My cheeks flush. Alex notices. His mouth pulls up, revealing traces of amusement behind the urgency that’s been driving him forward for days on end.
“I don’t think I’ve spent forty-eight uninterrupted hours withanyone since I was a kid,” I admit. “Not even Miriam or my parents.”
“You like alone time,” he says. Not a question.
“Sometimes,” I admit. He waits, silently asking me for more words. “Did you ever go to sleepaway camp?” I ask.
“Does boarding school count?”
“Not if there was air-conditioning.”
“Ah,” he says. “Then no.”
“Well, I did, once, when I was twelve. It was in Missouri, and it was, like, this arts and crafts camp thing? You know, decoupage and whittling and songwriting and scrapbooking classes, all interspersed with pool time that gave me an ear infection and Bible school that was pretty progressive, looking back, but anyway. I hated it.”
Alex laughs hoarsely. “Why did you go to arts and crafts camp?”
“Dad thought it would be good for me.” I roll my eyes. “Miriam was doing an adventure camp in Colorado, and I didn’t have any other friends, which worried him, so it was either that or sports camp, and when it comes to art, I can at leastpretendto care.”
He laughs again. “How long was it?”
“It was supposed to be for a month, but I made Dad pick me up after two weeks.”
“I am picturing,” he says, arms stretching behind his head, straining the fabric of his shirt, the seam riding up past his stomach, “a twelve-year-old fuming silently at a picnic table under an awning, cutting up magazine pages from an oldFrameissue to glue back together. In the background, there is a cappella, and also, someone is making a friendship bracelet.”
“Okay, you definitely went to sleepaway camp.”
“Swear I didn’t.”
I smile. “Anyway. It wasn’t even the activities I hated, or the people. They were cool, and the low-stakes crafting was fine. But really, I just hated that I never got to be alone. We all slept in thisgiant tepee, and I never felt like I could breathe, you know? When I go on a trip, I just want to be able to breathe and relax. Otherwise I get—” I rub at my side uncomfortably. “It makes me, um, anxious.”
“Okay. Noted.” Alex looks at me thoughtfully. “What about forty-eight uninterrupted minutes? I’m begging.”
I laugh. “No, I want to. More than forty-eight minutes, I mean. Miriam’s schedule has been insane, and honestly, I’ve been alone a lot recently.”
“Yeah.” He shifts in his seat. Sighs. “Me too.”
The day of the presentation, I wear a navy blazer from Chico’s that Jerry’s mom gave me last Hanukkah and pointy, uncomfortable black shoes. My hair is tied back in a serious-girl bun. I’m not speaking in front of the stakeholders, but I get to be in the room, and I want to look the picture of professionalism. Meanwhile, Alex is wearing a blue tie with white snowflakes, and Christmas tree socks beneath his slacks. I catch glimpses of them as he paces in the boardroom. His hair is combed, suit pressed, and other than the bags under his eyes, he looks perfect. That first-day smile is fixed on his face.
He makes his way over to me. “Nervous?” I ask.
The gold in his irises is warmed up today, almost sparkling. “Not for this. Never for stuff like this.”
I want to ask what, in that case, hedoesget nervous about, but the boardroom doors swing open, and Dougie Dawson walks inside.
I’m halfway expecting him to look at Alex, grimace, and escape to the other side of the room, but when he spots us both, his eyes light up and he comes straight over.
And then he… smiles.Gleefully.
“Alex Harrison.” Dougie sticks out his hand, the gruff tenor ofhis voice slipping over me like a warning. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve been working on.”
Bewildered, Alex accepts Dougie’s handshake. “It took a village,” he says—probably reminding him that if he tanks this project, it’ll devastate more people than Alex.
“It really is a shame your father couldn’t stick around to see this,” Dougie says, his tongue running over the top row of his yellow teeth. “Guess you’ll have to settle for me instead.”
Alex doesn’t say a word, but his shoulders square and his posture straightens. He cocks his head just slightly. The stare he aims at Dougie is so intense that Dougie is the one to blink first.
“Like I said.” Dougie starts to back away. “Looking forward.”
