“Do you design each motorcycle?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Do you create the motorcycle, or do you use mass-produced parts?”
“Depends on the bike. Parts of the frame I’ll make myself. The engine, I usually get factory made. I’m not looking to make a fuel injection system from scratch,” he said.
“But each frame is unique?”
“They all have the same basic parts, but design wise, each one is different in some way.”
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “Then you’re creating art. Except your medium is metal.”
“Huh. I never thought of it that way. I just like making bikes that look cool.”
Abby gestured back to the students. “And they just want to create paintings or drawings that are cool.”
“But why do you say you suck artistically?”
“I don’t have a good imagination. I can’t imagine something and create it from nothing. I need a reference.” She grinned. “One of my art teachers told me I’d make a great forger if I ever wanted to pursue a life of crime.”
“Did they mean it as a compliment?” he asked.
“Yes and no. She meant it as I’m a good artist, but I’ll never be great.” She shrugged. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“And now you teach.”
Abby smiled. “Now I teach. I can teach the kids the technical aspects of creating art and give them the freedom and encouragement to be artistic.”
He could see her passion as she spoke and hear it in her voice. He remembered their first conversation when she asked him what he was passionate about. He saw the same spark he saw then, and it intrigued him just as much now.
“You glow, you know. When you talk about your art and your students.”
She blushed.
“I need to walk around and check on some of my students,” she said. “Are you sticking around for the theater showcase?”
“Uh…”
Abby laughed. “You don’t have to. I’m only staying because some of my kids designed the costumes, and I promised I’d help them backstage.”
“I’m going to look at some more of the art, but wander in the direction of the door,” he said.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”
“Probably before then.” He’d tell her good night, just as he had for the last few weeks.
She smiled and left, looking back over her shoulder once before disappearing down a hall.
Tinker shoved his hands into his pockets and settled back on his heels. Yeah…he was fucked. And weirdly, he was okay with it.
Losing her shit
Holy hell, Abby was exhausted. It pressed on her more and more the closer she got to home. She hoped her mom had put Will to bed, because that’s where she wanted to be. No shower. No taking off her makeup. Hell, she might just sleep in her clothes. Plop facedown on her bed and not get up until well past noon.
She’d been going nonstop for almost sixteen hours. Even before students had arrived for the day, panicked and anxious about their exhibits, she’d gotten two hours of work in. Then Rebecca, the elementary art teacher, had a last-minute appointment and she’d asked Abby to cover her classes. As frustrated as Abby had been at losing that hour, Rebecca had covered for her on more than one occasion when Abby had needed to take a sick day for Will. It hadn’t set her back too much, but a few students had started to spiral when she hadn’t been readily available to help them.
Abby pulled into her drive and frowned at Tinker’s car, parked behind her mom’s sedan. Had he left it for some reason? She clearly remembered saying she’d talk to him tomorrow.
