“Okay, fine. And I admit, the weather is perfect.”
“San Antonio in early May is the best,” Taysom agrees.
I move my cinch bag to the shoulder between him and I. “Except, it would be nice if it were dark so no one sees us,” I say.
“We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Not yet,” I supply, tossing him a look.
Taysom’s eyes gleam. “You want to do something that’s wrong, huh?” His eyebrows go in the air.
My cheeks burn. “No! I mean, we’re going in there after hours and borrowing an inclinometer. I just…it’s gonna feel like stealing.”
A smile dances about his lips. “Again, if you keep telling yourself something, it’s going to come true.”
“So I should just plan on being arrested, huh?”
“Nah, I could talk the police out of it.”
I snort. “Of course you could.” We take a couple more steps, and then, “You’re a real humble guy, aren’t you?”
“The humblest.” But then he laughs, and I can’t help joining in.
“Shhh! People are going to hear us coming a mile away!”
“We’re already almost there.”
“Exactly!”
We reach the door and my stomach sours. I know it’s inaccurate and entirely unfair, but I feel like this building is what took my job away. It’s what killed the Center.
He types something into his phone and like magic, the door clicks and he pushes it open. The lobby is empty of people and the lights are low.
“Want a tour?”
“How about another time? We’re entering a heist situation right now. No time for lollygagging.”
“Oooh. A heist?” His eyes spark. “Let’s be criminals together.”
Being something together with Taysom? Why do I like the sound of that so much?
His gaze holds mine before I’m assaulted with so much Institute fanciness I hardly know where to look. “Wow.”
“It’s nice, huh?”
“It smells like fresh paint and luxury carpet.” I try to dampen my enthusiasm, but there’s a two-story water feature in the lobby that could belong in any high-end art museum in the world.
They have all this and we can’t even keep our doors open?
Even though it’s unfair, I can’t deny the sheer beauty of the place, with its greige, soaring interior and mid-century modern furniture. The reception desk is flanked by walls of richly swirled chunks of granite. The air is pocked with the scent of sterile lemon and orange.
I give a laugh. “This place is massive! Maybe I should have taken that job offer.” And suddenly, the center’s poverty surges and swells inside me. It’s been hard to have old, out-of-date equipment and a run-down office that probably barely meets code. How would it be to show up at work every day to a place that still smells new, with the latest technology at your fingertips?
“I bet we could make that happen if you wanted it,” Taysom drawls, an effortless kindness hanging about his words.
“Thank you,” I manage. “I’ll let you know.”
I should take the job offer. It’s very tempting for the security, stability, and cool tech. But I already know I couldn’t do it. I need the messy. I need the kids who really, really need me. Give me all the MJs—but give them to me early so I can have a chance to make things right.
