I don’t bother responding. Instead, I click his name. A moment later, his face appears on my screen, instantly putting me in a better mood. It looks like he’s sitting on his bed. There are a couple pillows behind his back and a white wall. He’s in an army-green T-shirt that’s pulled tightly across his broad chest. I see the outline of a set of defined pecs.
“Hi.” My voice is glum.
“What’s got you down? Are those crumpled wads of paper in the picture you sent me?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Are you playing a game of basketball with your rubbish bin? Or are you working on drawing something and it’s going badly?”
“Both.” I exhale deeply. “I have a meeting with my first-ever potential client next week.”
His face breaks into a Cheshire cat grin. “Well done you. Congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks, except I don’t have the commission yet. It’s just a meeting.” I slam my notebook shut and toss it onto the ground. “The rate my darn sketching is going, I won’t have anything to show her.”
“Uh-huh.” His eyes dart from me to the bottom of the screen. He strokes his chin. “Do you have the designer’s equivalent of writer’s block?”
“Yes.” My shoulders slump. “It’s never happened to me before. I’ve always been able to pull a rabbit out of a hat, even at the eleventh hour.”
“Nice magic reference.”
“Thanks.”
“Do you want my take on it?”
I nod.
“I think you’re trying too hard. If you take a break and give your brain a little R and R, I’m willing to bet an idea will hit you when you least expect it. How long have you been having a go at sketching?”
“A couple hours.”
“I rest my case. Your brain is trying to tell you it needs a break.”
“The thing is, I don’t know if Icantake a break. I’m not one of those people who can leave a task for later. When there is something that needs to be taken care of, I have to get it done as soon as humanly possible.”
“You’d do well if you ever joined the army. We aren’t allowed to leave tasks unfinished either. We’re expected to stay until the job is done.”
“Do you have any openings for a designer? Maybe I could work with you guys as a fallback,” I joke.
“Doubtful. Our ceremonial uniforms, for one, haven’t changed much since Victorian times.” He sits up taller and repositions his phone. “Min, the woman I met this past weekend was full of determination. You returned my spur, gave me your mobile number, and agreed to go on a date to the pub with me. You went after what you wanted. What that tells me is that youwillfind a way to move past the writer’s—or rather artist’s—block.”
I study his face. His brown eyes are blazing with little flames in them. He’s fired up about this. He believes in me. Strongly. I can almost feel the energy coming through my side of the phone.
“I suppose I could load a few SearchTube videos and see if that helps distract me.” I rub the back of my neck. “Maybe I’ll make myself a snack too.”
“Those both sound brilliant, but I have another way I can distract you too.” He flashes a box of playing cards in front of the camera. “I have a new trick I’ve been working on. Would you care to see it?”
“Yes! Show me!”
“First you have to work out the magic words,” he teases. “Let me put you on the desk. I need a flat surface.”
“Abracadabra?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Try again.”
“Hocus pocus?”
“Closer, but that still isn’t it.”
