Page 12 of Crash and Burn
"Why don't you come with me on one of my jobs?" Grant asked.
"For real?" I asked, eyes wide.
"You could be my assistant," he said. "Fetch me coffee, bring me donuts. That sort of thing." His eyes glimmered with humor.
"If you're serious about it, I'd love to," I told him. "I don't even mind the coffee thing."
"Next time I've got one booked, I'll let you know." His brows drew down into a frown. "I'm sure there will be a dozen more of them, anyway," he muttered under his breath.
It was rare to see such a dark look cross Grant's face. I immediately sensed something was up.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"It's nothing," Grant said with a careless shrug.
"It doesn't sound like nothing," I replied. "Is something wrong with your photography business?"
"No, business is great," he said. "That's sort of the problem."
"How so?" I asked. "I thought your side gig was going to help put Sammy through college when she graduated?" I continued, referring to Grant's little sister.
Grant let out a rueful laugh and rubbed at his chin, where the stubble was beginning to show.
"It makes me sound so ungrateful," he said. "I should be jumping for joy that things are going this well."
"But?" I urged him to continue.
"Between bartending and these paid gigs, I don't have a lot of time for my own stuff, you know?" He looked vaguely sheepish. "I got into photography because I loved the art. I've taken photos of a single scrap of discarded paper lying on a sidewalk. A single leaf floating in a dirty puddle. I love capturing small moments like that." Grant rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. "It sounds so stupid," he said, the words muffled behind his hand.
"Not at all," I told him. "You have an inner artist and he doesn't feel fulfilled."
"What a problem to have, huh?" he snorted wryly as he lowered his hand. "I'm finally able to help Mom with the bills, and Sammy's college fund is growing by the day. But…”
"Don't feel bad for feeling that way," I said. "It means you have an artist's soul. That's something not many people have. You should encourage that part of you. Feed it and fill your creative well."
Grant stared at me. A soft smile crossed his lips.
"Thanks, Liz," he said. "You always know what to say to make me feel like I'm not a dumbass."
"I didn't say you're not a dumbass," I replied.
He chuckled.
"For real though, Liz," he said. "You're the best friend a guy could have."
Friend.
I forced a weak smile.
"You could ask Mason for time off to work on your personal art," I offered.
"That might not be a bad idea," Grant said. "He's thinking of hiring some new people anyway. I could give away a few shifts."
"What about…" I thought hard. "What's his face? The new bartender."
"Mike? Matt? Mark? I can't remember his name." Grant pursed his lips. "I don't think it matters. The guy won't be here long."
"Did he tell you he's quitting?" I asked.
