“It’s great,” says Nakamura exactly as I say, “I’m having a fantastic time.”
“Can we talk in an hour when I’m done here?” Nakamura asks when Connie leaves.
“An hour? It’ll be front page news by then,” I say, still stiffly frozen in place, the two of us looking like a bad approximation of American Gothic.
That gets her to turn her head and glance up at me, through bangs and glasses, with a look that could saw through bedrock.
“You think your dating life is that newsworthy?” she asks, voice clipped, precise, as the movement of her head slides her hair over the backs of my fingers.
I take a strand between index and middle, twirl softly, smile down at her like she’s told me a charming joke.
“Babe, I know my dating life is that newsworthy,” I say, mostly because it’ll piss her off more. “I’m kind of a big deal around here.”
Nakamura mutters something so low I can’t hear it, only imagine.
“As soon as I’m done here,” she says, pulling her hair from my hand. “I agreed to run the pie auction, which means I need to be here and make sure it all goes smoothly and no one harms or absconds with a pie.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, head turned.
“Sorry.”
It’s almost as surprising as the word lover.
“Are you?”
“Absolutely.”
Of all the high-handed nerve.
“See you in a bit, babe,” I say, loud again, and give her shoulder a squeeze. “Good luck with the pies.”
“Thanks, babe,” she says, and tries a smile, that edge back in her voice, and I kiss the top of her head, hair warm beneath my lips. I do it to piss her off and to look right in public, but mostly it’s the adrenaline and the sheer pleasure of white knuckling a problem that makes me.
Then I walk away, equal parts annoyed, irritated, and giddy with the recklessness.