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“You going to work tonight?” I ask.
He snorts softly. “I don’t think I’m ever going back to that job.”
I nod.
Then, before he can leave, I say, “Hey. If you’re not busy Saturday, there’s a show.”
“It’s kind of a circus show,” I add.
Clint’s expression doesn’t change much, but his eyebrows lift.
“You know, trapeze, juggling…”
“With you.”
“And Don, but yes.”
I wipe my brush on a rag because my hand needs something to do. The invitation sounded normal in my head. Casual. Generous. A perfectly reasonable extension of two adults sharing a house and not actively suing each other.
“It’s touristy,” I add. “We used to go every year. It’s one of those dinner show things. Music, open bar, dessert they set on fire.”
He grimaces immediately. “Open bar?”
“Right. Bad selling point.”
“No quadruple pours?”
“Lightest pours in PV.”
His mouth twitches.
I should not enjoy that as much as I do.
He leans against the doorframe, trying for casual and not quite hitting it. He still looks tired. Softer around the eyes. Younger, maybe, though he would hate that.
“Why?” he asks.
The question is simple enough. I could say because I have an extra ticket. Because Don will talk too much otherwise. Because I saw you alone in a room full of people and hated it.
Because Renny loved this show, and I’m not ready to go without someone beside me who changes the memory.
“I thought you might like it.”
Clint studies me. It’s a long look, like he’s searching for the hook under the bait.
Finally, he rubs the back of his neck. “No quadruples?”
“No quadruples.”
“Fine,” he says. “I’ll go.”
I nod, too quickly.
“Good.”
He pushes off the doorframe and heads toward the living room.
I turn back to the canvas, brush still in my hand, and realize I’m smiling at Clint’s unfinished foot.
