Page 29 of Sunset Catchers

“Ever heard of happy hour? Also known as bonding time for coworkers.”

I take it back. I like guys better when they are dumb and hollow as a bell. (A note for the universe: that was a lie. Please don’t send one my way.)

“Pretty sure it can only be called Happy hour if the participants are actually happy to be there,” I point out.

“I’ll be happy for the both of us.”

I shake my head, unwilling to give in to his loophole. His jaw thicks. “It’s better if we keep our relationship strictly professional,” I tell him.

An emotion flits over his face, too quick for me to decipher, before it leaves behind a deeper frown on his face.

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

“I’m not agreeing on anything with you!”

He sighs loudly. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any air remaining in his lungs.

There’s just something about Levi wanting to know me that triggers me. Something about anyone wanting to see my insides that makes me sick to my stomach. Sure, I’m in my growth era, but I’m definitely still relying on old self-defense mechanisms as a crutch anytime I feel too wobbly and out of sorts.

“Why are you being difficult on purpose?”

I winced against the jab that was yelled at me in anger pretty much on a daily basis, for a large part of my life.

When I was six, it was over my aversion to any kind of green vegetable. Then, at thirteen, when my hormones were raging and I was feeling angsty about everything, which didn’t suit my mother at all. And again all through my adolescent years and even into early adulthood.

I’m not difficult on purpose, I swear.

It’s just how my brain is wired. An infinity of connecting wires that makes me, well, me. Levi tracks my reaction, and although it confuses him, there’s also some remorse there.

We eye each other for long seconds.

“Will you just have dinner here tonight, please? Just bring your girl dinner and sit at this table. We don’t even have to talk. We’ll eat in complete silence.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He rolls his eyes.

I sigh, weighing my options. I mean he is right. I can admit that I am not being purposefully easy in this instance. It’s one hundred percent a way for me to hide away. My best friend’s words come to the surface of my mind again. Being loud and annoying and convincing, as they yell through my thick skull.

It’s fine to make a new friend, they say. Just be yourself, they say.

I’m twenty-eight years old! I pay my taxes! I shouldn’t still be so fearful of letting people in, especially not at surface level. I need to chill out. Maybe I can just offer him the appetizer version of my personality. That way, he won’t get sick of me from the get-go.

Plus, he’ll discover soon enough that I’m not a tall glass of cold, refreshing water. I’m more of a short glass of strong liquor that burns on its way down. I’m too potent to enjoy abundantly.

“Fine!” I settle. “But I’m out of here at eight. On the ticking dot!”

“Fine,” he agrees without so much as a hint of a smile. As if he knows that it would set me off again. As if he knows that he can win the battle, but he certainly can’t overtly claim victory.

I trudge petulantly toward the door, holding my supplies close to my chest, without a last look for Levi and without closing the door behind me. He can deal with that.

“Oh and Win?” Levi calls out while I’m walking down his porch, “Feel free to leave your bad attitude in your own cottage.”

I shuffle the paint tins around, then throw my middle finger over my shoulder.

I don’t turn to see if he sees it.

His resounding laugh tells me that he did.

Levi probably thinks he won, but he does not know what he’s getting himself into by wanting to know me.