By mid-week,both the technical crew and the renovation team have found their stride, and my sense of accomplishment only grows in size.
I might have never majored in business, but having a tech mogul as a father has certainly rubbed off on me; particularly the valuable lesson of knowing when to take a step back and delegate.
Pushing the lobby door with my backside while wrapping my scarf around my neck, I step into the January air. It’s barely five p.m., but it’s pitch black outside. I might not miss LA much, but Idomiss the warmth and sunny blue skies on winter days like these.
I stop in my tracks when I find Huxley standing near the curb, cursing at his phone.
“You okay?” I ask casually.
Since I called him two days ago, it feels like we’ve finally turned a corner in ourplatonicrelationship. I can tell he’s been making an effort, and I am too.
Huxley whirls around when he hears my voice, his thick brows lifted as if surprised to see me standing there.
“Yeah,” he answers. He stops as if that was enough information, but then, as if remembering himself, he adds, “Soph was supposed to pick me up, but something came up — she just canceled.”
“I’ll drive you,” I say without much thought.
Huxley reacts as if I just told him that we’re moving in together. He dismissively waves his hand in front of him as a way to decline my offer. “All good. I’ll just take the bus or something.”
“Huxley.” My tone is slightly scolding as I look at him with a deadpan expression.
He returns my stare until finally, his shoulders sag slightly, and he relents.
“Okay. Sure, thanks.”
“Great,” I chirp. “I’m just across the street,” I say as I unlock the car doors from a distance.
Huxley whistles as we cross the deserted street. It’s a similar tone to the one he made the first time he saw the theatre, and something about it sends a shiver down my spine.
“A red Mercedes,” he says slowly as he rounds the car. “I would have pegged you as a Porsche girl myself.”
“Oh yeah?” I say with a laugh as we step into the car. “It’s just a lease anyway — until I figure out what to do with my car back in LA.”
Huxley settles in the passenger seat, his arms flung over his backpack on his lap. “And what’s your car in LA?”
Pulling into the street, I shoot Huxley a wry grin, quickly looking over before my gaze lands back on the road. “I’m not telling you.” My tone is playful, which is a stark relief from the tension plaguing our conversations as of late.
Huxley returns my smile, and his expression makes me unreasonably happy to witness.
“Don’t tell me it’s a Porsche,” he quips.
I burst out laughing. “Maybe.”
Huxley chuckles warmly, then falls silent, looking straight ahead until he says, “I can’t believe you left California for this.”
I’m not sure if he meant it so seriously, so I try to keep the conversation light. “LA isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Mostly smoke and mirrors. I’mhappyto be back, I love it here.”
It takes Huxley a few seconds to respond. “Can’t relate.”
“You don’t like Marsford Bay?” I ask innocently but realize quickly that it might be a loaded question for him. “You don’t have to answer that.”
The silence returns, and I chew on my inner cheek, hoping the mood hasn’t already been ruined.
“So, The Taming of the Shrew, huh?”
I smile as I glance over. His gaze is fixed on mine, and my heart skips a beat at the sight. I ignore my wayward reaction.
“You heard?”
