Page 35 of Hard to Forgive

“I don’t know about you, but my reading comprehension is actually pretty good.”

“Do you have to make everything difficult?” I demanded.

He ignored me and went back to the email. I pulled up my own and started to read as quickly as I could. I had a burning urge to finish the email before he did, mainly out of spite. No, itwas completely out of spite. I was spite reading an email because someone was annoying me.

Why did this man bring out the worst in me?

The thought forced me to slow down. I scrolled back to the top of the email and pulled up a blank document to make notes. I was a quarter of the way through when I felt his eyes on me. I refused to look up. Instead, I just kept going. Ten minutes later, I had the email written and a few thoughts and a short outline of the core requirements in my document.

When I looked up, he was still looking at me.

“What?” I questioned.

“You actually took notes?”

“It helps me remember the important things.” Not that I owed him an explanation, but I didn’t like the judgmental tone in his voice. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“No,” he answered too quickly. I shot him a disbelieving look, and he did something completely unexpected.

He pulled out a little notebook from his bag. It was the same notebook I’d watched him draw his meticulous designs in the day we were all tasked with presenting ideas for the UI. He opened the notebook to a page with a careful drawing of an app’s home page. There were arrows pointing to different parts with carefully handwritten notes. He laid it on the table and then leaned back in his seat.

“So, not judging then?”

“No. Taking notes makes sense.” He thought for a moment and then heaved a heavy sigh. “Show me yours?”

He actually made it seem like a question, not just a demand. I fought the urge to smile and angled my computer in his direction, letting him see the notes. He read over them quietly, before pointing to one section on the screen. “I think we read that part differently.”

I tried not to smirk as he pulled up the email again on his computer and scrolled down. For the next hour, we worked through the document together. My notes grew more detailed with him offering amendments. There were several times where we debated certain points in how we interpreted an instruction, but after five or ten minutes, we managed to find common ground.

Were we actually getting along?

The world must have been ending. Jonas was acting like a rational adult instead of a tantrumming child.

After we had a completed document, I nodded back down to his still open notebook. “Is that the only sketch for the UI you have in there?”

He looked pained before shaking his head. “I have a few.”

“Will you show them to me?”

He began to flip through the pages, pausing every few pages to show me another sketched idea. Each one was meticulously drawn with perfectly straight lines and notes in his blocky handwriting. I read through each one, making mental notes on each sketch. In the end, there ended up being nine of them.

“These are pretty good,” I admitted. He offered a begrudging smile, something I didn’t think I’d ever get from the grumpy man. The dimple hadn’t made a reappearance, but I’d take what I could get. It changed his face, brightened his eyes. “You know, most people say ‘thank you’ when someone compliments them.”

The smile slipped off his face, and I cursed my big mouth.

“I was joking,” I informed him.

“Aren’t jokes supposed to be funny?”

And we were back to casually slung barbs. Of course, we were. I reached out to flip back through the notebook, but he yanked it away. “If you want to see one, let me know. I have—I have other drawings in here that aren’t anyone’s business.”

I was intrigued. “What kinds of drawings?”

“Not your business.”

I wanted to push more, but I noticed his hands. They were beginning to clench. Clearly, I was pissing him off, just asking about his other drawings. I decided, for the sake of sanity and a pleasant working environment, to let it slide. For now. I was determined to find out what else he drew and if all of his art had the same meticulous perfection of the designs he’d allowed me to see.

“Can I see the drawings again? Of the app, I mean?”

---