“You look so earnest when you redesign things,” I say quietly.
Her eyes widen. Then she laughs. “Even with mustard on my face?”
“Especially then.”
She shakes her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
The noise of the deli washes around us—plates clattering, orders shouted, someone laughing near the door.
A minute later Sam finishes her sandwich and wipes her hands.
Her attention drifts back to the counter. The line’s gotten worse.
She stands.
“Where are you going?”
“Hold on.”
She crosses the room and says something to the guy behind the register. He looks skeptical at first. She gestures toward the pickup window, tracing an invisible line in the air.
He follows her gesture. Stops. Nods.
Sam returns to the booth.
“Did you just—”
“He’s going to try it tomorrow,” she says. “See if it helps.”
I stare at her.
“You can’t help yourself.”
“What?”
“You see a problem. You fix it.”
She shrugs. “It was bothering me.”
The deli crowd shifts again. Someone leaves. Someone else grabs the empty table.
Three months ago, I would’ve made the call alone, sent the files, invoiced, and started looking for the next job.
Halfway to the next city by now.
Sam’s watching me.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
The overhead lights catch the edge of her hair.
“About how I’m not looking for what’s next anymore,” I say.
She goes still.
