I had to refrain from offering compliments or praise in front of other staff members, so when the words came, they were impactful.
"That's why you pay me." She flipped to the next page. "November's worse. We have the Thanksgiving community meal, two charity auctions, the tree lighting rehearsal, and four media interviews."
There was no anxiousness in her voice, which surprised me.
For weeks she'd been tense whenever cameras or publicity came up, but today she seemed almost resigned to the attention.
"How are you holding up with all of this?" I asked.
"Better than I expected." She leaned back in her chair. "I think I've finally accepted that the spotlight isn't going away until December, so I might as well stop fighting it."
"Seems like you're tackling your demons…" I studied her while she formed a response, but she shifted the conversation back to the schedules.
We continued discussing logistics and confirming dates, and when I noticed a conflict I pulled the pen from my breast pocket and scrawled a note. "I have a family thing this date," I told her, marking off the Saturday after Thanksgiving. "My parents have a tradition."
Ember chuckled and I was confused. She looked up at me with one eyebrow lifted and smirked. "Is that a seven or a one?" she asked, squinting at the number.
"It's a seven."
"It looks nothing remotely close to a seven."
"My handwriting is perfectly legible to those who know how to read it." I defended myself playfully.
"So basically, no one." She laughed. "Didn't they teach penmanship when you were in school?"
"They tried. I was forced into a summer penmanship class when I was nine because my third-grade teacher complained to my parents that she couldn't read my assignments." I grimaced at the memory. "Three hours every morning for six weeks, copying sentences in perfect cursive. I hated every minute of it."
"Clearly, it didn't help." Ember slid the calendar back in front of herself, scrutinizing my messy writing.
"The teacher gave up halfway through and told my parents I was a lost cause." I grinned. "My father was furious. Mom just laughed and said at least I'd be a doctor, so no one would expect readable handwriting anyway."
Ember smiled, and I noticed how the expression softened her entire face.
She was so stunning when she smiled.
She could stop traffic.
"What about you?" I asked. "Any childhood traumas involving penmanship?"
"Nothing that dramatic. Though I did fail a spelling test in fifth grade because the teacher couldn't read my cursive and marked everything wrong." She shook her head. "My mother made me rewrite the entire test in print to prove I'd actually spelled the words correctly."
"Did it work?"
"Yes, but I opt for printing everything now, or using a computer."
We fell into easy conversation about books we'd read, movies we'd both seen, places we wanted to travel someday.
She told me about a novel she'd stayed up too late finishing the night before.
I mentioned a documentary I'd watched about deep-sea exploration that had been surprisingly compelling.
I didn't want the moment to end.
These were the things real relationships were built on and it came so easily between us.
Reaching across the table, I took her hand, threading my fingers through hers.
She didn't pull away. Instead, she squeezed back, her thumb brushing across my knuckles.
