“Holy cow, I’m a buzzkill.” She let out a breathless chuckle. “Sorry.” “Don’t be.” I swallowed, taking a wide step so we stood flush next to each other, still observing the painting. “Shit happens. My mom died when I was nine.” “I know.” Her tone was somber but not anxious. Normally, people didn’t like it when you brought up your dead mother. Grief was an uncomfortable emotion to deal with. “That must’ve been hard.” “Well, you said you were a buzzkill. My competitive side inspired me to bring my A game.” I shrugged, my voice even.
