“December fifth. Participants will know of their selection on or before January first.”
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That’s just over two months away!”
I checked the date on the calendar. September 15. “But you probably already have three art pieces you can submit.”
“No, I don’t.” She pulled the elastic out of her hair just so she could tug on it. “I’ve barely made anything in the last year. Nothing good enough to submit for an elite program.”
I placed a hand on her knee. “Then we’ll make more.”
“We?”
My eyes found hers. Or maybe her eyes found mine. However it happened, something like a gravitational forcepulled taut between us. Kira was the anchored planet, and I was the circling moon.
“Of course,” I said with a gulp. “I’d do anything to help.”
Her hand rested on top of mine. When she interlaced our fingers, I swore I stopped breathing. When was the last time I held Kira’s hand? I couldn’t answer that, though I knew I dreamed of it many times.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
God, I hoped that was affection in her voice.
She let out a small laugh and reached for her backpack. “Guess I won’t have any free time these next two months.”
“Hopefully, enough time to still help with painting the diner’s mural,” I said, trying to sound casual, like I hadn’t been looking forward to it since the moment she offered.
Kira’s eyes widened as her hand smacked lightly against her forehead. “How did I forget that? Of course I’ll still help. I’ll plan to come over soon.”
“It’s all right,” I said gently. “You’ve had a lot on your mind lately.”
“I’ve actually brainstormed a few ideas already,” she added, and just like that, the spark in her eyes was back.
I slung my own backpack over one shoulder, trying to play it cool. “What did you have in mind?”
“That’s classified information, Landon,” she said with a teasing tilt and a coy little smile.
I took a slow step closer, letting a smirk pull at the corner of my mouth. “Maybe I can convince you to tell me over lunch?”
She looked up at me, all mischief and challenge. “We can go to lunch, but I’m not going to tell you.”
Her smile lingered even as she turned toward the door, and I dutifully followed.
The laminated menus at Sunny Eggs hadn’t changed. It was a little impromptu and maybe a bad choice, but once we exited the CCC, my instincts took us here. Kira’s brows had lifted when she noticed, but other than that, she didn’t comment on it.
Sunny Eggs was the diner we went to a few times when we were young and needed to hide from anyone we knew. It was a temporary escape, a place that was just ours for a few hours.
The air smelled of strong coffee and fried bacon, with a faint sweetness from the pies rotating lazily in the display case near the counter. I ran my fingers along the edge of the menu, the plastic sticky from years of handling. Across from me, Kira’s fingers tapped idly against the side of her glass.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” She glanced around at the cracked vinyl booths and the jukebox in the corner. The same faded photographs of local landmarks hung crookedly on the walls.
“Not true.” I tilted my head toward the counter. “They replaced the old-school credit card reader with an iPad.”
A young waitress appeared with a smile on her face. Her apron was stained with something unrecognizable, but her tone was friendly when she asked, “What can I get for you two?”
“I’ll have the garden salad with chicken.” Kira handed the waitress her menu.
