“Despite what you may think about my work,” he says, “I’m not some kind of business consultant. That isn’t the work I do.”
“I have no idea what you do.”
“I told you. I’m a qu—”
It’s my turn to wave a hand. “I looked it up. I still don’t understand it. Math, that’s the extent of it. You’re probably very smart.”
His mouth lifts, higher on the right side, and it makes a gorgeous decorative line on his cheek, a curve up from his chin, a gentle swoop outward toward his cheek. That curve—it only lasts a second, maybe two, but it’s enough to feel seared into my brain. I’ll probably try to draw it later.Swoonsh.
“I don’t want you to help me with my business,” I say, looking away. “That’s not what this is for.”
“What’s it for, then?”
I take a deep, courage-gathering inhale. “It’s for me to get some ideas.”
I tell him briefly about the signs, about how they inspired me, how the letters on them, especially in this city, arefullof variation. I show him the page in my notebook, where I’ve made a bulleted list of some of the most famous hand-lettered signs around the city. I reach for my phone, to show him the map I’ve saved, tiny red pins marking all the places I plan to go, but before I can unlock it, he speaks.
“I don’t see why you’d want me involved. I don’t know anything about letters.”
“Because you’re a numbers guy.” A statement, not a question, and he doesn’t respond other than with another polite tip of his head. It’s as much an agreement as it is an invitation for me to continue, to well and truly explain myself.
But I’m not sure if I can do that. I’m not sure if I can be as honest, as direct as he was.I found your card, and it felt like a sign.
So I shrug casually, as if I do this kind of thing all the time. “Last time we talked, you said you hated this city. And it seemed to me I could h—”
He stiffens. That’s saying something, because he is a stiff guy in general. “You feel sorry for me.” His tone is sharp.
“What? No!” I think fleetingly of opening my bag to show him the pretzels and Target receipts.Do I look like a person who would feel sorry for you?I would say.
“Because I am not . . . I am not brokenhearted. About Avery.”
That tiny point of clarification. God.
“I wanted some company,” I blurt, and that, I realize, is what I should’ve said from the beginning. It isn’t the whole truth, but it’s certainly part of it. Idowant some company, and Reid—the only man in this city, in thisworld, who knows my secret—might, oddly enough, be the right man for the job.
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he stands, tucking his hands in his jacket pockets and turning back to me. From anyone else, I’d read this as a dick move, a way for someone to literally talk down to me. But Reid’s face is contemplative, his posture looser. I think he simply needed to move, even that small amount.
“Someone did tell me recently I ought to try keeping my mind occupied.”
I know he wouldn’t appreciate it, but I definitely feel sorry for him now. This feeling intensifies when Reid takes one hand from his pocket and tugs at the sleeves of his jacket—a small, unconscious gesture that spells out a whole page of feeling to me. His discomfort. His disorientation at this whole entire prospect.
“Well, you see?” My voice is so . . .buoyant. “It could be a great idea. Even if it’s awful, your mind will be occupied with how awful it is.” I smile up at him, and heswoonshesat me fleetingly. Then it’s quiet again, Reid looking down at the gray pavers while I wait, notebook clutched in my hands.
“It’s ayinstead of ane?” he says, finally.
I blink up at him, and it takes me a second to catch up.Make It Happyn, of course.
“Yes.”
“Because having the planner makes you happy.” He says this so flatly. Stochastically. What if he had been in the marketing meeting where this idea was proposed? Probably everyone would have vaporized from the sheer force of his displeasure.
“I think that’s the idea.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
I nod, look down at my notebook. It’ll be fine, to do this alone. Good for me, even.
He clears his throat, waits for me to look up at him. He fixes me with eyes that are, for the moment, not so sad. And then he says, “It’s ridiculous, but I’ll do it.”
