“It’s not good enough,” she says.
Unlikely. Leighton is amazing. A better designer than I am. She does all the shop’s graphics. She slays them, but she never takes credit.
I press my palm against the counter. Stretch my fingers. I love this job like my life depends on it, but it’s too sedentary. I need to move. “I’m gonna go for a run. If you don’t want help—”
“I do. Thank you.” She turns the laptop to me to show off a green on white logo design. Health Express. “It’s a fictional fast casual restaurant. I want it to look healthy. Is the green too obvious?”
“Obvious is good.”
Her shiny silver nails tap the counter. “You… you aren’t saying anything.”
“It’s good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
“Just good?”
“Great.”
“But?”
She taps the counter with her pointer finger. “Something’s missing.”
“I know that. I need to know what.”
I blink. Stare with fresh eyes. It’s a great design. Bold. Classic. But too busy. “Pick one, the eggplant or the name.”
“No name? All eggplant. Is that really—”
I chuckle. “That’s what you’re going for.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” She plays coy. “It’s a simple vegetable.”
“That’s shaped like a dick.”
“Never considered that.” She holds her poker face for a few moments.
It cracks.
Her laugh bounces around the room, drowning out every other sound.
I can’t help but smile. It feels so fucking good, seeing her like this. “Send it to me tonight. After you revise it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know what I think.”
“Thanks.”
There’s nothing left to say, but I don’t want to tear myself away from her. I want to linger at the counter, helping her with the design, teasing her about her taste in broken musicians, talking about nothing.
But there’s something in her expression.
Something that says leave me alone.
So I do.