-addled brain could manage.
“Cooking, reading, nothing very interesting,” he murmured, sorting my pile of cream-and-sugar remnants.
“You don’t like carpentry?”
“No, I—” Rhett looked up, eyes bright, and stopped himself. I watched him swallow and slump back into the banquette. “Carpentry won’t get me anywhere.”
“That’s not what I asked, though,” I blurted out. Wincing, I grabbed my mug and emptied it to keep my hands busy.
I hadn’t meant to pry. Of course, he had a life back in California, and a career, and a future. But when he spoke about architecture, it sounded more like a business transaction than something he was excited to do for the rest of his life. Alternatively, the pieces I found in his workshop had clearly been made by someone who loved it.
“We were raised differently,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was told my whole life that my uncle was a failure for choosing to dosomething he liked. So… the message was pretty clear from the get-go.”
“That you’d be a failure if you did the same,” I finished, voice small.
Rhett began folding the empty sugar packets, jaw clenching as he did. He remained silent as Dottie came back with our food, sliding the plates toward us with another snap of her bubblegum. When she left, I pushed his turkey club over and retrieved my cheeseburger from his side.
“Thanks,” he mumbled and dug in without a glance.
I chewed on my bottom lip. The food smelled phenomenal and my stomach growled furiously—but the question bubbled in my mouth wouldn’t go away.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked, barely above a whisper. “I mean—if you decided to do something you love?”
Rhett paused, put his sandwich down, and clasped his hands together. “Anything could happen,” he said unemotionally. “No matter what you do, there will always be a worst case scenario. Might as well take the path of least resistance.”
“But what if that path leads somewhere you hate in ten years? Twenty?”
“Having a stable career doesn’t sound half bad to me,” Rhett retorted. “Are you passionate about flowers?”
