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“I seriously doubt that.”
Rather than flattered, she appears amused. “You can tell that after one conversation?”
“Two,” I correct. “And yeah. You can tell a lot about a person right away. Most people just pretend otherwise if they don’t like what they see.”
She mirrors my pose and leans back on her palms. “Oh yeah? What can you tell about me?”
I smirk at the challenge in her voice. “You’re responsible.” She raises both eyebrows. “You were doing summer work in July.”
“Impressive work, Sherlock,” she says sarcastically.
“You’re an only child,” I add.
“How’d you know that?”
“Lucky guess. You haven’t mentioned any siblings.” She breathes out a laugh. “And you’re artistic.”
Auden has blue eyes. Dark, almost navy. White surrounds the pupils as she widens them at me.
“You’ve got paint on your hands,” I note.
“Oh. Um…yeah, sometimes.”
“You any good?”
She twists the hem of her shirt. “I’m my own worst critic.”
“Yeah, I get that.” No coach has ever told me something I hadn’t already yelled at myself about.
Auden pulls her feet out of the water, turns, and faces me, pulling her knees up under her chin. “Okay, my turn.”
I smirk. “Go ahead.” I know I’m a hard person to read.
Her eyes narrow, like she knows what I’m thinking. “I’ve done most of the talking,” she says. My smirk widens. “I think you’rethat guy, the popular, cocky one who never had to think about where to sit at lunch or having a partner for a project.”
“That’s awfully—”
“I also think it bothers you,” she interrupts. “The man next to me in the coffee shop was all excited to talk to you. You ended the conversation as quickly as you could, and now, when you could be off at a party, you’re wandering around here by yourself instead.”
“Way to make me sound like a creep,” I mutter.
She half-giggles, half-scoffs. “You must do something that draws attention to you, something you like more than you dislike the attention.” She pauses. “You look like you could hit the hammer thingy at the carnival without breaking a sweat, so I’m going to guess sports. Hockey, since that’s the only Canadian sport I know.”
“Curling.”
“Huh?”
“Curling is another Canadian sport.”
“Oh.” She lifts her chin off her knees. “Do you play curling? Do you curl? Are you a curler? I don’t know what the proper terminology is.”
I laugh, then sigh. “No. I play hockey.”
Her face saysHa!“Damn. Maybe we should open up a detective agency.” She smiles widely. For some reason, this is the moment where it really registers that she’s cute—very cute. Auden’s hair is dark, long, and wavy. Her skin is clear and lightly sprinkled with freckles. And her lips look soft. Kissable.
“We’re a long way from any crime hotspots,” I say in response. The town paper publishes an amusing assortment of stray cat calls and neighbor spats over fence lines.
“How’d I do on the other two?” she asks.
