We start walking, and I deliberately bump her shoulder with mine. “Weird? Us? Never.”
She laughs, some tension breaking. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we could walk around, see what looks good?” I adjust Greg to my other arm, freeing up the hand closest to her. “Unless you have preferences?”
“No, that sounds perfect.”
We wander down Mass Street, the early spring air crisp but not cold. Every few steps, our hands almost touch, and it’s driving me insane. Are we holding hands now? Is that a thing we do? Why is this harder than when it was fake?
“This is weird, right?” Piper says suddenly. “Not bad weird, just?—”
“Different,” I finish. “Yeah. But good different?”
“Definitely good different.”
I catch her hand, threading our fingers together. “There. Now it’s less weird.”
“If you say so,” she says, but she’s smiling and squeezing my hand back.
We pass a street musician playing guitar, and I stop abruptly, pulling her with me.
“What are you?—”
I set my backpack, bow dramatically, and extend my hand. “Dance with me, Piper Renner.”
“It’s noon. On a public street.”
“Perfect dancing conditions.” I wiggle my fingers. “Come on. When’s the last time you danced on a sidewalk?”
“Never, because I’m a normal person.”
“Your loss.” I start dancing by myself, terrible swooping movements that are definitely not matching the acoustic guitar. A few people stare. I add in some spins.
“Oh my god, stop.” Piper laughs, grabbing my hands.
“Never!” I spin her under my arm. “See? Natural dancer.”
“You’re ridiculous,” but she’s letting me sway her now, right there on the sidewalk.
“Ridiculously charming,” I correct, dipping her dramatically.
She shrieks, laughing as I pull her back up. “I’m going to drop you in a fountain.”
“Worth it for that laugh.”
We keep walking, her hand in mine feeling more natural now. We find a little sandwich place with outdoor seating.
“So,” Piper says once we’re seated with food. “What happens now? With... us?”
“Well,” I say thoughtfully, “I figured we’d eat these sandwiches?—”
She kicks me under the table. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I reach across, take her hand again. It’s easier each time. “I like you, Piper. Real like, not fake-boyfriend like. I want to keep doing this.”
“Eating sandwiches?”
“Smart ass.” I stroke my thumb across her knuckles. “Dating. For real. If you want.”
