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When I finish, Locke is very still. He looks from the phone to me, as if he needs to make sure he understood the list correctly.
“You’re booked.”
“All of those people want me to make something for them?”
“Yes.”
He goes quiet while the meaning of it settles in. “That’s a lot.”
“It is.”
“Good.”
The next message is from Blair: Tell Locke not to agree to prices until somebody helps him figure out the formula for pricing handmade goods. Also tell Shannon she is not his agent.
Immediately beneath it Shannon texts: I could be.
Then Blair: NO.
I read those aloud too.
“Shannon wants to be my agent.”
“She wants to be everybody’s everything.”
“What does an agent do?”
I give him the shortest version I can. “Helps manage the work. Talks to customers. Keeps track of things. Makes sure you don’t agree to build a giant sculpture for twelve dollars.”
“I can talk to customers.”
“Yes, you can.”
“And they can call me.”
“They can.”
Yesterday his chest was broken open in the square. This morning he is making plans.
“Blair said the money from your interview with Mara Keene cleared yesterday. She and Jose have been figuring out how to get it to you properly.”
“I’m going to buy better tools.”
“Sounds like you and Ben worked that out already.”
“And more willow.”
“Tom can show you where he got the last batch.”
“I want to choose it myself.”
“That sounds like a field trip.”
Locke watches me, pleased with himself. “And I want to buy something for you.”
The distinction matters more than the gift. He wants to choose something because he knows me well enough to try. “Oh?”
“Yes.”
