Chapter 7: The Client Drive

On Wednesday Ivo drove me two hours up the coast to pitch the kayak line to our biggest client.

The sky turned black before we crossed the county line.

He drove with both hands on the wheel and said almost nothing.

I watched his forearms instead of the road.

"You're quiet," he said.

"You said you hate small talk."

"I hate bad small talk."

"I was thinking about my first draft," I said. "The red boat going out at dawn."

"It's good."

"You read it three times, Maud says."

"Maud says a lot of things."

His mouth moved, almost a smile.

The pitch took forty minutes.

The client loved the red boat and hated the price.

Ivo ended the argument with one flat sentence.

We left with a signed order.

I was still smiling when the rain hit.

It came down so hard that the wipers stopped helping. Ivo slowed to a crawl on the cliff road.

Ahead of us a truck braked too late and slid sideways across both lanes.

"Hold on," Ivo said.

He turned the wheel hard to the right.

The back tires lost the road, and the car dropped into the drainage ditch with a bang.

Then it was quiet except for the engine ticking.

"Joelle." His hand was on my shoulder. "Look at me. Are you hurt?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Don't move yet."

He checked my face, my neck, my arms, in that order, fast and careful.

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