Page 93 of Business Casual
“Do you want to see the studio?” I ask.
Beckett rolls his eyes, then snatches the bottle of whiskey I brought over with our tea and honey. He tips some into his mug. “Of course I want to see it. I’ve been dying to see it. I know you have mirrors because I’ve been pressing my face up against the glass. Ms. Beatrice called Dane on me twice.”
A laugh rolls out of me. I squeeze his hand one more time and then stand. Beckett stares at me with amused, irritated affection. A look only a sibling can perfect.
“All right, well. Grab your coat.”
“We’re going now?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. We’re going now.”
Beckett has beenstanding at the back wall for sixteen minutes, squinting at the succulents in the vertical garden. It stretches from floor to ceiling, plants spilling out from between reclaimed wooden beams. My own private forest in the back.
I kick my feet back and forth on one of the tattoo chairs, watching him, the mug of tea he insisted we bring with us cupped in my hands.
“Your soil is too dry,” he offers, his back still to me, fingertip tracing the edge of a leaf. “And these will need better sunlight if you want them to do well.”
“The sunlight is fine.”
“Says who?”
“Says Mabel, who installed all of those succulents.”
He grunts and mutters something under his breath, squatting down to take a look at another section closer to the floor. I’m glad he’s being critical. I’m glad he’s taking it seriously. If he walked in and gave me a generic compliment, I’m not sure I would have believed him.
But I’d like it if he moved on from inspecting the plant wall.
“There’s more greenery up here, if you want to take a look.”
“In a second,” he answers. He’s too busy scooping some dirt out of my wall and peering at it in the palm of his hand. I take advantage of his distraction and slip my phone out of my pocket.
NOVA:Did you make it off my roof alive?
His answer comes through immediately.
CHARLIE:Ooh, what’s this? You care about my well-being?
I smile.
NOVA:I care about my flower beds.
NOVA:Also, your legs.
CHARLIE:Well, my legs are fine. Can’t say the same about your flower beds.
A picture appears on my phone of some squished hydrangeas. Then a selfie of Charlie, flower petals in his hair. Bare chest. Dirt on his cheek. Dear god, I hope he didn’t run down the street like that.
I hesitate, then save the picture. Another message appears below the selfie.
CHARLIE:Everything okay with your brother?
I look at Beckett who has finally meandered away from the plant wall. He’s looking at each tattoo station with his hands behind his back, his hat tucked under his arm. That knot in my chest unravels a little bit more, and I feel like I can finally take a breath.
NOVA:Yeah. Everything is good.
21
CHARLIE
