“His name is Theo,” I said finally. “He’s the librarian. He has this daughter or niece or goddaughter or random child—I’m notsure. Her name is Debbie. She looks around five. And . . . that’s basically all I know.”
“What does he look like?” Sisi pressed.
“Dark hair that sticks up everywhere. Glasses. Looks like he lives in cardigans.”
“Cute?” Mateo raised an eyebrow.
I felt my face heat up again. “Yeah. Really cute.”
“And?” they both said in unison.
I shrugged helplessly.
The truth was I’d been building up this whole fantasy in my head based on almost nothing. One embarrassing delivery mix-up and one brief conversation at the school. Maybe he was dating someone. Maybe he was straight. Maybe he was just being polite.
“I don’t even know if he’s gay,” I admitted. “I mean, he did kind of stutter when he accidentally complimented my arms and chest.”
Sisi shot Mateo the look one cop gives another when a perp confesses without realizing it.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” she said.
“By making a complete fool of myself again?”
“Again? Wait. Go back.” Mateo perked up. “How did you make a fool of yourself the first time?”
I groaned. “I kind of delivered a . . .personalitem to his house. His five-year-old answered the door and opened it before I could stop her.”
“Oh my God,” Sisi gasped and leaned forward. “What kind of personal item?”
“The kind that requires batteries and is named after a rabbit.”
They both stared at me for a moment, blinking and processing.
“The kid opened the box while you were standing there?” Sisi asked.
I nodded.
Then Mateo asked the obvious question. “Did she know what it was?”
“No.” I buried my face in my hands again. “I told her it was a kitchen tool used to mix pasta.”
“A what?” Sisi’s voice leaped at least one octave, maybe two.
“She asked, and I panicked. The first thing that popped into my head was . . . kitchen equipment. I’d had spaghetti for lunch that day, and I guess it was still stuck to my brain. I told her the vibrations helped it stir noodles up with the sauce really well.”
Mateo’s mouth fell open.
Sisi’s eyes widened to cartoonish proportions.
“You told a five-year-old that a vibrator was a pasta maker.” Mateo summed up the situation in one pitiful sentence.
I nodded, face still hidden in calloused hands.
“Then she wanted to know what kind of pasta it made, so I said . . .” I took a deep breath. “Rotini.”
That was it.
Sisi completely lost it, doubling over sideways in the booth, tears streaming down her cheeks, making horrible wheezing sounds like she couldn’t breathe.
