“Yes. Because I never can resist women who fall out of boats.”
“My actions showed you how free and fun-loving I am.”
“Your actions showed me that you have bad balance and worse judgment.”
“You admired how . . . unhindered I can be.”
“Unhinged, did you say?”
She laughed.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile, not really. But his lips did edge up on one side. Also, she thought she detected a flare of humor behind those jewel-green eyes as well as something that looked like . . . admiration? Reluctant fondness?
“I love our gondola story,” she said.
“It’s not believable enough.”
“And I think its uniqueness is the thing that makes it believable. It’s the sort of meet-cute that ends up leading people to their ideal match.”
“I don’t know what a meet-cute is.”
“It’s the charming way people first meet their lifelong loves. You can't meet your lifelong love doing pullups at a gym.”
“You absolutely can.”
“Did you meet one of your girlfriends at the gym?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder you’re no longer together. So anyway, where was I? I haven’t finished our tale.”
“Oh, good,” he said, deadpan.
She reached around in her brain for where she'd left her story the way she often had to reach around in the dark for her slippers. “Ah! We're sitting in the gondola and I’m shivering adorably. I look like a gorgeous mermaid, slightly moist.”
He winced.
She tilted her head. “What’s the wince about? I know it can’t be about me looking like a gorgeous mermaid.”
“It's that word.”
“Which word? Was it—”
He made astopsignal with his hand. “Don’t say it out loud.” He spelled out the letters. “M-O-I-S-T.”
“You have word aversions?” she asked with delight.
“I do.”
“Will you please tell them to me?”
He didn't reply.
She ate chowder, waiting.
“I don't want you torturing me with them,” he said after a time. “And I don't want to have to say them out loud.”
“You don’t have to say them out loud. You can type them in a note.” She slid her phone across the table.
