“Think I hear a baseball game going on out at Coe’s Park,” he says, with a jerk of his chin. “Want to go watch?”
“Sure.” My arm brushes the pocket of Alex’s jacket, rustling something he’s got in there. I reach inside, fingers closing around afolded page of notebook paper. A number of odd phrases are jotted down in his handwriting, in a combination of Sharpie, pencil, and a pen with its ink cartridge slowly easing into the great beyond:
RT AND ME
Running back to you (for the foxes)
4runner (this one especially)
Now & then
big fat mouth
From the back of a cab
Peach (islands something??)
Edge of town
You’re so vain
My forehead puckers. “What’s this?”
Alex’s eyes pop. He dives for the paper just as I’m skimming the next line,Can you feel the love to—and I issue a reedy“Hah!”
My face is ninety-percent grin. His has gone terribly red.
“Alexander.”
“No,” he cuts in.
“Is. This.”
“No.”
“A playlist.”
“No.”
“RT and me. This is about us. This is a playlist about us, isn’t it?”
He stuffs the paper into his back pocket, neck flaming. “No, it isn’t, Miss Nosypants.” Quite rich, after he rummaged through my charm bag. “RT is my girlfriend from Canada. You don’t know her.”
“The Lion King? Alex.Alex. Oh my goodness, that’s cute. You’re so cute, I can’t stand it. I’m gonna take you home and keep you in a shoebox.”
“Listen, if it fits my vibe, it goes on the list. No judging.”
I kick off on my bike, piloting around him in circles. Around and around I go with a grin I can’t tamp down. He stands still, watching. “Was I judging? No, I was not. I told you it was cute. Do you have this on Spotify? I want to listen.”
“You don’t have the required clearance.”
I skid out. “Excusez-moi?”
“If you can’t handle scores fromThe Lion Kingsoundtrack, I’m not showing you what else is on there. Some of the songs will seem strange because the lyrics don’t have a, you know.” He coughs into his fist. “A romantic feel. Like I said, it’s about thevibe. You’ll tease.”
“Youlovewhen I tease.” I am dying to know. I’ve never wanted to know a thing more in my life. “Please oh please oh please oh please oh please, I’ll marry you—” I snap my mouth shut. I should do that a lot more.
To deflect from my blunder, I reach up and switch our hats—his ball cap for my straw boater. “I’m into it,” I say. “You look like a hot farmer.”
