“So, what was it you wanted to tell me about last night before you so rudely ate all my leftover pasta and then fell asleep for two hours on my couch?”
“Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.” I grab two mugs from the shelf, mine decorated with cartoon animals.
A customer enters the shop, and Alli helps them find the right type of fish food. I use the moment to check on the axolotl tank, making sure the water temperature is perfect. The creature’s perpetually grumpy expression reminds me so much of Pierce that I have to smile.
“You’re making heart eyes at an axolotl,” Alli observes, appearing beside me. “Should I be concerned?”
“I’m not making heart eyes. I’m checking the water temperature.”
“Uh-huh.” She hands me another box to unpack, her knowing look making me suddenly very interested in examining the contents. “You’re not adopting an axolotl,buttell me what ‘workplace improvements’ you’ve bestowed upon your poor boss.”
“I’ll have you know I’ve been a model employee. No disasters. No catastrophes. Even Anthony is behaving himself.”
Alli pauses mid-reach for another box. “Who’s Anthony?”
“The ant I rescued from the Great Cookie Invasion,” I say like it’s obvious. “He lives in the plant on my desk now. We’ve bonded.”
“You named an ant.”
“I named the ant I saved from certain death, yes. He’s very grateful. Waves his little antennae at me every morning.”
Alli stares at me for a long moment. “You realize that’s probably not the same ant, right? They all look?—”
“It’s Anthony,” I interrupt firmly. “I’d recognize him anywhere.”
She shakes her head, but a fond smile tugs at her lips because she finds me adorable. I know it.
“Well, at least you haven’t convinced Pierce to adopt a real office pet.”
“Yet,” I add ominously, and we both laugh.
As the coffee maker finishes brewing, we head to the counter. I grab the pastries from my bag while Alli fills our mugs.
I pull my sketchbook from my messenger bag, its pages slightly wrinkled from being carried everywhere. “You have to see this,” I tell her, flipping through until I find the right page. “After my pasta-induced nap, I couldn’t sleep once I got back to my place.”
“Is this about the ants?” she asks, taking a bite of her favorite pastry and chasing it with coffee.
“It’s about Pierce’s face when he saw the ants,” I correct, finally finding the right page. “Look. See how his eyebrows do that thing? Where they start out all professional and then just sort of…give up?”
The drawing spans two pages. Pierce stands in the center, his suit perfectly rendered despite the whimsical treatment, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose while the other clutches what is clearly a very important document. Around him, a parade of anthropomorphized ants marches in formation, carrying pieces of chocolate-chip cookies like tiny triumphant soldiers.
“How do you do that? Make him look both annoyed and endearing?”
“Practice,” I admit, then quickly add, “I mean, he makesthat face a lot, usually at me. It’s like his special ‘Thatcher, what have you done now’ expression. He stood there watching Roberto spray and set traps, looking like he was mentally calculating how many gray hairs this would add to his already unfairly attractive silver-fox situation.”
“Unfairly attractive?” Alli’s eyebrow rises.
“Professionally speaking,” I mumble, picking up my pencil, suddenly very focused on drawing tiny coffee cups for the ants to carry. “From an artistic perspective. You know, for accuracy in the drawing.”
“Uh-huh.” She watches me add more details. “You’ve gotten really good at drawing him.”
“I have a lot of reference material,” I defend, then realize that’s not helping my case. “I mean, I see him every day. At work. Where we work. Professionally.”
I close the sketchbook with a soft thud and trace the cover with my fingers.
“A crush on your boss aside—” she starts.
“I don’t have a crush on my boss!”
