I nearly drop my tea.
AJ, infuriatingly, does not even blink. “That’s just my face.”
“No, your face usually looks like you’re about to correct a menu.”
“That is a very specific insult.”
Mish glances up. “He does look a bit smug.”
“I had a nap,” AJ says.
Dan studies him over the rim of his mug. “That’ll do it.”
I turn towards the sink and wash my mug. Then I wash it for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary, because I need a task before my face stages a rebellion.
“You’re all very invested in his expression,” I say.
Kev bites into his toast. “It’s changed.”
“It has not.”
AJ looks at me.
Only briefly.
That is worse.
“Maybe I’m maturing,” he says.
Mish makes a small sound into her coffee. “No.”
“Developing professionally?”
“No.”
“Settling into the rhythm of the station?”
Dan shakes his head. “Also no.”
AJ leans against the counter, not quite smiling. “Tough room.”
“You chose journalism,” Kev says. “You should be used to rejection.”
“I’m used to emails not being answered. That’s different.”
I should not smile.
I nearly do.
Then AJ’s gaze drops to my mouth.
Not visibly. Not in any way someone else would notice. But I notice because I now know what his mouth feels like there, and apparently my nervous system has decided to keep a log.
His eyes come back to mine.
I pick up the document folder.
“Briefing room,” I say, perhaps a shade too briskly. “Five minutes.”
