Page 26 of Dove
I'd brought the first piece to Sammy, half afraid and half elated, and handed it to her, desperate to know if it was worth anything.
She'd taken one look at it, turned it over and considered it, and then turned those shining silver eyes on, laughing with delight.
And then she'd told me she had a plan, and set us on a path that had taken us from me making pieces in Byron's shop at night to building our own shop in the shed behind Sue's house, Sammy finding new clients and keeping the books while I drew new concepts when I should have been asleep. At this point I've made hundreds of pieces and taken orders for more, and it'sbecome something that feels like home to me. I don't work for Byron anymore because I don't need to, and Sammy...
Well, it was all her plan. And that feels like home, too.
But we've never had a space where I could actually display my work, aside from the pieces Sammy has managed to get into Gunner's shop, and the thought of an actual showroom...
Feels too big to hold.
But if we start small, I might be able to hold it later.
"Guess we'd better get started, then," I say. "I mean, if you've got a plan."
She pauses in her spinning, eyes me speculatively, and then shoots forward, passing me in a blur of black curls and grubby jeans, her voice drifting back to me after she's already out the door again.
"Bet I can beat you to the truck!"
I shake my head and walk slowly after her, this time. Because she will in fact beat me to the truck–I'm not going to bother racing–and right now, I don't feel like running.
Sammy's always in a hurry to get to the next step, her mind moving faster than anyone else's, but me?
Sometimes I want to stand still and let the silence settle around me while my head fills with the dreams my best friend has been spinning and my fingers twitch with plans for the next thing I'm going to build. Sometimes, just every so often, I want to think we'd be okay if we just stood still for a second.
Instead of always charging toward the next distraction.
An hour later we've got all of my equipment sitting in front of the garage and half the boxes moved out of the place. And much to my surprise, we've found an old car buried under all of theclutter. It's old enough to be more rounded curves than sharp edges and Sammy immediately started clapping and shouting about how we could have a second car if we could fix it up.
Like we need a second vehicle when we never go anywhere separately.
As usual, though, I can't tell the girl no, and within five minutes we've got the hood up and I'm going over the engine, cleaning it as quickly as I can, twisting and turning pieces and trying to figure out how much of it is still usable. She's reaching out to try to help and I'm slapping her hand out of the way, which leads to her giggling and slapping me back.
I drop the rag and the remains of the piece I've just taken out of the engine and fix a stern look on my face.
Like I'm actually upset.
Like I could ever be upset at the girl.
She starts backing up, giggling like a little girl, and I flex my hands, refusing to let my face show the laughter trying to bubble up out of my chest. Then, without warning, I spring forward, wrapping her in my arms and twisting until she's secure and my hands are free. I stretch my fingers toward her ribs and start tickling her until her giggles become screeches of laughter, her feet kicking at me and her tiny body squirming like she actually has a prayer of getting away from me.
News flash: She doesn't. She's been smaller than me since the day we met, and though I rarely take advantage of it, sometimes the girl needs to be reminded.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" I huff, knee buckling when she lands a blow on my foot. "No slapping, Sammy!"
She laughs and aims another kick at my leg, undeterred. "That's a rule from when we were little, not right now!"
This is such a crazy response that for a moment, I forget that I need to come up with one of my own, and we're struggling insilence when I hear a loud clearing of someone's throat coming from the doorway.
I drop Sammy so fast she stumbles and turn toward the sound, mind spinning. I thought we were alone in here, and the sudden incursion of someone else...
Someone seeing Sammy and I wrestling like we're little kids rather than near-adults.
Near-adults who are also step-siblings.
Sammy and I have been best friends, soul ties, since we were eight, and everyone in town has known it. Hell, they're all surprised if they see one of us without the other. But lately I've noticed longer looks from the people in town, and I don't like it.
Lately, I've started trying harder not to touch her at all when we're in public, because I'm afraid I know exactly what sits underneath those long looks.
