Sugar on the Edge(21)

I can’t help myself but throw my head back and laugh. “Ah, yes, you did. But you wouldn’t have done that had you not had a flash of temper run through you. That was all involuntary. You’d never have the guts to stand up for yourself like that in calmer times.”

“Okay… that caught me off guard, but that’s just one example,” she says.

“I could give you dozens, Savannah. How about when you showed up at my house last week. You were so intimidated by me being in my boxers that you would have given up this job you say you so desperately need. You got intimidated when I asked you about your feelings for Brody the other night. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being that way… I’m just saying you have anti-heroine traits that I’m going to exploit in my book.”

Her eyes narrow at me, and I can tell she’s pissed. I’m betting she’s going to push out of her shell again with me in three, two, one…

“You really are an asshole,” she exclaims hotly, and then takes a deep breath that she lets out in a rush. “And yes, I realize I’m calling you that in another bout of anger, but I vow to you… I’m going to call you that one day without any provocation. Mark my words.”

I can’t help but grin at her.

Savannah scoots the stool back further and steps away from the counter, leaving the rest of her meal uneaten. She turns and heads for the door.

“Running away?” I taunt her. “So very anti-heroine.” I’m not sure why I’m goading her, but I’m enjoying this moment.

“Not at all,” she replies smoothly as she picks up her purse. Her voice is even and without anger. “As it so happens, I have a job to get to that starts in about half an hour. Thank you for dinner. It was… enlightening.”

“What job are you going to?” I ask curiously, because all of a sudden, I kind of don’t want her to leave.

“I work part time for a photographer as an assistant,” she says as she turns to look back at me.

“Have an interest in photography?”

“That’s actually my main job. I have a BA from Carnegie Mellon with a minor in photography and digital imaging. Unfortunately, I just got laid off from my job as the photographer for the local newspaper, so I’m taking whatever kind of work I can find right now.”

“You’re kidding?” I ask, absolutely surprised for some reason.

“What… blowing your image of the passive, little house cleaner? Didn’t think someone of my mettle could finish college? Have a real career?”

“No, that’s not what I think at all,” I tell her, although… if I’m honest, I probably assumed she didn’t have much ambition.

“Well… sorry if that puts a kink in the anti-heroine character you’re writing. If it’s any help to you, I haven’t started looking for another photography job yet. That should keep me firmly in your narrow little box you have formed around me for the time being.”

Okay, I deserved that.

“Why haven’t you looked?” I ask, because I’m stalling so she’ll stay for maybe just a moment more and continue to fascinate me. “Clearly, you didn’t go to college to clean houses or be someone’s assistant?”

“Because… I’m probably going to have to relocate to find something, and I haven’t decided where I want to go yet. So, I’m just surviving right now.”

It seems sweet Savannah, who is definitely still on the shy and timid side, may have a bit more to her than I originally suspected. Before I can say anything though, she turns to the door. “I need to go, so I’m not late. Thanks again for dinner, and if you don’t mind rinsing the plates when you’re done, that would make my job a little easier on Friday.”

She’s out the door before I can even say goodbye.

I finish my meal, ruminating on our conversation. It hits me hard that it was probably the longest conversation, sober anyway, that I’ve had with someone in a long time. I didn’t think Savannah Shepherd held much for interest me, but I’m finding she has layers that I had overlooked.

Maybe she’s not quite the Milquetoast I thought she was.

This, of course, does not bode well for the character I just introduced. My muse apparently has a bit more resolve than I originally thought, and my mind starts spinning on how I can work this into my story.





I fumble putting the key in Gavin’s front doorknob, blinking my eyes to clear my vision. I’m so exhausted I’m practically asleep on my feet, and I’m not sure the last time I ate. I’m going to have to sneak a few veggies out of his fridge or something just to stop the rumbling of my stomach.