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She laughs. “Really?”
“I don’t know. You seem organized.”
“I am organized.”
“So I get partial credit?”
“You do not.”
“Okay.” I tap my finger against the side of my cup. “Marketing?”
“No.”
“Nurse?”
She shakes her head again, clearly enjoying this far more than she should.
“I didn’t realize there would be this much pressure.”
“There isn’t.”
“There definitely is.”
I narrow my eyes dramatically.
“Give me one clue.”
She considers it.
“I spend most of my day listening to people talk.”
I nod slowly.
“Journalist?”
She laughs.
“No.”
“Detective?”
Her eyes light up. “I’d probably be a terrible detective.”
“I don’t know. You’re already good at making me work for answers.”
She points across the table.
“That was a good recovery.”
“I thought so too.”
I study her for another moment.
She listens more than she talks.
She notices things.
Even over text, she’d never rushed a conversation. Every question had felt intentional, like she actually cared about the answer instead of waiting for her turn to speak.
