SUMMER
"So,” I coughed to ease the tension. “Tell me about yourself," I said.
"There's not much to tell," he said finally. "I'm an open book."
I laughed — a real one, sudden enough that I almost choked on my straw. "Rhett. You are the opposite of an open book. You are a closed book. Locked. In a glass case. In a library that doesn't allow visitors."
He thought about this. "Fine, an open canvas then," he said.
"What?"
"I'm more of an open canvas." The corner of his mouth moved. "Blank until something happens to it."
I looked at him. "That's either very profound or very evasive."
"Both," he said pleasantly.
I smiled despite myself. "Okay. Tell me about your art then. I saw you were sketching earlier."
He seemed more comfortable with this — a subject he could approach sideways, thro
