Smart Girl Read Online Free Page B

middle, ring, and pinky knuckles and then a double thumbs-up, before bending my thumbs for one last pop. I started doing that last one after a year of clarinet in the seventh grade.
    He winces.
    “I know . That’s why I was trying to find an alternative.” I bite my lip again. “How does this look?”
    His pained expression is almost comical.
    “How does it feel?”
    I try it again a few times.
    “It feels like an English bulldog trying to gnaw off the top half of its face.”
    His bark of laughter is loud in the empty space.
    “Yep, that’s exactly how it looks. For the record, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to bite your bottom lip—and just on one side,” he adds almost as an afterthought.
    “Noted.”
    When I realize how ridiculous this conversation is, I grin. I love that I’ve encouraged him to participate in the ridiculous with me.
    He clears his throat.
    “So, what do you imagine for the space?”
    I spin away from him to look at it again.
    “You’re still dead set on the vegan Latin fusion thing?” I wrinkle my brow. Even the words taste gross. I can’t imagine what the food will be like.
    “ Upscale organic vegan Latin cuisine, yes.”
    I nod, my eyes stopping at the skylights again.
    “OK. I’m thinking Spain. But, like, Spain as described by Gabriel García Márquez, and it has a baby with an Ian Schrager hotel.”
    I spin back around to face him.
    “Do you see what I mean?”
    His phone rings again. He doesn’t even glance to see who it is before silencing it. For once he doesn’t make a smart-aleck comment or tease me. He actually looks like he’s genuinely trying to see what I see in the room. Finally he shakes his head.
    “I know the definition of each of those words; I just don’t have any idea what you mean when you use them together to describe a restaurant.”
    I push a mass of blue-tipped hair out of my face and walk over to stand next to him. My hair is basically a physical manifestation of my mood at any given time. When I’m designing, it tends to get just as excited as I am.
    “OK, let’s start from the bottom and work our way up.” I point out the busted concrete below our feet. “For the floor I’d suggest—wait, what’s the budget?”
    “Extensive.”
    I grin.
    “My favorite kind.” I tap the floor with the tip of my toe. “I’d start with a reclaimed wood then. We’d stain with something really light, but the natural color of the individual planks would look like a rich tapestry, juxtaposed with the white ceiling. I’d set the bar to run along the entire wall there. Gods know people are going to need a cocktail when they realize they’ve wandered into a place that only serves vegan food. The bar façade could almost be a statement piece unto itself—Mexican tile or possibly Moroccan.” I considered it for a moment. “But a bold pattern for sure. Black and white, maybe? I know Márquez was Colombian, by the way. When I mention him on Spanish vacation, I just mean the style and flair of Barcelona but brushed by the vintage elegance in one of his books. You with me?”
    A quick glance up at him makes my heart stop. There’s something that looks almost like pride on his face. It’s incredibly sweet but also terrifyingly like the way you might look at your little sister—or your little sister’s friend. The last way I want Liam to be feeling about me is fraternal. Ugh!
    I hurry on to describe the rest of it in detail. The large metal pendant lights, the long communal dining tables, even the servers’ uniforms: white button-downs rolled up at the sleeve, a different shade of the hipster aprons we sourced for Max’s bakery. Throughout my description Liam nods politely and asks intelligent questions, but I get the impression that he still can’t visualize most of what I’m describing.
    “Would you like me to draw you a picture?”
    He nods.
    “That would be great. You can send over the information about your retainer, and then maybe you could get