I end the call, but something isn’t sitting right, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“You don’t want to do it, do you?” There’s no judgment in her voice, just curiosity.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your face is saying it,” she challenges. “Expression is like fifty percent of communication, August.”
“I’m pretty sure that number is closer to ninety percent in your case.”
She tilts her head and scrutinizes me with a look that ignites an urge to reach out and pull her close. Instead, I stuff my hands in my pockets.
“I don’t want to push you into saying yes, but this kind of promo deal has the potential for a lot of visibility, especially around the time of year when every red-blooded American woman is looking for a heartfelt holiday romance. I think it could be a huge opportunity for us both, which is why I’ll help you however I can—errands, carpool drives, Gabby’s homework, whatever.”
“You already work two jobs.”
“So do you.” She crosses her arms and smirks in a way that causes me to fixate on the perfect pout of her lips. “You heard Chip. We’re an audio dream team.”
Why does that phrase trigger a mini avalanche inside my chest every time I hear it?
I study her, needing to say something I’m sure I’ll regret the second it’s out. “Chip’s wrong, Sophie. Your talent doesn’t need to beteamed upwith anyone to be exceptional. And I can assure you, thisopportunity has next to nothing to do with me. There are producers just like me with studios better than mine all over this state.” Though the very thought of her sitting in a booth while some other dude memorizes her every microexpression makes me want to run my fist through this drywall.
“August—”
“I’m serious,” I continue. “Whatever comes up, be it now or in the future, I never want you to miss out on an opportunity, even if it means I can’t be involved in it with you.”
Her nod comes slowly, but I see the sparkle of resilience return to her eyes. “But you’re still going to look over the contract, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll let me help with Gabby if you need an extra hand?”
I pause, and she raises an eyebrow.
“If you insist.”
“I do.” She smiles at me like I’m the one offering to do something kind when it’s actually the other way around.Again.She glances at the clock. “I’m good now—to record, I mean. Thanks for giving me a minute to be unprofessional.”
She moves to take her seat at the stool again, but I catch her wrist. It happens so quickly that neither of us seems to understand how it happened, even though it’s my hand that’s out of line and won’t let go.
“What you said before, about me not returning your call yesterday,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t optional. That was me being an idiot instead of being a friend. It won’t happen again. I promise.”
She acknowledges my words with the slightest of nods. “Thank you.” She drops her gaze to my hand. “And I promise to keep Unprofessional Sophie and all her personal drama out of the booth from now on.”
“So where can I see her?”
“What?”
I rub my thumb along her delicate wrist bone and watch the pulse point in her neck flutter. “I was hoping to ask Unprofessional Sophie to join me for a thank-you dinner in her honor. What do you think she’ll say?”
The playful way she bites her bottom lip makes me hyper-focused on her next words. “She’ll tell you to ask her again the second she’s out of this booth.”
“I’ll do that.”
That evening, as I pretend to review the Christmas contract Chip sent over from the comfort of my living room sofa, I’m actually spying on the flirty teenagers sitting at my dining room table, eating pizza and “going over curriculum notes” for the introductory ASL class next week. And wonder of wonders: Gabby’s hearing aids have magically returned to her ears. She, of course, is none the wiser to my knowledge of her master scam, but I refuse to die on that hill. I’d rather climb a new one. And with the help of this contract, that epic hike might be happening sooner than I’d dared to hope.
My phone flashes bright with an incoming text, and I smile as soon as I read the sender’s name.
Sophie: