He still hasn’t noticed me, so I keep watching, committing his details to memory. The wind rustles his hair, and Ian lifts a hand to brush a leaf off his knee. His biceps ripple, and two female joggers do a doubletake to gawk at him.
What would it be like to wake up to that every morning? It may not be the passionate, love-based marriage I always imagined, but plans change. I’ve reinvented plenty of other goals over the years. This one’s no different.
Ian’s head jerks up, and for a second I think he’s checking out the joggers. But no, his eyes go straight to me, locking on my face as his expression breaks into a smile.
“Hey there.” He stands and strides toward me, shoving his phone in his back pocket. “Ready to play dress-up?”
“I can’t wait.”
We fall into step together, careful not to touch each other. There’s an electricity arcing between us that’s almost palpable, but we’re being watchful with one another. Cautious.
“Thanks again for doing this,” I tell him. “My colleagues are going to be so happy not to see me in my ninja costume again.”
“You’d be a great ninja.”
“I’ve been a great ninja for six years running,” I tell him. “I’m ready to be something else.”
I don’t mention how badly I’ve wanted to do one of those cute couples’ costumes I’m always seeing at these things. Mr. and Ms. Pac-Man. Ketchup and Mustard. Little Bo-Peep and her lost sheep. There’s something adorable about it, and I’ve felt a twinge of envy every time I’ve seen one of those cutesy pairs coming through the door.
I nibble the edge of my lip and look up at Ian. “You sure you’re okay with something matching?”
“Sure,” he says, leading me around the corner toward the shop. “As long as it’s not something like John and Lorena Bobbitt.”
I laugh and toss my hair off my forehead. “The chick who cut off her husband’s?—”
“Don’t say it,” he says, doing a mock shudder. “Though you’d be cute walking around with a butcher knife and a sausage.”
“I promise I won’t suggest anything that involves pretending to carry your penis in my pocket,” I assure him.
“Well there go all my plans.”
I laugh as I catch sight of our reflection in the glass windowpanes of the diner on the corner. We look like a normal couple. Like a regular boyfriend and girlfriend instead of two people considering an arranged marriage.
“So did you have anything in mind for the costume?” Ian asks, nudging my elbow to guide me around a spilled milkshake on the sidewalk.
I shrug and stuff my hands in my pockets. “How do you feel about Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor?”
Ian considers that as he kicks through a pile of leaves. “Like from the early DC Comics in the forties and fifties, or from that TV show in the seventies, or from the movie that came out in 2017?”
I gawk at him. “Is there that much of a difference?”
He feigns horror, falling back against the side of the building. “Huge! Depending on the different versions, Steve was either a spy, a pilot, a bumbling himbo, or a war hero who reduces Wonder Woman to a lovesick puddle.” He offers a sheepish smile. “I guess either way, he usually ends up dead.”
“I was picturing you naked in the pool,” I admit, not wanting to admit just how vividly I pictured it. “Like that scene where Gal Gadot walks in on Chris Pine taking a bath?”
Ian laughs and pantomimes Chris-as-Steve stepping out of the pools. “Are you going to ask if I’m a typical example of my sex?”
My cheeks heat up as I remember the actor modestly admitting he’s “above average.” That’s sure as hell true for Ian.
“All right, no costumes that require nudity,” I assure him. “And no Bobbitt-inspired severed penises.”
“We’re sure whittling down the options here.”
I give it some more thought as we push through the doors of the costume shop and head for the front counter. There are mannequins everywhere in all shapes and sizes, but most of them are naked. Seems a little odd for the city’s largest costume shop, but it is Portland.
I tear my eyes off the torso of a headless blue mannequin that’s missing an arm. “How about Han Solo and Princess Leia?” I suggest.
“First Steve Trevor, now Han Solo.” Ian quirks an eyebrow at me. “Is there a reason you’re wanting me to be a guy who ends up dead?”
