Page 187 of The Best Shot

Hale did not turn around. “No.”

“Page fifty-one.”

“Ava.”

“There’s a photograph.”

Annie snatched it, delighted. “He’s leaning on the Chevelle.”

“They asked me to,” Hale said to the wall, a pencil between his teeth.

“Sure they did.”

“They did.”

“Quiet down. Attention everybody.” Annie cleared her throat and everyone turned to her, except my very talkative boyfriend, who developed a sudden, intense professional interest in a pencil mark on the wall.

“The design is deceptively simple,” Annie read. “Its inventor is not.”

Grant put the level down and looked Hale over, then stretched a hand out. “Deceptively? Lemme see.”

Annie passed him the magazine. Carter leaned in over his shoulder. “Really? This is journalism?”

“Shut up,” Hale said.

“Check out the supermodel pose,” Ava cackled.

“I am standing. That is called standing.”

“Looks like a pose,” Carter agreed.

“Woman had a clipboard and a light up on a stick and she moved me four separate times, and on the fifth she said perfect and I hadn’t done one thing different. So take it up with her.”

“Mm-hmm.” I hummed.

Hale finally turned and pointed the pencil at me. “You’re supposed to be on my side, woman.”

“Always. But, in your defense, it’s a very good lean. I’d do you.”

His eyes narrowed.

I smiled innocently.

Grant still had the magazine. He tapped it against his palm twice, and his voice changed half a step. “Offer’s still open, by the way.”

“I know it is,” Hale said.

“All of it. I’ll buy you out. The whole thing. You’d never touch a fender again.”

“I know.”

“You’d have time to design.”

“I’ve got time to design. I drew that thing at the kitchen table with my dinner going cold next to me. Time was never the problem.”

“So you’re keeping the shop.”

“I’m keeping the shop,” Hale agreed. He set the frame against the wall and pressed his thumb over the tape mark.