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"It's going to take more than your angsty drawings to make me speechless," Noah said. "That trick you do with dramatic lighting isn't as interesting as you think."
My smile faltered for a second. I'd regularly received mixed feedback on my storytelling skills, but on the technical side of things? Zilch. If there was one thing I could do, it was draw a damn interesting scene.
“You remember my go-to techniques?” I asked, trying to sound unaffected by her feedback. "I'm flattered."
"And you remember my silence," she shot back with a knowing smile.
I grinned. “What else do you remember about me?”
“Nothing more than how you like ruining my sketchbooks,” she said sweetly.
I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile at a memory about her that actually held fondness. Her frown told me she didn’t share the same sentiment.
“Thought that was something we both liked doing," I said.
Her jaw wouldn't be able to take that much pressure much longer. A fuming Noah turned her attention back to making her tea, and her passive-aggressive gathering of ingredients had me swallowing a laugh.
This could go one of two ways: we would continue this drawn-out feud for the rest of our time at Harpy, or we could call a simple truce like the adults we were. Though arguing was my favorite pastime, I needed Noah on my team, at least until I figured out how to get her off.
“We got off on the wrong foot, Noah,” I said.
She laughed. “And here I was, thinking I'd give you a handmade friendship bracelet after this. I had bloody knife charms and everything. You know, just in case we still wanted to stab each other in the back later."
That kind of sounded cool. I'd wear a bracelet like that in a heartbeat, though I wouldn't admit it to her. “Point is, I want to start over.”
“Start over from the beginning, or when I stepped into this office?”
My brows furrowed. “What’s the difference?”
“There’s my answer.” She shook her head and poured her milk before adding water to the tea. See, how was I supposed to work with someone who did shit like that? It was chaotic. When she started adding Stevia, I almost said to hell with the olive branch.
“I’m sorry,” I forced myself to say. In actuality, I didn’t think I had much of anything to be sorry about. She treated me just as cold as I had her since college. We were both passive-aggressive assholes who liked having our way.
“You’re sorry?” She finally poured in the hot water, and I studied the soft curves of her arms, tracing the lines like I would with a pen on paper. The sweet scent of vanilla overpowered the smell of the leftovers from the fridge.
I want to take it back. “Yes. Sorry for not being more welcoming. Your hire caught me off guard. I was under the assumption this would be my first big project on my own. I had the seniority and skill.”
I ignored her brow raise at my mention of skill.
“Regardless, that doesn’t excuse my initial reaction. We’re lucky to have you on the team. I’m…” Swallow. Just a little more. I needed a little more to convince her to believe my white flag. “I’m lucky to work with you.”
That seemed to do it. Her tense mouth quirked up into a small smile as she pushed her glasses up with her ring finger. The subtle, unassuming gesture caught me off guard. There was that desire to sketch her again—I want to draw her adjusting the glasses. I always thought Noah had great hands, her fingers long and delicate.
“Do you play the piano?” I asked.
Her expression was as confused as I felt. I cleared my throat, embarrassed at the intrusive thought that slipped through the cracks.
“It’s just, they seem like piano-playing fingers,” I continued, to my own dismay. “Graceful.”
She blinked, understandably suspect. "Are you really complimenting my hands right now?"
Usually, talking nonsense would be my go-to tactic to throw someone off, but the words falling out of my mouth adhered to no kind of strategy.
"They're nice hands," I defended, my cheeks burning. How the hell did I come into this break room so confident and devolve to a babbling mess?
“No, I don't play the piano," she said after a beat.
“Shame." I gestured behind her, grateful for the excuse to focus on something else. "Your water's boiling."
