“Cut a lime?”
“Any fruit, actually.”
“Of course I have,” he replied indignantly.
But even then, when we’d known each other a second, two seconds, I wasn’t worried that he was going to walk away. It didn’t feel like that. It felt like I was giving my friend crap. “Okay, well, I think you should focus on what you’re doing and stop actively listening. We can resume our conversation once you put down the knife.”
“I can multitask,” he repeated defensively right before he cut his finger.
I looked at him with raised eyebrows, and he passed me the knife. “Wash that off,” I directed him. “I’ll see if Luna has any gauze and lavender oil.”
“What?”
“Laven—never mind. Just wash it. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not a child,” he yelled after me, but I knew better.
Of course, because she was a dancer, Luna had every bandage known to man in her medicine cabinet. I was thrilled that she had the lavender oil too, and when she passed it to me, we had a moment there in her bathroom.
“Very handsome man you’re holding hostage in my kitchen,” she informed me.
“I know.”
“He’s got great shoulders.”
“I noted them.”
“I bet he’s even more beautiful without his clothes on.”
“I suspect so,” I agreed.
She nodded. “Maven struck out. Hard.”
“Don’t gloat. It doesn’t become you.”
“No?”
I chuckled and turned away, but she caught hold of my bicep and held on.
“We could be friends if you let me.”
“Are you sure? You’ve talked behind my back.”
“We all do. You do too.”
“That’s valid.”
She tipped her head, smiling at me. “Let’s start with my name. Call me Lu.”
“Then call me Cel.”
“I thought shortened, it would be like a plant cell or like I want to sell shit at the flea market. I didn’t think it would be like Kel, like you shortened Kelly.”
“But Celso has a hard K sound, not a C sound.”
“Okay, then,” she said, through talking about it, her interest in the topic waning, “I’ll bring you that horror show you call coffee, with all the shots in it, in the morning. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Saturday.”