Natasha nods, and enjoys the smirk that creeps over Sawyer's face. Sawyer squeezes her hand hard.
"I've got my car," she says. "I need to take some work stuff home so let's just take it all together."
She opens the van.
"Fuck," says Natasha. It's full to the brim with shit – Natasha isn't even sure how to categorize it. Natasha sees some promising heaps of fabric at the back, piled on top of a writing desk. Sawyer easily jumps up into the van and starts rooting around. She lobs Natasha a bag full of wires, electrical tape and cable ties.
"These are mine. Can you just put them by my bag while I chuck you other some stuff?"
She brings a black light with square flaps around it to the edge of the van, "This is called a Fresnel. I need to take it back to the rental place over the next couple of days. It's a one kilowatt so be careful."
Natasha's arms are wiry and strong from yoga, but she still grunts and shudders as she lifts the lamp. Sawyer's arms look fleshy and soft, but now she's looping thick black cable around them like they're as light as spaghetti. She secures the cables with a roll of tape she takes from her pocket.
She heaves the cables over to Natasha, "This is heavy. We need to put it on the bottom of the car with these par cans on top." She nudges two small lamps with her foot.
Sawyer opens up a flight case, "Right, there are two profiles in here." She lifts out two more lamps, this time black and skinnier than the others.
Sawyer pushes a trolley over to Natasha, "Can you start to pack my car for me, hon? It's that silver one over there. I just need to grab my set box."
Suddenly Natasha is left alone with a woman's car keys; a woman that might be her girlfriend and calls her pet names. Natasha turns and see Sawyer's plaits swinging as she disappears through the door.
"Awh, has she just left you here? I'll help!" The hobbit is back, lifting the lamps confidently into Sawyer's car. Jesus, Natasha thinks, what do these bitches get fed in drama school?
"Betty," The hobbit says, holding out her hand for Natasha to shake. She's pretty, she reminds Natasha of Streisand in Funny Girl.
"I've only worked with Sawyer these last two months, but she's very talented," Betty continues. Natasha isn't sure what to say so she just nods.
"You must be the girl she started seeing half-way through? She's seemed a bit happier recently, a bit more settled."
Natasha hums in reply, hefts another box into the trunk.
Betty hands Natasha a large, pink toolbox, "This is Sawyer's toolbox."
"It certainly looks like it," says Natasha.
"Yeah, the guys all rip into her about it but she'd kick their asses in any category. Put it at the top, she'll want to know she's got it or she'll start driving back to check. You know what she's like."
Natasha isn't sure that she does really know what Sawyer's like, but she carefully places it on the back seat, where the rear-view mirror will reflect it.
Betty is lifting a box of shoes onto her shoulders, walking away. As she disappears into the other door she shouts cheerily, "You make a striking couple! You should come over for dinner with my wife and I some time."
Natasha feels a bit dizzy. She reasons that it must be from lifting all that heavy shit into the trunk of the car. She leans her back against the metal, tries to steady her breath.
She's still there when Sawyer re-emerges, arms laden down with more boxes but with a face like sunshine. The grip on Natasha's heart seems to lessen.
Sawyer doesn't shut the trunk straight away. She pokes around, moving some of the lights that Natasha has packed away. Natasha knows she must have done something wrong or broken something expensive. She starts wrapping her bag strap tight around her fingers. After what feels like forever, Sawyer slams the trunk shut and gets in the driver's seat.
"Sorry," Sawyer says. "I hear being with a Virgo has its benefits eventually. I'm just a bit fussy. I really appreciate you putting my toolbox there."
"All set?" Sawyer is pulling her hair out of its plaits and putting on some lipstick. She reaches for Natasha's fist where it's balled up against her thigh. She picks it up and looks at it, smirks, and lets it fall back down.
Forty-five minutes later and they're still in central Boston. Natasha had whimsically suggested that they drive over the Longfellow Bridge to see the Fall leaves against the river, but it seems that it might have been a bad suggestion.
Natasha feels a bit guilty, but she doesn't mind being in the car. She keeps looking over at Sawyer's gorgeous face and the way she controls the car with complete confidence. She can't resist running her hand up and down Sawyer's thigh.
The bridge does look beautiful. The arches are perfectly reflected in the water, and the grey towers along the bridge are bathed in rose gold light.
"When I was a kid I used to call those pepper pots. I mean, everyone does, not just me. But I used to love it when my parents drove this way."
"I am so jealous that you grew
