Etching Our Way (Broken Tracks 1)

I clear my throat. “Sounds good.”

>

She stands up and pats my hand as she walks past me. “He’ll be fine, I promise.”

I swallow against my dry throat and watch as she gains Clay’s attention, the pair of them walking out of the room a couple of seconds later.

So many thoughts run through my head. Will he be okay? Will he break down? Is this too much for him? Should I have tried harder to get him to talk to me instead of palming him off on a total stranger?

Luckily, the vibration of my cell brings me out of my own head.

HARMONY: Whether you're going to give me a time and date, I'm a busy woman.

*Harmony Changes The Chat Colors To Green*

I shake my head at her response and the color change, yet again. She’s obsessed with changing the colors depending on what she’s doing or what mood she’s in.

TRISTAN: This Saturday? Pick you up at 8?

TRISTAN: And really, Harm? Changing the colors again?

HARMONY: Saturday night?

HARMONY: And yes, I'm outdoors so the green seemed fitting.

I chuckle and my cheeks start to hurt at the grin on my face. I haven’t smiled like this for so many years, at least not unless it involved the kids.

TRISTAN: Well... if you don't want to go then I guess I'll see this Oliver guy on my own.

HARMONY: Oliver? Oliver who?!

TRISTAN: Oliver Hunt? Do you know him?

I smirk as I watch the three dots that signal her writing a response flash on the screen. Of course, I already know that she knows him, even I’ve heard of him and I don’t follow the art scene at all.

HARMONY: Do I know him?!!!

HARMONY: He's one of my favorite artists!!!

TRISTAN: So... is that a yes?

My hands start to sweat as I wait for her response, my brain going into overdrive thinking that I may have acted too soon; been too forward.

HARMONY: 8 on Saturday, don't be late.

TRISTAN: It’s a date.

HARMONY: It's not a date.

Damn. Have I put my foot in it? I insinuated that I wanted a date.

I start to panic as I hear a door open and close down the hallway. Have I been messaging her for so long that Clay is already finished?

TRISTAN: It’s a non-date-date. I’ve got to go, Clay is coming out of his appointment.

My thumb hovers over the smiling face emoji but I shake my head. Emojis are so not my thing. I click send and stand up as I push my cell into my pocket, hearing both of their footsteps coming closer. I don’t know what to expect when Clay rounds the corner, but it’s certainly not the grinning face that greets me.

“Clay? How did it go?”