The Checklist, Addie Woolridge [ebook reader for pc and android txt] 📗

are ready to sing,” Mike crowed as Dylan hacked away at the pattern she had already forgotten. Fortunately, she knew the words. She packed away whatever inhibitions she had. This was the two of them in a soundproof box, so what did she have to lose?

Taking a deep breath, she let loose the opening line of the song.

Mike grimaced as Dylan continued to poke at random notes with one hand, gesturing wildly with the other. “You better start singing!” she threatened in between verses over the sad protestations of the keyboard.

“I was wrong. No need for me to sing too.”

“Do it,” Dylan demanded.

Mike’s mischievous grin lasted a beat before he joined in with his own interpretive gestures, his appalling falsetto testing the padded walls. Risking a glance at the booth window, Dylan could see several kids giggling at him. He either didn’t know or didn’t care. Dylan had to admit that if she was going to howl with someone, she was glad it was someone who also knew the words to a Jackson 5 song and made up his own dance moves.

By the time the Jacksons wailed their last “la la las,” Dylan had given up on hitting a single key and resorted to voguing over Michael’s wails. She descended into cackles as she struck a final pose, and Mike bowed to the not-inconsiderable crowd of children who had gathered to watch two adults lose their marbles. Tapping her elbow, he waved to the door. “We should let them use the room for its intended learning purpose.”

“Being an adult means sacrificing for the next generation,” Dylan sighed, taking the scarf from around her neck and reaching for the door.

Within three seconds several kids had rushed into the room, excited to try.

“As much as I want to relive every tragic-sounding episode of Carpool Karaoke with you, I feel like we should try to hit one more place. I don’t want to take up your entire day.” Mike moved back toward the elevator, smiling at her over his shoulder as he wove around the other guests. She felt her heart squeeze, even as she mentally listed all the other things she should be doing with her time. As much as Dylan didn’t want to admit it, her family might be on to something with the whole spur-of-the-moment-plan thing. Being spontaneous could be fun. Or at least it could be fun depending on who she was with.

Perhaps it was the magic of the museum getting to her, but Dylan felt like she would happily surrender her day to Mike. Yes, the living room needed dusting, but listening to a grown man bay at the moon for her benefit was far more enjoyable.

“If we create spaces for children, they should be allowed to be children in them,” Mike said, a forgotten bite of salad stuck to the fork he was holding. “School gives them the rote stuff. I want to provide an avenue for children to explore those ideas through play. But I also want an experience that shifts as kids grow.”

“It’s the difference between children completing a worksheet and the space being a worksheet.” Dylan leaned over her sandwich, wondering how he managed to make his enthusiasm this infectious. She wasn’t sure she had a passion for experiential learning, but by the time her stomach had started growling in the Seattle Art Museum, she was convinced he was on to something big with Crescent. The question was how to get donors to buy into his vision. It wasn’t as if she could convince every one of her parents’ collectors to spend a day at the museum. She could ask Tim . . .

Dylan dismissed the thought almost as soon as it crossed her mind. She couldn’t even get the guy to send an email, and when he did “follow directions,” the end result stayed in the news for days, so why would she inflict him on Mike? That would be like giving someone a parakeet for the holidays. Cute, but way more work than they signed up for when they agreed to the office white elephant. Tim was not the answer to this problem. There had to be a better solution. She just needed a little time to think on it.

“Right!” Mike waved his fork around and seemed to notice it for the first time. “Anyway, I don’t know if you could tell—I get worked up about this stuff.” He laughed. “But no more. Tell me, what’s new with you?” he asked, finally eating the bite of salad.

“It’s been busy. But good!” For a small second, Dylan thought maybe she sounded less obtuse than she felt.

At least, until Mike quirked his eyebrow over the rim of his iced tea. He took his time finishing a sip, then answered, “Go on.” He leaned back with the good-natured smile of someone who could wait all day for her to speak.

“Well, work has been challenging, but I expected that,” she conceded, finishing off the last bite of her sandwich and picking up her napkin. She took a moment to watch the smoky clouds roil by and decided they had about an hour before it started to rain with intention. “My attempt at convincing Tim to be decent is still trending on social media. So there is that.”

“Yeah, I was trying not to ask about it,” Mike admitted, taking another sip of his drink and leaning forward conspiratorially. “What happened?”

“You are a gossip, Mike Robinson. You should’ve just come out and asked.”

“Me? Never. Being a gossip requires me to turn around and tell someone. I plan on telling no one. So what’s the deal?”

“It was bad. But what made it worse was, he was genuinely trying to make it better,” Dylan said, dropping her napkin on the table and throwing her hands up. “We had a whole chat about moving the coffee stand back to the lobby. Then, BAM! Diet off-brand pop. I mean, what the hell?”

Mike shook his head, his now-dark eyes fixed on