I grinned and raised my hands in surrender. “Duly noted. You’re full of mystery and hand-painted footwear.”
“That I am, Oliver.” She took another sip of her drink, watching me from over the rim with too much amusement. “Okay, my question now. Hm…”
She tapped her finger against her glass, eyes narrowing like she was scanning through a deck of questions in her head. I watched her, both nervous and turned on by how focused she looked.
“I want the real deep stuff,” she said. “The super difficult questions.”
I leaned in, elbows on the counter. “Hit me.”
She studied me for another second, eyes searching. “What’s your game-day ritual?”
I blinked. “That’s your deep question?”
“It tells me everything I need to know,” she said, deadpan. “Are you one of those guys who listens to violent rap music and punches lockers? Or do you listen to like… Coldplay and cry in the hot tub?”
I barked out a laugh. “Jesus. Okay, wow. First of all, I do not cry in hot tubs. Nothing against crying, men should show emotion, but that’s not… me.”
“Okay, so no to that part.”
I sighed, finishing my last bite before saying, “I’m more of a no-music-before-warm-up guy. I like silence. I run through plays in my head. I eat the same protein bar exactly 90 minutes before kickoff. I re-tape my wrist even if it’s fine. And I put my left sock on before my right every time. Superstition, not logic.”
She nodded, absorbing it. “That tracks.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
She smiled sweetly. “You’re a control freak with a repressed need for consistency.”
I stared at her. “Hey, you said no analysis.”
“Yousaid no analysis,” she said, completely unbothered. “I made no such agreement.”
I rolled my eyes and nudged her foot again, this time with intent. “Fine. Now I want a real answer from you.”
She smiled at her plate, then glanced at me sideways. “Alright, that’s fair.”
I twirled my fork, pretending to think while I watched her out of the corner of my eye. “What’s the last thing that made you really laugh?”
She blinked, thrown for a second. Then that smile returned, softer now. “At work?”
“Anywhere. Doesn’t matter. Something that got you.”
“There’s a video I watch when I need a reset. It’s this golden retriever who tries to carry an entire rake through a doggie door for like five minutes. He keeps trying different angles, totally determined. I lost it last night watching him get mad at a rake.”
I laughed, probably harder than I should have. “That’s elite content. I respect a dog with a problem-solving agenda.”
“He finally made it through and looked so proud, like he saved the world,” she said, eyes crinkling as she shook her head. “It just… got me.”
I smiled at her, chest warm. “That’s the best answer you could’ve given.”
She rested her chin on her hand, blinking slowly. “Alright, James. Final question. Make it count.”
“Easy,” I said, pushing my plate aside. “Why did you really come by my door tonight?”
Her breath caught—so quick I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t watching.
She sat back slightly, arms crossing over her chest. “I told you. I had a question for the report.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You have my number. You could’ve messaged me or called.”
