We seem to be staring at one another peculiarly, nearly bashful.
“We need to stop talking about our careers. It’s not very compelling, and I think we’ve established that we both enjoy what we do. Even if one of our jobs might send you into an early heart attack, and it isn’t mine.”
He doesn’t let his smile slip away. “Okay, travel plans? Anywhere you want to go?”
Immediate excitement hits me. “Anywhere it’s warm and there is a swing over clear blue water.”
“You’re a swing kind of girl?”
My face screws. “Actually, I kind of get nauseous on them, but it sounded better in my head. You?”
“Probably also a warm place. Illinois winter is not for the faint of heart.”
“You have a heart?”
Keats has a wide grin. “I walked into that, didn’t I?”
“Yep.”
“Anyhow, a warm place and maybe try scuba diving.”
Offering him a nugget, I’m surprised. “I’m trying to decide if you seem like a diver or not.”
“Not. The idea of swimming underwater with an oxygen tank seems like hell. But it sounded better in my head.”
I’m laughing again. We’re two peas in a pod when it comes to conversation and every barb thrown.
“Besides, none of those places have the right liability insurance or verbiage when divers have to sign a waiver of risk.”
“You would 100% say that. Consider finding a pastime where you can turn off your career for a hot second.”
He grows quiet and scratches his cheek, debating what to say perhaps. “I’m assuming you mean hobbies and not other pastimes.”
Right. That’s where his mind went.
“Believe it or not, I meant hobbies.”
His eyes flick up to meet mine. “Funny that. I don’t have time for hobbies because life can give you other pastimes.”
Does he mean family? Friends? Sex? I’m confused.
“I think you are more overworked than you think. Or rather you escape by burying yourself in work to avoid something. You just don’t know what it is that you are hiding from.”
His chin juts out. “You’ve become a psychologist?”
“No. Just an observer stating the obvious.” And I seem to mirror his lifestyle in a way. Am I hiding from something?
“Okay. Well, you are free-spirited because something stable scares the hell out of you.”
I scoff a sound. “Let’s not go down the road where we analyze one another. We’re not drunk enough.”
“Hey, you started it.”
I admit defeat. “True. So that also means that I can end it.”
His lips seal together, and the corner of his mouth lifts. He doesn’t press further.
With our food now vanished into our tummies, I quickly exit the car to throw the trash into the container nearby, and of course, Keats revs up his engine while I do that.
