Chapter 9
When Brody finishes flipping through his sketchpad, the unfinished drawing of the birds lays open on the counter between them. Evie reaches out as if to touch it, but just points instead. “These look so real,” she says, awed. Then, as if remembering her manners, she adds, “What’s your name?”
“Brody.”
“I’m Evie.” Like she didn’t already tell him. Setting down the picture he drew for her, she says, “Write your name here so I can see it.”
He writes it out in small, block letters. She leans over his arm and watches, as if the pencil in his hand might somehow come to life and draw something wonderful, and she wants to make sure she sees it happen. But it’s just his name, BRODY, all small caps the way he writes. Disappointed, she leans heavily on the counter, her breath tickling th
