“Absolutely!” Some days I have little extras for the kids. Stickers or bookmarks, that sort of thing. Today I grabbed a stack of pencils that were donated.
“Kissing pencils,” Ciera says when I hand her one. They’re white with red lips running down the barrel. She proceeds to kiss each set of lips.
Julia clutches hers in both hands. “Where’s the cookie man?”
Annie nods. “The one from last week.”
“Could he have a kissing pencil?” Ciera asks.
My traitorous brain conjures up an image of Garrett’s lips. Almost kissing my lips.
Almost, I remind myself. As in didn’t happen, will never happen.
“No,” I snap, more sharply than I mean to. “He wouldn’t want a kissing pencil.”
“I think he would,” Ciera insists.
“Well, he isn’t here, and he isn’t coming back.” I force a smile to soften my words. “That was a one-time thing.”
“If you gave him a kissing pencil, he’d come back,” Kate says. She’s the shyest and the one I’ve been trying to bring out. She’s clutching her pencil tightly over her heart as if she can wish him here.
God. He’s got them mooning after him along with half the population at Cholla.
“Cookie time,” I deflect with a big smile. Their expressions say, Fine, we’ll take a cookie. But we’d rather have the cookie man.
Traitors. All of them.
We finish up as the parents wander back in. “Until next week,” I say, “find magic in books and in the world.”
I’m dragging the throne back to the corner when a familiar face sticks his head in.
“Hey,” Bryan says. “How’d it go?”
I hold up a pencil and smile. “These were a huge hit.”
“What’s not to like about lips?”
His grin is a little flirty, and so are his words. Is this the next step after origami? There’s an awkward pause because I don’t know if I should flirt back. “So what have you been doing this morning?” I ask, taking the safe route.
“Logging in the trade books and updating the schedule.”
“Anything good coming up?”
“Actually.” He steps closer and leans against the opposite side of the door. He shifts the folders in his arm and crosses one black loafer over the other. He’s preppy but not in a stiff, starchy way. And there’s something unruly about his curly brown hair that makes me think he has an unbuttoned-down side, too. “There’s an author coming next Wednesday.”
My heart skips. We are moving on from origami.
“No dinosaurs or little kids, but the author who’s speaking is supposed to be interesting. She writes sci-fi. I don’t know if you like science fiction, if you like events, or if you’re free…” He trails into silence.
He’s obviously a little nervous but mostly adorable. This is what I need. Book-loving, origami-making Bryan. “I haven’t read a ton of sci-fi, but I like it, and I like events, and yeah, I’m free.”
His eyes smile into mine. He has nice eyes. Brown and wide-set. His smile makes me like him even more—it’s relieved and hopeful, the same things I’m feeling myself.
“It’s at seven. I’m working until then, so maybe we can meet here?”
My heart lifts. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“My hands feel like they’re covered in skin.”
Mom laughs as she puts the kettle on to boil. “They are.”
“Not my skin. Old skin.”
“One day your skin will be old.”
“And I probably won’t like touching it, either.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t that bad.” She sets out all the tea things. Mugs, spoons, metal infusers for the loose leaf and a plate to place them on when we’re done steeping our tea. I like our Thursday night ritual. What I don’t like is old person skin.
“Why’d you make me do the moisture mask?” I ask. “You know I hate that the most.”
“Because you’re going to be my partner on May fourth, and you need to be comfortable doing everything.”
“There’s plenty of other stuff I can do. I don’t need to rub all that goo into bony, wrinkled necks.”
“Either they’re bony or they’re wrinkled.” Her gaze narrows in disappointment—with me.
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just not my thing.”
The kettle whistles loudly and a burst of steam announces the water is ready. Mom slides off her stool. “It should be one of your favorite parts of the job—applying products that offer real-time results. Knowing you’re helping people.”
She pours the boiling water in our mugs and I set my infuser in the water. Instantly, the scent of orange and nettle rises with the steam.
Mom sits again, kicking off her ballet slippers. “What is your favorite part, by the way?”
I wiggle my infuser. “What?”
“Of the job.” She leans over the tea, letting the steam mist her cheeks. She claims it’s good for the skin. It just makes me hot. “What do you love most? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you that.”
I study the swirling leaves. It makes me think of people who read fortunes in tea leaves. To me, they look like wet weeds.
“Josie?” My mom’s voice prods me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m looking for my future in the tea leaves.”
“And what do you see?”
A pair of angry blue eyes. “Do you think I’m soulless?”
Her eyes widen. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“Because I don’t like applying moisturizer to people’s faces. Because I don’t care that I’m helping them with skin care issues.” I push away the tea, my hand shaking with anger, confusion, and a fear I don’t understand. “What’s wrong with a paycheck? What’s wrong with wanting a career in a business that’s growing, that has a solid client base and a great work environment? What’s wrong with that?”
“Josie!” Mom looks shocked. “What’s going on, honey?”
“Nothing.” I stand, frustrated with myself. I was perfectly happy wanting the things I wanted until Garrett made that stupid comment. Now I feel like somehow it’s not good enough. Or just not…enough. “Sorry, Mom. I’m tired. I’m going to head to bed early.”
“What about your tea?”
“I’ll take it with me.” But somehow, I don’t think this is something that healing herbs are going to fix.
…
I’m still in a
