Page 83 of Sunset Catchers

Or maybe it’s just me who’s changing.

I’ve always been a tough shell to crack; you had to pry me open with the sharpest knife to get to my insides. Then came Levi; he was using a butter knife, coaxing me open with softness.

The classic ringtone that signals an incoming call jars me from my thoughts. Levi looks worryingly at the truck’s display screen.

“Sorry. It must be important if my mom is calling me for the second time in a few hours.”

“Sure, answer, of course.”

I turn my head toward my window to give him some kind of privacy, completely oblivious to one important detail I only remember when my mother’s voice fills the cab: it is my phone that is connected to the car console.

Not Levi’s, mine.

And he just answered a call from my mom.

Not his, mine.

My head snaps toward the screen; I plaster myself to my seat, afraid my mother is going to come crawling out of there like the little girl in The Ring movie.

“Hello? Winnie?” she repeats, already annoyed. Levi is as horrified as me. I swallow around the sudden dryness in my mouth.

“Mom. Hi.”

“Finally, you deign to take a call from your mother.”

Here we go.

Buckle peeps, it’s going to be a bumpy, uncomfortable as hell and slightly traumatic ride.

…

“I’ve been busy, sorry.” I’m a squeaking little, scared mouse.

“Sure. It’s not as if I’m working full-time while taking care of my family. I’m certain whatever is keeping you busy is much more time-consuming than that.”

I fold my arms tightly against my torso. Why does Levi have to be here right now? I chance a quick glance his way; his hands are gripping the steering wheel.

“Anyhow, I’ve been trying to reach out to you because Ryan and I decided we wanted to redo our kitchen. And we need a designer for the job.”

My steely demeanor cracks; a slew of emotions fly quickly inside me until a flare of hope is left behind.

“That’s great!” I’m trying really hard to be careful with my enthusiasm. So the inevitable drop will be less steep. But still; I can’t help but feel sort of giddy. My mother wants to hire me!

“Yes, very. I was wondering if you had a designer to recommend.”

My brows cinch with confusion. “What?”

“Do you have a designer to recommend?” she repeats, carefully enunciating each word.

“I’m a designer,” I say simply. And it almost sounds like a question because I’m suddenly unsure of what my day job is. My eyes dash nervously toward Levi; he bobs his head encouragingly to confirm that I haven’t been thrown into an alternate dimension. I nodded a few times, reassured.

“Your style is not what we’re looking for.”

“I’m versatile. I can do any style you want. That’s not a problem.”

“I don’t think you’re whom we want.”

Right! Duh, really. My hand comes up to tuck some hair behind my burning ears while I try to compose myself. For once it stays where it should—it is as defeated as the rest of me.