“Then I guess it won’t be weird.”
She smacks me on the shoulder as she rounds the island. “I might go down and see the cathedral you were telling me about tomorrow afternoon. I looked it up while I was killing time not coming here this evening.”
“You were, were you?”
She nods, leaning her forearms against the countertop. “It looks like one of those places that people will ask you about after they learn you were here. It’ll make me look like a good little tourist.”
I lean my forearms against the countertop too.“You might be the worst tourist in the history of tourism.”
“Is that right?”
“Maybe. I better meet you down there and make sure you do all the right things. Just to be safe.”
Her eyes light up. “I’ll probably be there around one.”
“I can probably be there around one too.”
“Cool.”
“Cool,” I say back, making her laugh.
We watch each other in an easy comfortability. It’s an odd sensation to feel this relaxed around someone I just met. Especially here.
“What?” she asks.
“What, what?”
“What are you thinking?”
I contemplate not telling her or fabricating some bullshit answer to satisfy her curiosity. But I’m fairly certain she’ll call me out on it, and we’ll end up at the truth anyway.
“I was thinking,” I begin, “how unusual it is to be enjoying someone’s company here.”
She looks confused. “Why? I mean, why would you have invited me here if you didn’t expect to somewhat enjoy my company?”
“I’ll be honest … I didn’t really think you being here all the way through before inviting you.”
The confusion turns to annoyance. “Gee, thanks. I have the warm and fuzzies about this now.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say adamantly. “What I mean is that I just kind of asked you because it just came out of my mouth. That’s not something I usually do.”
She jams a thumb over her shoulder. “I can leave.”
“And I can chase you down and throw you over my shoulder and bring you back.”
The air between us shifts. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the open French doors on the other side of the house.
She faces me and gives me her very best undeterred look. But hiding just beneath that badassery is a thin layer of excitement that she doesn’t want to show.
I take a step toward her. “You like that, don’t you?”
“I like what?”
“The idea of being thrown over my shoulder.”
She scoffs. “I think we established the fact that I don’t love cavemen at our first dinner together.”
“I think what we established is that you don’t want to like the whole caveman thing because you think it makes you weak.”
