I take a seat across from her and study her. She’s tapping her pen against the table, reading over the jotted questions on the paper, chewing on her lower lip. Her mascara is still smudged beneath her eyes, but other than that she looks fresh, her skin like cream. I guess she can feel my gaze because she finally looks up. “So,” I prompt her and gesture to the work in front of her, “what’s this?”
Her mouth twists sheepishly. “I realized that I still haven’t interviewed you properly.”
“You really aren’t much of a journalist, are you?” I say. I know I don’t sound like I’m joking, but I am. Still, Kayla’s mouth turns down at that and I realize she’s far more sensitive about this whole thing than I thought.
“No,” she says after a beat. “I’m just trying.”
I don’t like hearing that melancholy in her voice. It’s such a change from the coy, flirtatious girl from earlier. “You’re doing a great job,” I reassure her.
“Do you mind?”
I shake my head. “Ask away.” I pause. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman this time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like it when people say what’s on their mind,” she says. “I’m not so different.”
“No, you definitely aren’t.”
She looks at me, eyes soft, and I can’t help but stare back at her. You could get lost in those eyes. They’re so dark, like wandering in the woods at night.
I clear my throat, realizing I’m scrutinizing her, and she sits up straighter, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “Well, the one thing I want to know is…why is this such a passion project for you?”
“Bram’s initiative?”
“Yeah,” she says, tapping her pencil against her lips. “What made you hop on a plane from Scotland and come to help him out? Are the two of you really close?”
I watch her for a moment, but her expression is hopeful, innocent. She doesn’t realize she’s almost getting too personal again. “We’re not that close, but I take family very seriously. Truth be told, I misunderstood Bram. From his social media, from what my parents would say about him, I just assumed he was a playboy who wouldn’t grow up. And while that was true, I also didn’t think he was the type to be charitable. But what he’s doing proves the guy is really invested in making a difference. He wants to do more with his life. He wants to be seen as more. And that’s something I can relate to.”
“This is almost turning into a bromance,” she says under her breath.
“Also,” I add carefully, “I believe in his vision. The underrepresented are the underdogs. They are the ones fighting a fight that no one can imagine. He’s giving a home to those people, the ones who have been cast aside. The strays. The wounded, the ruined, and the lost. Society can’t begin to understand their problems, and it rarely provides a solution either. Though Bram’s complex is small, it’s a start. Big things start somewhere. Great things can come from this.”
She’s scribbling furiously as she writes it all down. I eye her phone. “Would it not be easier to record this on your phone?”
She smiles but doesn’t look up. “It feels more authentic this way.” She reads it over, her lips moving, then raises her brow, impressed. “So do you think you’ll go back to Scotland wanting to do something similar? Follow in his footsteps?”
My lips twitch into a small smile. “I might.”
Her brows furrow. She’s assessing me, trying to read what I mean. I know better than to turn her away from the subject matter. This is really about Bram, not me.
We talk a bit more about the next steps needed in the development, my rugby career, and some things about Scotland. To her credit, she manages to keep the questions at a shallow level, even though after a while I want to flip the tables on her and start asking her questions. Not to even the score—just because I’m getting curious. I hate to admit it, but I want to know more about her—this crazy, flirtatious, ballsy, ambitious, yet sensitive girl. From the things I’ve heard from Bram compared to the things I’ve seen, I’m starting to think she’s a bit misunderstood too.
But I don’t ask her. Because that’s not why I’m here and that’s not why she’s here, no matter how I catch her glancing at me from time to time. Funny how it annoys me when Justine casts a sly glance, but when Kayla does it…it’s flattering.
That’s just my ego talking though. Sometimes it can be as big as the moon. Other days it’s not much more than a seed.
When we’re all done, I get up from my chair and say, “That went well. I hope you got everything you need.”
She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Oh,” and gets to her feet and starts shoving her stuff in her purse. “Yes, thank you. That should be it. I think I already have the angle and everything.”
“Good,” I say, feeling strangely awkward. “If you need anything else, just ask.” I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much in a long time, and even though saying goodbye should be simple, somehow it’s not coming across that way.
I watch as she slides her shoes on her feet. I suppress a grin from the sight of her in my baggy workout clothes and leopard print heels.
She looks up and catches my eye, flashing me a playful smile. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.”