Page 14 of Now That It's You
Meg finished fussing with her decor and turned to face him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then tugged her left earlobe.
“You’ve always done that.”
The words left Kyle’s lips before he had a chance to consider them, and he wished at once he could grab them out of the air and stuff them back down his throat.
But Meg cocked her head to the side and gave him a curious look. “Done what?”
Kyle swallowed. “Tugged your earlobe when you think of something you’re not sure you want to say aloud.”
She quirked one eyebrow at him. “How do you know that, if I don’t actually say it out loud?” she asked. “Are you psychic?”
“Nope. I noticed it years ago when you and Matt started dating. You’d tug at your ear and then blurt out something risqué or funny or maybe a little embarrassing. After a while, it seemed like you started censoring yourself.”
“But I still tugged my ear.” Her expression looked utterly bewildered.
“Yep.”
She stared at him a moment, and Kyle wondered if he’d gone too far. He remembered watching his gregarious brother tease Meg about some goofy thought she’d voiced over dinner, calling her “Mouthy Meg” and ruffling her hair every time she blurted something unexpected.
Eventually, Meg stopped.
It hadn’t occurred to Kyle until just now that maybe she’d never noticed.
“Tell you what,” he said, feeling like he owed her something for peeling back a blanket she might have preferred to keep tucked tight around her. “If I catch you tugging your ear, I’ll confess three embarrassing things about myself.”
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “What for?”
“Just showing you the world won’t end if I say something that’s a little uncomfortable. That sharing an embarrassing thought isn’t a big deal. If I can do it three times, you can manage once. Deal?”
She eyed him warily, and Kyle held his breath, hoping he hadn’t crossed some line. Hoping he wasn’t being too presumptuous by implying they’d have any contact beyond this, especially after two years of radio silence. She kept her gaze locked on his for a few seconds, then nodded once. “Give me an example.”
“Okay.” He fumbled around in his memory to find something appropriately mortifying. It wasn’t tough. “Embarrassing item number one: I spent two hours in my gallery last week helping customers before I noticed my fly was undone.”
Meg laughed, and he watched her shoulders relax a little. She leaned back against the wall, her posture more casual now. “And here I thought you’d gotten all classy and refined now that you’re no longer a starving artist.”
“How do you know I’m not starving?”
She shrugged. “I can’t vouch for your eating habits, but your career seems to be going well. You’ve been on the cover of every arts publication in the galaxy this past year.”
“In several other galaxies, too. Those Martians can’t get enough of mixed metal.”
He hesitated, then leaned against the wall beside Meg, his shoulders at the same level as hers. Eighteen or so inches separated them, but something felt intimate about it. He felt much more connected to her than if she had invited him inside to sit with her on the sofa. If he lifted his hand, his fingers might graze hers, but he stayed still and let the old familiarity flow between them, washing away some of the awkwardness.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Confession number two: Last month I tried to email a photo to a client to show the progress of a sculpture they commissioned,” he said. “Instead, I accidentally attached an image of a tortoise penis.”
Meg laughed. “At least it wasn’t your penis.”
“Good point, though maybe I could have passed that off as art.”
“Doubtful. Let’s hear your third confession.”
Her smile hadn’t faded yet, and Kyle fished for one more gem to keep it from disappearing. “I accidentally clogged the toilet at a fancy gallery party last year and was so embarrassed I slipped out the back door and never told anyone I was leaving.”
She snorted. “God, Kyle.” She shook her head, her eyes still bright with laughter. “Those were good, I’ll give you that. Color me impressed.”
“The fact that you’re impressed by my ineptitude seems like a sign one of us has a screw loose.
“It’s probably you.”
