Page 63 of All the Ugly Things
“Farther from school, though.” I internally smacked myself on the head. I wanted her in my building. It was the whole reason I threw that listing in there, although I wasn’t expecting her to want friends near her… nor was I aware she had any.
“Less time on the bus than I spend now heading to Judith’s.”
At least it wasn’t an obstacle. We headed downtown and I drove around 801 Grand, the tallest building in Des Moines and scooted over to Court Avenue where bars and restaurants and newer apartments lined the streets.
“Have you been to the farmer’s market down here yet?”
“No.”
“You should go. Even if you don’t do shopping, it’s a fun place to hang out. There’s live music and a lot of the sellers offer samplings of their food.”
“Because I don’t have money to buy my own?”
I took my eyes off the road as we pulled to a stoplight and caught the glint of her eye. “You’re teasing me.”
“I must not do it enough if you have to ask.”
She turned back toward her window and her grin slipped.
Damn it. For once she was having fun and being silly and I ruined it.
“In the summer there’s a massive arts festival that covers the bridges and an outdoor amphitheater that has live music. Past Valor, there’s an outdoor skating rink we were a part of building just over a decade ago.”
“You don’t have to sell me on the city, I already live here.”
There was that tone again, and this time, I smiled. “I love my city.”
“I can tell. When you talked about what you’re building, you got excited. Happy to be able to tell someone about it.”
“I love my city and my job. There’s nothing better outside my family.”
“Is it just you and your dad?”
“Yes. Along with other kids over the years who have become family.” Another lie. I gritted my teeth. I drove the two blocks taking us to the edge of the East Village, a trendier area with just as much to do, if not more than downtown, and whipped my car toward the underground parking garage.
“Full disclosure,” I said, swiping my parking pass tucked in my visor toward the sensor that lifted the gates. “I live here.”
“Youlive here?”
“Does that surprise you?”
She shook her head. Her color had returned during the drive and now there was a faint pink hue to her cheeks.
“Kind of. I pictured a large house with a white picket fence you were waiting to fill with a wife and lots of babies somewhere in the suburbs where everyone felt safe all the time.”
I pulled into my assigned spot, hoping she didn’t notice the P on the sign or that it was only one of two spots that had a letter instead of a number.
“So you’ve thought about me?”
She reached for her seat belt and looked at me through her lashes, head ducked, pink color on her cheeks darkening. “Since your dad and you have injected yourselves into every aspect of my life, it’s been difficult to think of anything else.”
She made it sound horrific, like she hated it. The blush and her hint of a grin that twitched, like she was still trying to figure out how to smile correctly, told me otherwise.
I opened my door and as I slid out, said, “That sounds utterly obnoxious.”
“Indeed.”
With that, I threw my head back and laughed.
