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“I was afraid you’d say that, but sleep on it. It’s late. I’m not gonna say anything to anyone until tomorrow anyway. Give it time to think about what it’d do to you.”
“She’s home. It’s fine.”
“Rachel—”
“Okay, Cap. I’ll sleep on it,” I gave in.
“Good,” he murmured.
“Can we talk about songs again?” I asked.
“Give me your favorite.”
“What? By genre?”
“Of all time.”
“Are you crazy?” I demanded. “I’d have to go into a deep meditative state. That is, after spending three straight days creating a playlist that might last three straight weeks that I’d have to fully listen to in that meditative state so I can decide. And I’d probably have to listen to that playlist twice. And take notes. Which will take me out of my meditative state. Which would mean I’d have to start from the beginning. To wit, that’s impossible.”
He’d started chuckling halfway through my diatribe.
“Okay, then, movie,” he suggested.
“Favorite?”
“Yeah.”
“By genre?”
He burst out laughing.
I smiled, listening to the deep timbre of it, which, frankly, was beautiful.
In fact, it might be the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.
When he was done, he asked, “How about top fives?”
“By genre?”
He started laughing again.
I smiled again.
When he quit, I asked, “How about you?”
“‘Baba O’Reilly,’ The Who,” he stated instantaneously. “And four-way tie betweenFargo,Shawshank,MementoandBabe.”
My heart thumped.
“Babe?”
“Don’t dis. That movie’s the shit.”
“It totally is,” I agreed.
Cleo, now in full Labrador mode, rounded me and curled into my front. I curved around her.
And Cap and I talked music, movies, TV, books, fave foods, and this segued into me learning he’d only lived in Phoenix for a little over six months, and since he was a foodie and liked to cook (a man who liked cooking! heaven!), I told him my top spots for good eats and made sure he knew about AJ’s Fine Foods grocery store (he did).
