Page 20 of Not Safe For Work

“I am notscaredof ferry boats,” I bark back. “I just get motion sickness, okay? Boats, buses, planes, cars. They’re all my enemy.”

Her face softens and I realize I just killed the mood. “That really sucks, Scottie. You can’t be in a car at all? Or fly?”

“I can. But I usually take medicine that puts me to sleep. That’s why I got the bike. Only thing I can ride that never messes with my head.”

“That’s not embarrassing, you know. You promised deep and dark,” she says, arms crossed over her chest. She’s eyeing me like I just stole her favorite toy. It’s cute as hell.

“Fine. I’m terrified of snakes. I will scream like a little baby if I ever see one. Gabby puts a fake one in my bed every so oftenjust to remind me she has all the power in our relationship.” Liv laughs and while I’m not thrilled to be sharing the most unattractive qualities about myself, I am enjoying letting her know me better. “I sing along to every Disney movie. They remind me of when Gabby was little, so we still watch them all the time.” I shrug. She giggles. I love this. “You’ve already seen my pet hedgehog and the personal sling I use to carry him around.”

“That’s not embarrassing! It’s adorable,” she interjects.

“Well, you haven’t seen me give him a bedtime story yet, so…”

“I would really like to see that.”

Noted.

“Maybe you can give me something here? I’m feeling very vulnerable.” I frown. Or try to. Vulnerability isn’t really my thing. “Do you even have any embarrassing stuff?”

She scoffs. “How long have we got?” Now I scoff. “Okay, fine. I only listen to French music. Everyone I know thinks it’s crazy.”

“I didn’t know you spoke French.”

“I don’t,” she deadpans.

“That’s not embarrassing.” I’m more intrigued than anything. “Why do you listen to it?”

“It helps me relax, get out of my head. I don’t know. I think I just feel the music more when I’m not focusing on the lyrics. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so. Why not classical? Or instrumental? Why French?”

“It’s hard to explain, but I like to hear them sing even if I can’t understand it. I think I just like the way it makes me feel. It helps me shut off my brain. Makes me less anxious.”

I’ve seen Liv’s anxiety get the best of her. It makes me glad she’s found a coping mechanism.

“French music, wine, photography.” I list them off on my fingers. “You’re an artist.”

A laugh bubbles out of her that catches me off guard. “I don’t think so.”

“Why is that funny? You are.”

“No. Everyone else in my family is an artist. And everyone agrees that I am the black sheep. I’m basically the opposite of my parents and all three of my brothers.” Three brothers? That’s not intimidating or anything.

“They’re all artists?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Or at least in the sense that they believe any real job is ‘done with your hands.’ My dad’s family goes back three generations as winemakers, ever since his grandparents emigrated here from France. My mom’s a painter. She designs all the bottle labels and did all the murals at the winery—people come just to see them. My brothers all work the vineyard and Deacon—the oldest—is also the head chef there.”

“That’s where you grew up? Surrounded by that?” It sounds like a dream compared to what Gabby and I have been through. But I’m not about to bring up any of that.

“Yeah. It was a little slow for me. Again, black sheep.” She points her thumbs back at herself and makes a face.

“I remember now, your interview. You said you were desperate to live in the city and would take any job to make it happen.”

“I don’t think I said desperate,” she argues, indignation spreading across her features. “But yeah, I was.”

“Well, I’m really glad I went against all better judgment and hired you.”

She punches my shoulder. “You are so lucky you hired me! How many deals did I source for you last year?”

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