“I love the guitar,” Thea said. “What’s your fave?”
I rubbed the back of my neck, shrugged. “I don’t know. Rock music, mostly. Guns N’ Roses. Foo Fighters. Pearl Jam.”
Thea cocked her head. “Funny, I don’t know those.”
“You’ve never heard of Guns N’ Roses?”
She frowned. “I don’t know, actually… Should I have?” Then she slugged me in the arm playfully. “Don’t music-shame me, James. I’m a techno-and-dance gal. Behold… my sweet, sweet Chicken Neck dance moves.”
She thrust her head forward on her neck, over and over, and a laugh burst out of me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a cloud of dust and moths had puffed out too. I envied how easily she inhabited her own skin. No self-consciousness.
She is who she is.
“Jim?”
I blinked.
“You’re staring.”
How can I not?
“Can’t blame you, though,” she said and then clapped her hand over her eyes. “Oh my God, that sounded like so egomaniac… ish. Egomaniacal? Is that a word?” She laughed. “I meant that I make a spectacle of myself. Or so my sister is always saying.”
“You dance like no one’s watching, even when people are watching,” I said.
“I hope that’s not a subtle jab at my mad dance skills.”
“Never,” I said. I’d never had a conversation go this easily for me. I talked as easily as she danced. No hesitation. “What do you paint?” I asked. “Fruit bowls?”
She gave me a sly, playful look. “What do you think I paint?”
I shrugged, jammed my hands in my pockets. “If I had to guess… I’d say big stuff. The Grand Canyon, maybe. I’d guess you use lots of colors, too.”
“Big and colorful, eh?” She laced her fingers behind her back. “And what makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. Something about you.”
That sounded like a bad line, but the truth would have been too much. That in only a handful of minutes in her presence I felt the magnitude of her.
“Well, you have me pegged pretty close,” she said. “I mostly paint scenes of Egypt. Pyramids, Cleopatra, the Nile. It’s my thing.”
I nodded. “Had a feeling.”
“Did you?” Our eyes met and her smile turned private. Just for me. “I have a feeling about you too, Jim Whelan.”
My heart did a slow roll. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Outside, you’re built like a brick wall with a movie star face and a badass black leather jacket. Inside? Deep as the Grand Canyon.” Her eyebrows raised inquisitively. “Am I close?”
I shrugged. “I… I don’t know…”
“You shrug a lot too,” she said. “Don’t do that. Your thoughts aren’t inconsequential.”
Our eyes met again and the “brick wall” I’d built to keep myself safe felt useless against her. Inconsequential. I had to see her again, even if that meant she’d hear the stutter.
I had a feeling Thea Hughes wouldn’t care if she did.
“So, are you visiting someone here?” I asked.