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I toss a few popcorn kernels into my mouth and grin while chewing. “Heck no. This is a chance encounter, not a first date.”
He grabs a handful of popcorn. “So, how long have you worked here?”
“Nope.” I sip my soda. “That’s a first-date question.”
He chuckles. “Okay. Uh … my boss is sleeping with his daughter’s best friend.”
I cup a hand over my mouth and giggle. “You’resogood at chance encounters. How old is his daughter’s friend? Please say she’s of legal age.”
“She’s twenty-three. He’s fifty.”
“Yikes. Does his daughter know?” I stir my drink with the straw until it fizzes.
“No.”
“Could you date someone twenty-seven years younger than you?”
Koen smirks. “That would make her six. So I have to say no.”
“You know what I mean.” I laugh.
He eyes me while sipping his drink. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine having much in common with someone that young.”
I narrow an eye at him. “Do you think your boss is sleeping with her because they have a lot in common?”
“Fair point.”
The momentum dies, and the popcorn bag's rustling and the refrigerators' hum are the only sounds in this space.
“Sorry. This is stupid,” I mumble with a sigh. “I thought we could skip the first-date awkwardness, but this is even more awkward.” I fiddle with my hair. “We’re strangers.”
Koen draws in a long breath, gaze surveying the store. Now that I’m not afraid of him, I sense his gentleness and patience in how he seems to give my words thought before responding. Herb does that, too, but I’ve always assumed it’s his age, a man in no hurry to do or say anything.
“We could kiss.” When his eyes shift, gaze landing squarely on my face, he grins, quickly rubbing the pads of his fingers over his lips to hide it.
I take a second to respond, a slight delay to ensure I heard him correctly. “Strangers kissing?”
He offers a one-shoulder shrug. “I would never suggest it if this were a first date.”
“You think chance encounters involve kissing?” My cheeks ignite.
“There’s achance. Wouldn’t you say?” Shy, my ass. He’s bleeding with confidence.
My nose wrinkles. “I don’t think I kiss strangers. It’s too intimate.”
Koen eyes me like he’s giving it some thought, perhaps formulating a counterclaim. Then he leans toward a display on the counter and nabs a deck of Drummond’s playing cards next to a Drummond’s fountain drink jigsaw puzzle. He retrieves afive-dollar bill from his pocket. “For the cards.” He pulls the tab, opening the new box of cards and shuffling the deck. “Golf?”
By this point, my grin is not only unavoidable, it’s so obnoxious my face hurts.
“Golf.”
He deals the cards, and we each flip two over. I quickly win the first game, but he wins the following three.
“Do you live nearby?” he asks, shuffling the cards.
My gaze shifts from his capable hands (he’s obviously shuffled many cards) to his pleasant grin. “Pretty darn close.”
“In this neighborhood?” He deals six cards each.
