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Authors: Jennifer Echols
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winked at me. “What you mean is, it was supposed to be a heart, but you realized too late that drawing me a heart in my latte would be embarrassing after I read your story.”
4
H e had a strange way of pronouncing coffee, with a rounded o. He’d never had much of a New York accent, not even when he first moved to Kentucky. It only came out with certain words. I found myself dwelling on this to keep from running from the shop in mortification.
“No, the picture in your coffee is an ass,” I blurted in defense. “I also draw a mean spleen.”
His eyebrows moved up ever so slightly—one of the few ways I could tell I’d gotten to him. “Can you do a liver?” he asked. “With bile?”
This talk was not going as I had planned. To convince him to keep his mouth shut about the stable boy, I needed to be nice. I wished I could write internship on the surface of my coffee in foamed milk as a reminder.
I grinned at him with all the pretend friendliness I could muster. My cheeks hurt. “Give me another week of training. I’ve been working here for only two.”
His brows went down. “I thought you took a bus up here the day after graduation. My dad told me he drove you to the bus station.”
You mean the day after you stole my life, I thought, grinning hard. Out loud I said, “I did. First I worked at a deli, but they were always trying to tell me what to do, which takes some getting used to.”
I meant it as a joke, but Hunter didn’t laugh. He just blinked at me across the rim of his coffee cup.
“Then I heard about a dog-walking job,” I hurried on. “That didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” Hunter asked. “You love animals.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince me.
“Dogs aren’t horses,” I told him. “But they should have bits in their mouths.” I held my hand in a claw beside my mouth to represent a horse’s bit.
Hunter looked blankly at my hand and then at me as if he did not get it.
I put my hand down. “I loved my job at the library, but I got fired when they caught me with weed.”
He gaped at me. “Erin Elizabeth Blackwell!”
I dismissed his concerns with one hand, nearly knocking over my coffee. “It wasn’t my weed. I had a lot of roommates and they were a mess. One of them hid his weed in my book bag and then forgot about it. Getting fired was the last straw. I was lucky I got fired, not arrested! I stomped all the way back to the apartment building, but as I stood on the sidewalk looking up at the window, scripting my dramatic exit from the apartment, I thought, Where am I going to go? ”
I was back in the street that hot and lonely day in July, neck aching from looking up, eyes stinging from tears. Summer and Jørdis had complained for the past few days about living in the dorm, the crowding, the noise. I did not complain. Five dirty roommates had taught me the value of two clean ones.
“Are you sure you weren’t smoking just a little?” Hunter touched his thumb and finger to his lips, toking up.
“I don’t have time for that!”
His blue eyes opened wide. I realized that my hands were open wide, too, gesticulating in exasperation. I was still caught in that horrible July day. I needed to get my mind out of there. This conversation with Hunter was a completely different horrible situation, and I was not as desperate as I’d been back then. Not yet.
I cleared my throat. “Do you want the info on my section of calculus?”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “These sections are a crapshoot. If I’m not careful, I could transfer out of Eastern Europe, straight into Thailand.” He produced the latest-model cell phone, a giant step up from the bare-bones model he’d carried back home. As I gave him the name of the class instructor and the time, he entered the info with his thumbs. Several times his thumbs stumbled and the muscles of his strong jaw clenched, which was Hunter’s way of muttering “fuck” in frustration. Either he’d just gotten this phone
4
H e had a strange way of pronouncing coffee, with a rounded o. He’d never had much of a New York accent, not even when he first moved to Kentucky. It only came out with certain words. I found myself dwelling on this to keep from running from the shop in mortification.
“No, the picture in your coffee is an ass,” I blurted in defense. “I also draw a mean spleen.”
His eyebrows moved up ever so slightly—one of the few ways I could tell I’d gotten to him. “Can you do a liver?” he asked. “With bile?”
This talk was not going as I had planned. To convince him to keep his mouth shut about the stable boy, I needed to be nice. I wished I could write internship on the surface of my coffee in foamed milk as a reminder.
I grinned at him with all the pretend friendliness I could muster. My cheeks hurt. “Give me another week of training. I’ve been working here for only two.”
His brows went down. “I thought you took a bus up here the day after graduation. My dad told me he drove you to the bus station.”
You mean the day after you stole my life, I thought, grinning hard. Out loud I said, “I did. First I worked at a deli, but they were always trying to tell me what to do, which takes some getting used to.”
I meant it as a joke, but Hunter didn’t laugh. He just blinked at me across the rim of his coffee cup.
“Then I heard about a dog-walking job,” I hurried on. “That didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” Hunter asked. “You love animals.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince me.
“Dogs aren’t horses,” I told him. “But they should have bits in their mouths.” I held my hand in a claw beside my mouth to represent a horse’s bit.
Hunter looked blankly at my hand and then at me as if he did not get it.
I put my hand down. “I loved my job at the library, but I got fired when they caught me with weed.”
He gaped at me. “Erin Elizabeth Blackwell!”
I dismissed his concerns with one hand, nearly knocking over my coffee. “It wasn’t my weed. I had a lot of roommates and they were a mess. One of them hid his weed in my book bag and then forgot about it. Getting fired was the last straw. I was lucky I got fired, not arrested! I stomped all the way back to the apartment building, but as I stood on the sidewalk looking up at the window, scripting my dramatic exit from the apartment, I thought, Where am I going to go? ”
I was back in the street that hot and lonely day in July, neck aching from looking up, eyes stinging from tears. Summer and Jørdis had complained for the past few days about living in the dorm, the crowding, the noise. I did not complain. Five dirty roommates had taught me the value of two clean ones.
“Are you sure you weren’t smoking just a little?” Hunter touched his thumb and finger to his lips, toking up.
“I don’t have time for that!”
His blue eyes opened wide. I realized that my hands were open wide, too, gesticulating in exasperation. I was still caught in that horrible July day. I needed to get my mind out of there. This conversation with Hunter was a completely different horrible situation, and I was not as desperate as I’d been back then. Not yet.
I cleared my throat. “Do you want the info on my section of calculus?”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “These sections are a crapshoot. If I’m not careful, I could transfer out of Eastern Europe, straight into Thailand.” He produced the latest-model cell phone, a giant step up from the bare-bones model he’d carried back home. As I gave him the name of the class instructor and the time, he entered the info with his thumbs. Several times his thumbs stumbled and the muscles of his strong jaw clenched, which was Hunter’s way of muttering “fuck” in frustration. Either he’d just gotten this phone
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