She writes a list and I wonder about her rules.
I fold the letter in thirds and pass it to her.
Pippa asks, “Can I trust that you didn’t write any bum jokes?”
“Do you mean buns? As in my muscular backside?” A chuckle rolls off my lips before I remind myself this isn’t the locker room and as it is, I’m facing punishment for locker room behavior.
“Buns are dinner rolls,” Pippa says.
“Bums are street beggars.”
“Bums are butts.”
“Buns are butts.”
“You put butter on buns.”
“Fresh out of the oven? What about cinnamon buns?” I pat a circle on my belly, and to sweeten the moment, I lick my lips.
Pippa takes a short intake of breath as if she thought of something or the comment scandalized her all over again. She clears her throat. “We’ll be meeting again for a formal dinner at six.”
“What do we do between now and then?” I ask.
“You have some free time. Do as you please,” she says efficiently.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take a walk around the property before dinner.”
“What kind of walk? A brisk one to cool off?”
“I didn’t say you were hot,” she blurts.
“Hotbumsout of the oven?”
I can’t quite make sense of the banter, but only that it works and makes me feel electric inside. Like there could be a future between us...a near future.
“What if I want to talk to you? Do I have to make an appointment or—?” I ask.
The tips of her eyebrows form a deep V. “What do you mean?”
Here we go. Game time. I run my hand through my freshly cropped hair. “I do my best thinking after working out...and showering. It’s time you and I have a little chat before this goes any further.”
“Chat? Before what goes further?”
“I want to talk about us,” I say, catching on the wordus. There is something more to it than two letters, one syllable.
She swallows. “Okay, um, I don’t have an office, but we could go to the library or the garden.” She points vaguely.
“I’m all about getting back to nature.”
“Please don’t say anything about beingau natural.”
“I do like freshly baked goods. Buns, rolls, especially the kind with butter and cinnamon.” I emphasize the last part because when I mentioned cinnamon buns a few moments ago, it tripped her up and I want to know why.
Pippa hurries ahead of me as if in desperate need of fresh air.
We step outside into the lovely spring late afternoon. Our hands brush again and I want to take hers like I did when we danced, but first, she needs to hear my apology.
