Page 53 of Spellbound & Speechless
“You drawing?” I plop onto my little cot.
“So it seems.” She turns to look at me. “And you’re drunk.”
“Just a little.”
“Why? Isn’t it early for that?”
I grunt. “You ever party with wolves?”
She lifts a brow. “Can’t say I have, at least as far as I know. Are you extending an invitation?”
Drinking with Aspen? That’s either the best or worst idea, and I can’t decide which.
I groan. “Not tonight. I’m partied out.”
“Aw. That’s too bad.”
I still have to work tonight. Nothing will keep me from my shift. Being hungover is better than not being there at all.
The sisters sometimes drink while working, but they’re not the security guards. They’re allowed to. Their job is to connect, make sales, and make the customers happy. Sipping on a cocktail won’t stop them from doing that.
How am I supposed to keep them safe likethis?
I run my fingers through my hair. “What are you drawing, anyway?”
She lifts her sketchbook, showing me what appears to be vague outlines of dresses. “Just designs. Little ideas. It’s the first time I’ve had ideas in a while.”
Aspen and I spent the night close—too close—but we’re back to normal now. What a relief.
She doesn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I can’t. It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t let myself get the words out, even though I want to.
What is there to talk about, anyway? It’s nothing. She needed comfort, and I did my best to offer it.
“I know how that goes,” I say. “The inspiration thing.
“Do you?”
“Uh-huh. I don’t always find the time to get outside. You know. Photography and all.”
She looks out the window. “Well, there are plenty of views right out there. You came at a good time. The fall foliage in Maine is breathtaking.”
“Huh. I guess it is.” But the urge to pick up my camera is dead and gone, and it only returns at the most sporadic times.
I don’t say it aloud, but when Aspen looks at me, it’s like someone understands me. I don’t need to say the words at all.
“Are you working tonight?” She turns away, focusing on her sketch.
“Yup. In… three hours.” I let my arm flop over my eyes. “Wake me up then, okay?”
“No.” She laughs. “Absolutely not?”
“Why not?”
“Waking a drunken Mac sounds like waking up a sleeping bear. I’d like to avoid the scratches.”
I chuckle. “C’mon. I need your help.”
“That’s too bad.” Her voice holds a secret smile, and I want to see it on her face, but my arm is too heavy to lift.
