“Dog gentleman,” he corrected.
I laughed. “Yes, dog gentleman. I almost forgot. That was the term we decided on.”
A slow smile spread across Leo’s lips, and I couldn’t help but mirror the action, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.
By the time we left the puppy cafe, the sun was sinking into the horizon. The temperature had cooled, too, and I tugged the sleeves of my jumper down so they covered my hands.
Leo fished out his phone and checked the time. “It’s five thirty already.”
“Do you need to head off?”
He focused on returning his phone to his pocket rather than looking at me. “No. Not necessarily.” He met my eyes and winced. “Sorry, I’m just now realising how long I was talking your ear about places I wanted to visit.”
“Don’t be sorry. I was having a great time, especially with Napoleon Bonaparte at my feet.”
“Don’t you mean Emperor Napoleon I?” Leo said with a raised brow.
I grinned. “You’re right. How could I forget his proper title? Anyway, he was such a good boy.”
Leo glanced away and nodded. Silence stretched out between us, and I wondered whether I’d said something wrong. “Well,” I began before the silence became excruciatingly awkward. “If you’re not busy, do you want to get something to eat?”
“Like dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. I mean, if you want to.” Despite his hesitant words, he looked genuinely interested.
“I want to,” I said. “If you want to.”
He nodded, body straightening up. “What kind of food do you like? Oh, I know this new place has opened up in the city, and it’s meant to have really good pizza. You like pizza, right?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I’ll get up the directions.” He tapped on his phone and led the way, and we agreed we’d rather walk towards the heart of the city than catch a tram. That way, by the time we arrived, it would be dinner time, and the exercise would help work up an appetite.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“…Yes?”
“You sound unsure.”
“I’m scared.”
“It’s nothing weird, I promise.”
“Okay, hit me.”
“But you have to promise to be honest.”
“I’m really scared now.”
I laughed as we arrived at a road, the pedestrian lights red. I touched Leo’s arm to get his attention, and he looked at me with a nervousness in his eyes.
“As an architecture expert, what are your feelings on the Sydney Opera House?” I asked.
His body crumpled in relief before he immediately perked up, expression serious. “I have a lot of thoughts. Personally, I like it, though I reckon a lot of my classmates think it's cool to hate on it, you know, the way people rag on things from their own country…”
As we walked into the city, the streets lined with oak trees replaced with tall silver buildings, noisy trams and the hustle and bustle of crowds, Leo defended the Sydney Opera House before we moved on to discussions of Melbourne vs Sydney (he’d grown up in Sydney, I argued for Melbourne), which Australian snacks were overrated (none, I’d argued, but he thought TimTams were too sweet, which made me slap his arm) and the different TV shows we’d watched as kids.
