Page 19 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
“I don’t eat breakfast anyway.”
“How can you not eat breakfast? Breakfast is the best! I am shocked, Fischer. And here I had you pegged as a Ron Swanson.”
I glance at her. “Who?”
Another gasp almost makes me smile because it’s so overdone and dramatic. “Fischer Price, are you telling me you have never watchedParks and Rec?”
“That would require time to watch TV.” I’ve seen a few early episodes, but they weren’t great. Not exactly a selling point for me to waste time I didn’t have back when the show aired. “And it’s just Fischer.”
“Ron Swanson loves breakfast food, just like the main character Leslie Knope.”
“Okay.”
She folds her arms like I’ve just told her that all of her interests are dumb. I check my expression in case my face was actually saying that. “Would you rather be followed by a cat who never leaves you alone no matter where you go or have a pet parrot who says inappropriate things to your house guests?”
As I do my best to keep my focus on the Sun City traffic, a mental image pops into my mind of Micah curled up on a blanket in a sunbeam. She has golden retriever energy, but the way she acts physically reminds me a lot of an affectionate cat, like the one I had growing up. I haven’t thought about that cat in years.
“Cat,” I say, though it’s more of a grunt. Mittens is probably long dead by now. Did I ever get a call about when she died? My phone suddenly feels heavy in my pocket. I don’t think I did, though am I really surprised?
“Would you rather be caught in a hurricane or a tornado?”
I glance at her. That’s a dark one. “I’m not sure I can make an informed opinion, as I’ve never experienced one or the other.”
She grins. “Me neither! Isn’t New Mexico great?”
“Sure.”
“Would you rather eat a gallon of mayonnaise or a gallon of ranch dressing?”
She goes on like that for the next twenty minutes until we reach the parking garage beneath Ember Events. Sometimes the questions are innocent, like when she asks my preference between growing a beard or growing my hair. Other times she gets deep, like when she asks if I would rather lose all of my childhood memories but remember the rest of my life or lose all short-term memory when I hit sixty. Some of my answers come easily—I would rather have hair on my head than my face—while others I don’t answer. If I’m silent for too long, she moves onto the next question.
Grant’s GPS says he’s still in the building, so when I pull into a parking space, I step out of the car alongside Micah. She doesn’t question me, instead leading the way to the elevator as she continues to ask questions that can’t possibly give her any useful information about me. My preference for ranch doesn’t reveal any deep, dark secrets about me.
When we reach the elevator, I press myself into the corner, putting as much distance between us as I can. I already get nervous in closed spaces, and Micah fills it up so much more than a normal person with her huge personality. Thankfully, she gets a message right as the elevator starts moving, which stops her tongue for long enough to let me breathe.
Weirdly, I almost don’t like the silence.
Micah reads whatever’s on her phone, and then she does a littlewhoopand a jump with an impressive vertical. “Houston is in for the reopening!”
“Oh.” Is that really all I can say? That’s actually huge. He might draw in some good crowds if people find out he’s there after a World Series win. His team hasn’t actually won yet, but they’re most likely going to beat the Oklahoma Burrs after the season they’ve played.
I clear my throat when Micah glances back at me with a raised eyebrow. “That’s great,” I add, which is just as lame asoh. The elevator stops, opens, and lets us out, and I can breathe again now that I’m back on solid ground and in the open.
“But he’ll need a contract, or his agent won’t let him do it,” Micah adds. “As a precaution.”
“I’ll handle that.” When she raises an eyebrow at me, I balk at her skepticism. “I can do my job too, you know.” Besides, I’ve been feeling pretty useless with this thing since the potato bites this morning, so I’m almost desperate for something to do that isn’t answering pointless questions.
She puts a hand on her hip, twisting her lips up in a smirk. “I’m sensing an apology on its way.”
Though I grit my teeth because she’s right, I’m not exactly eager to admit my failings. So I do the next best thing, folding my arms and growling. (Apparently the next best thing is pathetic.)
To no one’s surprise, Micah doesn’t dim in the slightest. It’s like she’s made of pure sunlight, and the only thing that will block her warmth is hurricane-level grumpiness that even I’m not capable of. Let’s hope, anyway.
“I’m going to try to translate that,” she says. “This is pure assumption, but I’m guessing that little growl of yours was actually you saying, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been misjudging you from the moment I met you because you’re too bubbly to take seriously, but thank goodness you’ve proven me wrong with your cleverness and quick wit.’”
“Actually, I was going to say cleverness and spunk.” I blink. Where in the devil did that come from? It’s like I was possessed by a far more self-confident man who is eager to flirt with the woman who has no idea she holds his fate in her hands.
Micah bites her bottom lip, forcing me to look away before my head gets any bad ideas. “Is there any particular reason you hide those little quips away most of the time? You’re starting to convince me you’re secretly funny.”
