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He heads back to the kitchen.
Chloe sinks into her chair. Her gaze settles on the tea. "How do we know who wins?"
"Whoever gets it right wins."
"Seems fair." Her eyes go to the paper. "How do I know you didn't cheat?"
"Winning isn't fun if you have to cheat."
Somehow, she believes me. "We both decide. Write it on a piece of paper face down. Reveal at the same time."
"Deal." I pick up my first cup. Take a long sip. Astringent. Grassy. Not Golden Needle, but good.
Her eyelids press together as she sips. Her lips part with a sigh.
Her brow relaxes.
Her chest heaves.
Her satisfaction does something to me. Warms me someplace that's normally cold.
I forget about our game.
Watch her drink instead.
She savors each cup. Studies flavors carefully. It's different than the way she stares at art. Less analytical. More emotional.
She picks up the third cup again. Takes another sip. "I think I have it."
Fuck, I don't. I rush through my teas. All four of them are good, but none stand out as Golden Needle. The second is too smoky. The third is nutty enough, but the fourth has a clearer flavor. I pick that one. Use the sharpie in my pocket (you never know when you need to draw a tattoo mock-up) to scribble it on a napkin.
She pulls a pen from her purse and writes her answer. "Ready?"
"On three."
We count down together. "One, two, three."
Flip. Hers reads three. Mine reads four.
I turn over the key.
It's one.
She laughs. "You were wrong. I think that means I win."
"I think it might."
Her chest spills forward as she leans in. "You do realize I was just"—she drops her voice to a whisper—"fucking with you?"
I hold my hand over my mouth to stage whisper. "You do realize I wasn't born yesterday?"
Her lips curl into a smile. "Doesn't explain your immaturity."
"True."
She picks up the first cup. Takes a long sip. "How did you get into tea?"
"My mom."
