“Still can’t get that right?” Hudson laughs.
“He’s still my professor; it’s a slip of the tongue. Imagine if I called him Foxx in class. I’d die on the spot.”
Quinn sighs wistfully. “I miss school.”
“I do not,” Miles snorts. “Getting through my degree was more than enough for me.”
“And now you get to work with me and rub me down every day,” Hudson beams.
“For my sins, yes.”
“Liv, this should be a walk in the park for you, anyway,” Daphne says, reaching for the stickers.
My head turns automatically. “It should?”
Liv’s blue eyes go wide, and she shoots Daphne a look that’s practically begging her to shut up.
Daphne doesn’t notice. “Liv’s an artist,” she says casually.
I blink, looking back at Liv. “You are?”
“Was,” she says quickly, gaze fixed on her blank scrapbook page. Her voice is too quick, like she’s rehearsed the denial. “It’s not really a thing anymore. I only study art history now.”
Quinn glances up, curious. “Wait, what was your medium?”
Liv shrugs, the motion small and tight, her eyes down. “I used to paint. Nothing serious.”
Daphne gives her a soft nudge. “She got offered an internship at the Tate in London last summer and turned it down.”
“Wow, Liv, that’s huge.” Quinn gapes.
“Okay,” she says quickly, eyes on the floor. “That’s enough about me.”
She leans forward, grabbing a sticker sheet like she’s suddenly very invested in glittery moons and watercolor florals. But I notice how her fingers hesitate. How her lips press together.
The conversation drifts to color palettes and layouts, but I can’t stop looking.
Because now I’m picturing her at the Tate walking those halls, her hair pulled back, chewing the end of a paintbrush. I don’t even know where that image came from, but it lands in my chest with this weird sense of… emptiness for her. She turned that down. And from the way she shut the topic down, I don’t think it was just logistics.
***
As the night comes to an end, Liv’s curled up on the rug beside me, watching Quinn try to convince Miles to add a glitter border to his page, the evening’s debate that still doesn’t seem settled between the two of them.
Her knees are pulled to her chest, just before she stretches her arms overhead, stifling a yawn. “Alright, I’m tapping out before I accidentally bedazzle my own face.”
Daphne’s already halfway to her feet. “Do you need a ride or—?”
I grab my keys. “I drove. She’s with me.”
Liv tilts her head. “I am?”
“Did you drive here?”
“I Ubered after grabbing the pizza.”
“So, you’re with me.”
She nods, but I swear I catch a faint flush under the neck of her hoodie—my hoodie.
