He makes a reproachful noise and swings my hand back and forth. “They will. Who knows? Maybe you’ll hear from a museum in Charlottetown this week.”
“Maybe,” I say doubtfully.
“You’ve been crazy busy lately, anyway,” he says. “Maybe it’ll be nice to have a break.”
I glance up at him uncertainly. There it is again—that unpleasant, prickly feeling.
“I don’t want a break. I want a job that I love.”
“And you’ll find one,” he says. “It might not be tomorrow, but it’ll come. You’ll find something that you love.”
“Like you and your job.”
The words come out slightly caustic. I wait for him to call me on it. I want him to, even. But instead, he gives an easy shrug.
“Exactly.”
I fall silent, my fingers slightly stiff under his. Even though his tone is casual, I can feel us teetering on the edge of a fight. It hovers between us, sharp and unpleasant.
You don’t really love your job, I might say.You’re bored with windshield replacements and tire changes, and you have to squish all the race car work that you actuallywantto do inbetween the boring work that Fred approves of.
I’m happy where I am, he might answer.Don’t get stuck-up again on me, now.
A sharp pang of hurt.I’m not stuck-up. I just want to do something I love.
A cold, angry breath.Well, then, maybe you shouldn’t be dating a lowly mechanic.
I shake my head jerkily and pull myself back from the words. There’s no winning that fight, not for either of us. And why am I trying to pick a fight with him? What has he done all week, except be incredibly supportive of me, and kind, and understanding?
I sigh heavily. “Sorry. I’m in an awful mood.”
His shoulders relax. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough week.”
“It hasn’t been the best.”
He nudges me with our clasped hands. “What can I do to make it better?”
I manage a smile. “Nothing.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Because I’m not above slashing Shelley’s tires. Or maybe we could ask Jim to get her cartowed from the lot next week. He’s the security guy, he has the authority.”
I bite into a growing grin. “Don’t you dare suggest it. He hates her so much, I think he’d probably do it.”
“He hates her too?”
“He says he ‘doesn’t have much to do with her.’ That’s, like, Jim’s version of calling someone the c-word.”
John laughs. “That’s amazing.”
He nudges my side again, and this time I lean into him. “It’ll be okay,” I say more honestly. “I just need to sulk a bit more and then get over it.”
“Well, you just let me know,” he says, letting go of my hand to open the door to his apartment building. “If you want Shelley’s tires slashed, I’m there. Or if you want to do some weird role-play with that old movie you love, Anne of whatever-it-was—”
“Anne of Green Gables!” I say. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s called. And we can’t dorole-playwith Anne and Gilbert,” I add indignantly. “They never had sex.”
“Didn’t you tell me they have children in the later books, though? I hate to break it to you, but that means they had sex.”
“Blasphemy. They don’t even kiss in the movie. It ends with him tucking a single strand of hair behind her ear, then they walk off together with a horse.”
