"Yes. Perfect." She brushes against me as she moves out of the kitchen. Into the main room. She sets the glasses on the table, slides into a dining chair, sits cross-legged. "Is she having a bachelorette party?"
I shrug like I don't know.
"Ryan Maddox." Leighton laughs. "You stalked her, didn't you?"
"No."
"You did." She shakes her head with a faux tsk tsk. "And you say you're better than all this pretending bullshit."
"Dean informed me."
"Is that reverse psychology?"
"He's not smart enough for that." I scoop food onto ceramic plates, grab silverware, bring everything to the table.
"He's smarter than he acts."
"Would it be possible for him to be stupider than he acts?"
Her laugh lights up her light eyes. "True." She smiles as I hand over her fork. "This looks amazing."
"Thanks." I sit next to her.
"No." She stabs a piece of chicken, brings it to her mouth, chews, talks with her mouth full. "Thank you."
My cheeks flush. It's weird, accepting gratitude.
I'm not used to it.
I can't wrap my head around the idea of deserving it.
Making Leighton dinner is a selfish decision.
I want her eating with me. I want her groaning over how good the food is.
I want to fall asleep tonight, knowing she's eating actual food.
Knowing someone is taking care of her.
I want to be that person.
"You're welcome." The words are awkward on my lips.
"God." She lets out a soft moan. "You're too good at this."
I shoot her a curious look.
"I'm going to have to kidnap you." She brings a slice of red pepper to her lips. "Force you to cook for me."
"You could just ask."
"That's less exciting than kidnapping."
"You want to go?" I motion to the empty area between the TV and the couch. "See if you can overpower me?"
Her teeth sink into her lip. "Is this where you invite me to karate again?"
"It's aikido."
"Will people hit me?"
"You spar, yeah."
"I'm out." She leans back in her seat. Exaggerates a sigh of defeat. "I guess I have to ask nicely."
"I'm waiting."
"I'm thinking about it." She takes a long sip of her water. "Are you?"
"Leigh—"
"Was it that awful, posing for a picture with me?"
No. It felt good. Too good. "Drop it or leave."
"You wouldn't kick me out."
"Try me."
She stares into my eyes, picking me apart. She must decide I'm willing to make due on the threat, because she drops the subject in favor of taking another bite.
We eat in silence for a while. It's not like the quiet when I'm alone. It doesn't suffocate me.
It's comfortable.
Easy.
Dinner is perfect, but it's not the taste that thrills me. It's the satisfaction spreading over her face.
I want more of it.
I want it in ways I shouldn't.
I grab the easiest distraction I can find.
"Let's get started." I motion to her laptop.
"I didn't agree."
"Then don't do it."
She presses her lips together. "I run the Inked Hearts website."
"And?"
"I know how to do this."
"If you don't want help—"
"I don't want to do it at all."
"You're stubborn."
"And you're not?" She opens her laptop, types her password, turns it to me. When I don't respond, she nods with triumph. "There are too many options."
"Use what we use for Inked Hearts." I type the website into the search bar. "You have a name in mind?"
"Even More Inked Hearts?"
I chuckle. "Really?"
"Inked Wing Designs."
"That's your tattoo." I check that the domain is available.
"Yeah." Awkwardness drips into her voice. "It, um… It's alis volat propiis."
"She flies by her own wings."
"You know Latin?"
"Only the most popular quotes."
"Are you calling me basic?"
I shoot her a curious look.
"What?"
"Penny used to say that."
"Oh." Her lip corners turn down. "Sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"No. I don't get it. What could possibly be bad about something being basic?"
"It's dumb Internet culture stuff."
"You're saying it." I fill the domain registration form with Leighton's info then turn the computer to her.
"You know those girls who come into the shop in their sheepskin boots, toting Pumpkin Spice lattes, asking for kanji tattoos?"
"Yeah." It describes a certain type of customer.
"They're basic."
"And?"
"Nobody wants to be ordinary."
"It's underrated."
"Maybe." She hits submit on the form then reaches over to the couch to grab her backpack. "How am I already doing this?"
"It's what you want."
She finds her credit card in her wallet, uses it to fill out the payment form. "It's what you want."
"Yeah."
"You're desperate to get rid of me."
"I offer to teach you to do ink every day."
"Why?" She looks up from the computer. "Why does it matter so much?"
"I want the best for you."
"Even if it means me leaving the shop?"
"You can't work our counter forever."
"What if I want to?"
"Do you?"
Her eyes meet mine. "Well…"
"I still remember that day Dean brought you in."
"Pointed to my cleavage and said wouldn't you pay anything for this."
"He's such a fucking pig."
She laughs. "It worked."
Yeah, it did. But not because of her tits. "I hired you 'cause I liked you."
"Dean hired me. You just didn't veto it. Which is actually a lot. Now that I know you."
"You must make less here."
"You sign my W-2s. You know how much I make."
More than I'd figure. But less than she deserves. She's the only tolerable person at the shop.
A ray of sunshine on a dark night.
The warm smile that welcomes everyone.
Keeps them coming back for more.
I stare into her blue-green eyes. "How much less?"
"I don't know. Thirty, forty percent."
"That's a huge pay cut."
"I like it here."
"That can't be it."
"I didn't like it there." Her gaze goes back to her laptop. "I was done working at a bar."
"Dean did your rib tattoo, right?"
"And you did the dragon. And Brendon did the cherry blossom. What's your point?"