Sitting in this corner, perched on a tall stool with my sketchbook and lemonade crammed together on a small table, I have a perfect view of Kyle’s office door. Sounds good, right?
Nope.
It’s distracting as hell. Every time there’s a flash of movement in the corner of my eye, every time the volume of chatter dips, even for a split second, my chin jerks up and I stare at that door, my sketchbook forgotten.
That squirmy, restless feeling churns in my stomach. I shift on my stool, my lilac t-shirt dress sticking to my back from sweat, and stare at that closed door with dry eyes, desperate for a single glimpse.
It’s never him. Kyle may not even be here tonight, but I’m on high alert anyways, struggling to sink into my drawing like I normally do. Guess I’m still on edge after yesterday’s clo
