Rook is absorbed in something on his phone, and Colt is busy lecturing Remy. The later twin just rolls his eyes and huffs at whatever his brother is saying. Colt’s whispered shouting is a little too quiet for me to make out over the roar of Hal’s bike, so I don’t know what they’re talking about.
Leaving the three of them to it, I wander over to the rocky wall separating the green area and parking lots from the river. I take a seat on it, careful not to be in frame of Hal’s photoshoot while still having a good view of it.
I watch Hal effortlessly talk, joke, and laugh with Charlie, seeming as at ease with her as he is with his friends. Hal seems like the type who can talk to and charm just about anyone with his easygoing personality. It’s a skill I wish I had.
“Mind if I sit here?” a deep voice asks, startling me.
Glancing up at Rook, I get lost in his gray eyes that seem to change color depending on his mood. Realizing I’ve been staringat him without saying anything for way too long, I blush and duck my head. “Nope. Feel free to take a seat.”
I see Rook’s lips twitch up before he sits down. He leaves a foot or so between us. Rook’s far enough away that I don’t feel squished but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. He’s like a mini space heater.
When he sits down, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket and frowns at the device. As he taps at it, his eyes pinch at the corners and his frown deepens.
I watch him for a long moment before hesitantly asking, “Everything okay?”
He looks up at me in surprise. Rook shoves a hand through his closely cropped blond hair as he stares blankly off into the distance for a moment before focusing back on me. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m just trying to figure out a really annoying bug in one of the new apps I developed.”
My eyebrows jump up in surprise. “You make apps?”
He shifts around uncomfortably before reluctantly admitting, “Yeah.”
I grin up at him. “That’s so cool! You must be super smart.”
He blushes and ducks his head. A small smile tugs at his mouth at the compliment, but he shuts it down. “Nah, not particularly. I just like tech. It makes more sense than people a lot of the time. And making apps is actually pretty simple. Pretty much anyone could learn how to do it.”
I laugh. “I really don’t think so. I’d love to know how to program, but none of it has ever made sense to me.”
“I could always teach you if you want,” Rook hesitantly offers. “I promise it’s not as hard as it seems once you know how to go about it.”
“Really? That would be awesome. I’ve been needing a new website for my business for a while, so it’d be cool to be able to make it myself.”
That’s one of the hard parts about working for myself. I don’t just need to know how to design. I also need to know how to do different forms of marketing, build a website, find and talk to clients, book keep, manage administrative tasks, and more. It can be overwhelming, but it’s also gratifying to be able to do so many things myself.
Rook’s eyes widen with shock before filling with admiration. “You own a business? That’s very impressive. What type of work do you do?”
Like I always do, I try to shrug off the compliment. “Graphic design, so nothing super cool or anything.”
“It sounds pretty cool to me. Does that mean you’re good at drawing?”
I tilt my head back and forth. “Good is a stretch, but I do like to draw.”
At least, I did. I haven’t found much joy in drawing or anything else for the last six months.
Drawing has always been an escape. When the real world and people get too much, I can run away and get lost in drawing a serene valley, tranquil woods, or worlds that only exist in my imagination.
Sketching is also a way to express everything that hurts too much to put into words. For some reason, drawing it on the page is infinitely easier than talking about the swirling mess that’s my head most days.
Rook rubs the back of his neck before glancing at me. “Then maybe we can make a trade. I’ll teach you how to program, and you teach me how to draw.”
I snort. “That seems like a hugely imbalanced trade. I’m not just being modest. I do actually have the artistic talent of an asthmatic ant.”
Just because I’ve always enjoyed drawing doesn’t mean I’m any good at it. I refuse to show anyone, even Charlie, mysketchbook full of smudgy charcoals, blurry pastels, and harsh slashes of pencil lines. I draw for me, not for anyone else, so it doesn’t matter if it’s any good.
Rook barks out a startled laugh. “I get the sense that you’re your own worst critic. I’d bet you can draw a hell of a lot better than you give yourself credit for. You support yourself by selling artistic services to other people, so I highly doubt you lack any talent.”
The man is perceptive, I’ll give him that.
I know I’m overly harsh on myself, but it’s hard to see any good in myself after a lifetime of being told what a disgrace and failure I am.
