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Arms folded across his chest, he smirks when I’ve done with admiring his art. “Are you sure we haven’t met before, in Baltimore, I mean?” He scratches his forehead with the leg of his sunglasses. “I can’t shake the feeling I should know you.”
“Careful now, Sonnie, your come-on lines are getting cheesy.” I don’t look away. Don’t fidget my fingers. And I definitely don’t gnaw on the inside of my cheek. This isn’t a lie. We haven’t met before.
He climbs into the chillout, his fists denting the mattress when he pauses, still examining my face likes something’s gonna click. “Where do you work? Maybe I’ve been there.”
“Unless you’re a teenager in High School, I very much doubt that.” Why is this even a thing?
“You’re a teacher?” His eyebrows almost pop off the top of his head, but at least he’s stopped with the intense why-so-familiar examination.
This, I can talk about. “I run music workshops all over the U.S. Baltimore was last year.” Unless I take the job. I don’t add that bit. There’s no point. “What about you? What’s your story? Is Clua home? Or just temporary?”
It seems I’m not the only one who’s anti-questions. Sonnie’s face sobers, a tick flitting his jaw. “Your guess is as good as mine. Dad’s been at me to take the reins of the family business.” He scrapes his hand over his mouth. “And soon I’ll be out of reasons to stay in Clua, so—” His shoulders drop, like there’s a weight to this line of questioning.
A weight I don’t want him to have to shoulder because of me.
“You know what?” I shuffle across the bed and smooth my finger over the creases in his forehead. “I’m declaring the Q and A part of this morning officially over.” I thread my fingers into his mop of dark hair and tug his face to mine. “Let’s do recess.”
Surprise. Relief. Amusement. Just some of the emotions I think I see flickering in his dimples before he tackles me back into the cushions, his lips curved up as they smash against mine.
We may not do deep, but we definitely do recess.
