“It’s a pleasure to see you, as always,” he says, flashing her a smile that could kill lesser women. Francine, however, has worked with Drake longer than I have. She’s not exactly immune to his charm, but doesn’t trip over herself, either.
With a final wave, she leaves and shuts the door behind her. It closes with a crispness that punctuates her departure.
I take a deep, steady breath and blow it out with the same rhythm. My heart drums in my chest in wild strokes.The Thursday slotandMercy Malone? Wow.
“Well, I didn’t expect to get confirmation ofthattoday,” Drake says, stroking his chin. “And I’m rather surprised to get it from Francine …”
“What are you talking about?”
He drops his hand, his eyes twinkling. “When you spin on it, it’s magic.”
“Like there was any doubt.” I mock him with a smile. “How did your show go this afternoon?”
“This is such an imbalanced friendship. Do you know that?”
I roll my eyes. “You only listened to mine because you were here.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe I listen to yours every week.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” I say sarcastically as I return to the search for my keys. “But even if I were a …” I lift my gaze to his. “What sports season is it right now?”
“Baseball.”
I nod before diving back into my tote. “Even if I were a baseball fan, I spent the late morning up to my knees in a dumpster. That reminds me—I need to check to see when my tetanus shot expires.Ah ha!” I pull my keys out from under a tampon and dangle them in the air. “I knew they were in there.”
“Can we back up to the part about you in a dumpster?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start withwhy.”
Drake half leans, half sits on the edge of the table, rolling up his shirtsleeves. Inch by inch, he exposes his forearms in a casually cool kind of way. I’d think he doesn’t know what he’s doing—giving great forearm—if it weren’t for the way the corners of his lip quirk toward the ceiling.
“Why?” I repeat. “Well, I was doomscrolling the other night and saw someone cutting butterflies out of cans. And I had an idea to take this one weird wall in my kitchen and fill it with butterflies made from different-colored cans. I think it would look beautiful, and it’s basically free if I can use discarded material. Then, if I ever get tired of it, I can pull them down and recycle them.” I beam. “Smart, huh?”
“Yeah. Great. Now, what about the tetanus part?”
I run a hand absentmindedly over my calf. “I got scratched by something while rummaging. A piece of glass, I think.”
“How deep?” he asks, his brows pulling together. His words are absent from the breeziness of before. “Do you know what the glass was from?”
“It’s a little hard to tell what touches you when everything shifts each time you move. Have you never been in a dumpster?”
He cocks his head to the side, as if he’s uncertain whether to laugh or have me committed. “No, Gianna. I’ve never been in a dumpster.”
“Well, you’re missing out. I mean, you have to pick the right one, but you can find fascinating things in there.”
“I bet,” he deadpans. “Now, where did it slice you?”
“My leg. But really, it’s fine. It barely got me.”
He lifts off the table and pats the place he just vacated. “Grab a seat.”
“I’m good, but thanks.”
He sighs, squeezing his eyes closed. “Humor me.”
“It’s fine.”
