Her forefinger jabs the air. “TheKrakenwas rumored to have been spotted here?—”
“Good God. Don’t tell me you believe it existed.” I level her with a bewildered stare. “Are you on the same conspiracy boards as Aaron?”
“One, we don’t know what exists in the ocean’s depths,” she says. “Think of all undiscovered creatures in the trenches. Two, rewind a sec. Aaron’s on what?”
“Never mind,” I say, and her brows pull together. The last thing I want is for Aaron and Conspiracy Sam to have a third join their group.
“Yes mind,” she counters. “What kind of conspiracy boards are we talking about here? Like websites? The dot com? Registered with an actual domain and not some run-of-the-mill blog?”
“It’s just a page he made?—”
“He made a site?”
“Temper your expectations,” I say. “It looks outdated, like something from the early aughts. Clunky. Illegible. Even has music auto-playing on the homepage.”
Her lips purse. “Are they sea shanties at least?”
“I’m not the one running the page,” I say. “How should I know?”
“It would beso on themeif they’re sea shanties.”
“I’ll pass on the information,” I lie, and something skeptical flickers across her features. “What? You don’t believe me?”
“Ethan, you’re using that voice you always use during our calls,” she says. “It’s theI’m disregarding everything you said but politelyvoice. I’ve heard it so many times.”
“I don’t?—”
“There it is again.” A smile curls the edge of her lips, boldening when she unzips her purse. “Mind doing it on camera?—”
“Barb—”
“Now that’s yourI’m warning youbut politelyvoice.” Her eyes crinkle. “You always get so growly.”
“Me?Growly?”
“You. Are. So. Growly.” She punctuates her last word with a gentle poke to my chest, breaking into a giggle when I catch her wrist before she pulls away. “I thought you didn’t believe in holding hands until marriage.”
“We’re married, aren’t we?” I deadpan.
“I don’t know, Ethan. This might be a little tooPDAfor me. Quick, let’s duck behind one of the buildings and get in on some hand-on-hand—” She makes a blustery sound, her fingers tightening around mine, as she steers me directly into a nearby shop.
“You want to cash in on your pistachio ice cream now?”
“I just saw the Flanders,” she gasps, her body going rigid when the door jingles open behind me. Following her line of sight, I spot our manager and his wife casually strolling into the parlor—too engrossed in their conversation to notice us. Yet.
Barbie and I exchange glances. We’re both in our civvies. She’s wearing a crop top that shows off her abs and denim shorts. To combat the heat, I’m decked in navy shorts and a light cotton shirt Aaron had snuck into my duffel bag. We are not dressed for the business conference.
Then again, neither is our manager.
But then again, he’s in a higher position at work, just three ranks below the CEO.
“Maybe I’ll get fired before I resign,” Barbie murmurs, sucking in a sharp breath when our manager’s boisterous laughter abruptly fills the crowded shop. I’ve never realized how loud he is until now, standing about two feet from him.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“A reasonable amount,” she stammers. “Why?”
“Don’t freak out,” I say, hooking my arms around her and pulling her flush to me. “And just go with it,” I add before I duck my head down to kiss her.
