Page 33 of Stealing Blinds

Me: I wasn’t gonna go the dirty route because I thought we were keeping this clean, but there you go again with your filthy mind, Palmer.

Sylvie: What?

Me: Titillating.

Sylvie: You know that has nothing to do with tits, right?

Me: Maybe not for you.

Sylvie: What the hell are you talking about? Titillating means exciting.

Me: It sure does. In the sexual sense.

Sylvie: It can also just mean interesting. But let’s blow past that. You are clearly reading into things.

Me: I’m not the one who jumped to tit being part of the word, which was so junior high, but I can be mature enough for both of us. Let’s move on.

Sylvie: So gracious. What is the point of this absurd conversation?

Me: Last night was our third coincidence. If I remember correctly, which I always do, you said the third coincidence would make you a believer.

Me: We can also label it what it really was. Fate.

Sylvie: I thought we were doing the friend thing.

Me: Do friends not have coincidences?

Sylvie: Not serendipitous ones.

Me: So, you admit that meeting me was fate.

Sylvie: Absolutely not. There were too many points to argue over a text thread at the same time. I started with the most obvious.

Me: Well then, whether serendipitous coincidences lie within the friend zone remains to be seen. I guess it’s something we’ll have to consider because we keep showing up in the same places. And I have a feeling it will continue to happen.

Sylvie: Yeah. Imagine that. Stalker.

Me: Rude. I assumed since I entered friend territory, I’d be invited.

Her dots prance on my phone for a long-ass time. I think she’s flustered, and the thought of that is far more riveting than I expected.

Sylvie: Maybe someday, but friendship knows no distance. That’s the beauty of it.

Me: Well, don’t take too long about it. My stalker tendencies will eventually win out.

Sylvie: Stalking seems like something that would ruin a friendship.

Me: I’m counting on it, Sly, but only if the outcome is titillating.

She doesn’t respond, but I’d be willing to bet she’s smiling. And fuck knows what the hell is happening to me, but that’s enough.

SYLVIE

The maple-syrup-and-coffee aroma chokes out the stench of exhaust and garbage as I stroll back to my warehouse apartment. I treated myself to lunch at this quaint stand-alone diner that feels like stepping back in time. Red vinal booths. Chrome accents. Polished wood walls and ceilings. And block windows. All in what looks like a railcar. It always enables me to drop this century’s problems at the door.

Yesterday, I had a weird sensation of someone following me when I left my apartment, but in a sea of strangers, I never found anyone suspect. It was probably just the aftermath of being on edge because E seemed unhappy. He didn’t call out anything specific, and I opted not to share many details. All that should matter is that I got the USB and left a look-alike in its place. Job done. But he’s cooking up some scheme that clearly has him knotted up with either excitement or anxiety.

Since I have more than a week until my next job, I’m not going to be a sulking shut-in, imprisoning myself, so to the diner I went. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for nearly two years, though I guess I’m a bit of a nomad. It still makes a good home base, even if I purchased it during an epic woman-scorned tantrum. With Danny’s corrupt cash flow. It’s the one city he said he’d never live in, so it was the perfect place to start over.