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She’s still typing when I hold her hands with one of my own. “You don’t have to apologize.”
She gives me a fleeting smile, then erases what she wrote to type something new.
Sin: I like my job, but it’s not my ideal employment.
“What do you mean?” My voice is a lot sharper than it should have been. I kind of like the idea that Sin is working for me, as we will always have a connection that way.
Sin: I would love to pursue my photography full time.
As brilliant as she is in her work, she’s probably a creative genius as well.
“Do you have some of your work I can see?”
She reaches in her drawer and pulls out her phone, handing me the device once she’s pulled up her pictures.
I scroll through them. They are good. Damn good. She has an expert eye for perspective and interesting subjects. I especially like the one of a family swinging a little girl between them. From their expressions, they look like they are having the best day of their lives.
The man is looking at the woman above the little girl’s head. Despite the picture being two-dimensional, even a jaded prick like me can see the depth of love in his eyes.
Tiffany and I may achieve a resemblance to a life like this. We’ll have a kid, but I won’t ever look at her the way the man in the picture views his wife.
My realization causes sadness to fill my throat. That kind of thinking is fucked up, but true. Tiffany will be my wife, and although I have great affection for her, that’s all I’ll have. I’m just not capable of a deep, romantic love.
Deleting What Ails You
Royce
Sinseemstofeelleft out as well. Her eyes are glassy with tears, and when she catches me watching her, she rapidly blinks them back as she uses her finger to scroll the photos backward so fast they are a blur. I bat her finger away when I catch sight of a man type shape. “Who is this?”
“My ex,” she croaks out.
I’m thankful she doesn’t snatch the phone as I scroll through the pictures of him, which number seven in total.
One is a black and white high school photo of a tall kid with football muscle. The others, in various stages of dress from fancy to casual, are of an older guy in his mid-twenties.
I have to admit, shitbag is not bad looking. Although, my scruff is a damn sight better than his scraggly beard.
“Seth told me the bastard stood you up at the altar.”
Sin sucks in a breath at my insensitivity.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”
She gives me a small smile and picks up my phone. I look over her shoulder to read as she types.
Sin: Seth is Matthew’s cousin. He helped me get the job at STS so I could leave Dallas and move to Austin.
“How did he do that?”
It takes a good twenty minutes of typing and me asking questions, but I eventually learn the story.
She’d met Seth in passing at her rehearsal dinner the night before, what she typed asthe incident. But it wasn’t until herleft-at-the altar partythat she and Seth spoke.
Sharing a bottle of Patrón Silver, she complained about her crappy job and dead end life. With her ex-fiancé and his new paramour all working for the same company, it was insupportable that Sin stayed there. Seth insisted she move to Austin. Living with him, she could get a fresh start as Austin is known for being a mini Silicon Valley.
At the time, she had thought it was the drink talking, but the very next week, just as she was on the verge of returning to work, she received a phone call requesting her to interview for a position at STS. When she questioned how the HR person, a Ms. Daniel, had come by her name, she learned an employee, Finn Everette, had recommended her.
“So that’s why...” I trail off, not wanting to tell her of the time I saw her gazing at Finn with such admiration, I had nearly interrupted a meeting to tear them apart. “Uh, you and Finn are friends now, I take it.”
