Klein makes an aggrieved face. “You stole my punchline.” He moves the arm he has bent behind himself. With exaggerated fanfare, he holds out a bag of Laffy Taffy. “Maybe this will make up for my under-appreciated punctuality.”
I take it from him and step back into my house,fending off feelings as ooey and gooey as the bag’s contents.
“They’re a passable jumping off point. Come sit,” I say, leading him to the living room and settling on one end of the couch. I gesture at the opposite end for Klein.
“Do you still like that candy?” he asks, passing me to get to where I’ve indicated.
“Mm-hmm.” I try to keep my response blasé. There aren’t any heart tingles happening from that little act of kindness. Nothing to see here, folks.
Klein attempts to fit his tall frame on my couch. He turns around, giving my throw pillows an accusatory stink-eye when they stop him from sitting comfortably. He elbows one, asking, “Why do you have so many of these?”
“Because I like them.”
“Hmph,” he grunts.
“So,” I bring my legs up and tuck them underneath me. “Where should we begin?” I break into the bag of candy daintily, like I’m only eating it to be polite. But in my body, there’s a different story. I haven’t had Laffy Taffy in forever, and I can already taste its saccharine and artificial flavor on my tongue.
Klein extracts a piece of folded paper from his back pocket. “Well,” he unfolds it, hesitating as he sends me a worried glance. “I made a list of things I would probably know about a girlfriend.”
I nod calmly, but on the inside, I am trying not to freak out. Why do I find it so endearing that he made a list? I pop in a strawberry flavored piece of candy. The sugar hits my taste buds in a delightful assault.
I hold out a hand for the list. “May I see?”
He places it in my outstretched palm.
Musical preference
Karaoke song
Relaxation method
Favorite food
Clearing my throat, I push out the breathless feeling and tell myself this is only Klein being organized. Not kind, sweet, or thoughtful.Organized.
He plucks the list from my hand and removes a small silver pen from his pocket. Uncapping it, he lays the paper on his thigh, pen in the ready position.
I beat back a grin. Again. I’m having to do that a lot with him. “Are you afraid you won’t remember my answers?”
He shakes his head. “I like to study.”
“Right.” I remember that about him, the way he would drape over his desk in class, his dark blond hair sweeping over his forehead. Sometimes the tip of his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth when he was concentrating hard.
