The words hit different. Softer. Deeper. Like she’s thanking me for more than just the interview.
“Always,” I say, and I mean it more than she knows.
Another pause. “What are you doing right now?” I don’t want this conversation to end. Don’t want to go back to the silence of this generic hotel room, with its beige walls and meaningless art.
“Drawing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a new story in my head. I’m trying to sketch it out before I lose it.” She sounds almost embarrassed. Self-conscious. “It’s probably silly.”
“Tell me about it.”
Hesitation. And then, “It’s about a dragon. He’s a special dragon. He’s got these beautiful scales—iridescent, blues and greens, all sort of colors—that make him stand out.” Her voice picks up, relaxing a little as the story pours out of her. “But everyone’s always trying to steal his scales. Take pieces of him. So he hides away in his cave, keeping everyone away. They think he’s this grump, but he’s just protecting himself.”
I may not be a genius—if my behavior the last week is any indication—but it doesn’t take a lot to see where she got her inspiration. A grump dragon with flashy scales that everyone seems to want a piece of.
I may not breathe fire, but if it looks like a dragon and sounds like a dragon…
“That’s not silly,” I say quietly.
“I don’t know where it goes from there. Just that image. The dragon alone, because he’s too scared to let anyone in.”
I swallow hard. “Well…it sounds to me like he needs someone to find a way into his safe little cave…draw him out into the sun.”
“Like…a warrior princess.”
“Yeah. But…someone who can’t see his scales.” I prop an arm behind my head, trying to envision the sketch in her hands.
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know…maybe she’s blind?”
Silence. Then, “Really? That’s your pitch?”
“Okay, magically blind or…colorblind. Enchanted by a spell or something,” I say, chuckling. “The point is, she can’t see the scales everyone else wants. Not until the spell is broken. By then, she’s seen who he is without the scales. Just…” Me. “Him.”
There’s a long pause, and I suddenly want to take it all back, stuff it down. But I can’t, it’s already out there. When she finally speaks, the sound is full and bright. “That’s…kind of perfect.”
“Yeah? I mean—yeah. Well, I’m full of great ideas.”
She laughs, lighting up the whole room. “I know.”
When the silence settles again, it’s warm and heavy. Like a weighted blanket.
“Brody?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a good man. On the inside and out. And you need to know that.”
The words fill my chest. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. Can’t process what she just said. Because she just saw through every wall I’ve built. Every carefully constructed lie I tell myself about being all show and no substance, and…
And she thinks I’m good.
“I gotta go,” I manage. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow to Vancouver.”
“Right. Of course. But, Brody?”
