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“Perks of the new job, I guess.”
The car door opens again, and Mr. Banks slides into the middle row of seats. Zach and I immediately go silent, sharing a private alarmed look before Professor Barclay follows after him.
There were two other SUVs they could have chosen; why did they have to get into ours?
Mr. Bankssettles into his seat, and then, realizing the two of us are back here just staring dumbfounded, he offers a friendly nod.
“Remind me of your names?”
Zach and I speak at the same time like overeager children.
I laugh, more than a little embarrassed. Why do I always have to blush?Always?
“I’m Zach, and this is Emelia.”
“Right. Engineering department and conservation department, respectively. I remember now. Good to have you both here today.”
My gaze flits to Professor Barclay. I wait for him to turn back and acknowledge us too, but he doesn’t. He keeps his attention down on his phone as he types away on a message or an email or whatever it is that’s so important.
I know I shouldn’t, but I gift myself a fleeting moment to look at him, to take in the details I’ve yearned for the last few years: the tan skin between his neat hairline and crisp shirt collar, the cut of his suit jacket across his wide shoulders, his sharp jawline in profile. These are things I’ve been deprived of, the angles never shown on social media.
The SUV suddenly seems shrunken. Though I’ve never been one to feel claustrophobic before now, it’s hard to overcome the sensation. Professor Barclay acts as a vacuum in the confined space. His cologne, while subtle, is a constant reminder that he’s there, within arm’s reach, even when I turn to distract myself by looking out the window.
As the SUV pulls away from the tarmac, Mr. Banks goads Professor Barclay into conversation. It’s clear they make a good team. Even if I wanted to eavesdrop, I can barely keep up with them. They basically speak in shorthand.
“Cincinnatiissued the demolition permits this morning for the ancillary buildings,” Mr. Banks notes.
“Already? Did Joan go down to grease the wheels a little?”
Mr. Banks snorts. “You think she had anything to do with this? It was me and my charm.”
“What about developer permits?”
“Delayed.”
“Sewer and sign?”
“Delayed. Delayed.”
“Who’s running Cincinnatipermits again?”
“Dan Keller.”
“I thought Royce replaced him?”
“WewantedRoyce to replace him, but no, Dan’s still in charge.”
Professor Barclay shakes his head. “It’ll be another six months before we break ground.”
“We’ll get going on demo and hope for the best. I meant to ask—is Miranda coming in this weekend?”
To say my ears snap to attention is an understatement. I’m so tuned in to what Professor Barclay is about to say I might as well be leaning over the seat, holding my breath, unblinking.
Who’s Miranda? The blonde from his pictures? The woman I’ve seen so much of over the last year? Are they still talking about work or…
“No.”
I try to dissect that word, to decipher if it’s a content no or a distressed no, but I can’t tell.
