Page 27 of Lost Love on 6th Street

I chuckle. “You’re lucky my boss is a cool boss.”

“Ah, the blonde who said she was going to get you? Yeah, she seems like the cool boss type.”

My shoulders tense. Is that meant to be suggestive? Is the cool boss type somehow someone he would want rather than a lowly, temporary employee? I try to cast those thoughts aside as we emerge from the frigid museum into the Austin summer heat. This is the only moment in my day I actually like the heat. In only a minute or two, my body will be begging for the chill of the archive again.

Luke’s car is right on the curb in the standing zone, blinkers blinking.

I grab the passenger side door, but Luke intercepts me. “Uh-uh-uh,” he chides. “My job.”

I step back and allow him to open the door for me, shaking my head. “I can open my own door.”

“I know you can,” he says, throwing me a smile over the roof of the car. “But you don’t have to. That’s the difference.” Luke climbs into the car out of sight while I try to control my raging heartbeat.

Thank god I can blame any blushing on the beating sun overhead.

When I get into the car, Luke immediately thrusts a condensation-soaked iced coffee into my hand. “I don’t know your order, so I went off vibes. Iced horchata latte.”

I bug my eyes out. “That sounds . . . amazing.”

“I also . . .” He reaches into the back seat and retrieves several brown pastry bags. “Have snacks if you’re hungry.”

I laugh in disbelief and excitement. I grab the bag that smells of cinnamon. “Mm. Coffee cake. My favorite.”

Luke makes a fist and pumps it in the air. “Score.”

“You really didn’t have to do this,” I say.

“You bet I did. We’ve got a long drive in rush hour traffic ahead of us,” he says. “Now buckle up, princess.”

Somehow the word “princess” in his accent doesn’t sound at all condescending. In fact, I like it.

Buckled and ready to go, Luke pulls onto the street and begins the drive down to Bobby’s.

“You think we’ll get anything out of this trip?” I ask, breaking off a piece of the coffee cake loaf.

“Something has gotta turn up in all of Bobby’s mess,” Luke says, eyes fixed to the road through a pair of aviators.

I nibble on the coffee cake. Heaven. “Mm. Needed this.”

Luke says nothing, just smiles to himself, eyes not leaving the road. It’s pleased him to please me.

I like that.

“Apparently, if things go the way we’d like, they might use the photograph in the next exhibition at the library,” I say.

Luke does a double take. “Seriously?”

“I mean, that hinges on us actually figuring out who the woman is and if she’s even important, but the next exhibition is all about the ‘90s and given the date of the photo, it would fit right in.”

“Next best thing to having your own photographs shown I’m sure,” Luke says.

I shake my head. “I mean, I haven’t even—that’s not what I’m—" I decide to move on from his comment without acknowledging it in a cogent way. “My boss said it might merit a long-term position at the library. Which would be cool.”

Luke grins at the road, which is dissonant given the stop and start traffic we’re already in. “You’re already taking a shine to Austin, huh?”

“I guess two weeks isn’t enough to tell. More like a glorified vacation,” I say, then break off another piece and pop it in my mouth.

“Naw, I think when you know you know,” Luke says.

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