Page 70 of Keller

"Oh, you must have met Mali. She's a hoot."

"Interesting set-up, going through a laundromat to get to the restaurant. That was a new one for me. I wonder how that rent situation went down."

Her eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary. Then she takes the bag and heads toward the kitchen. "I like the quirkiness of it," she says over her shoulder as she puts the bags on the counter.

We move around each other in the narrow kitchen with an ease that surprises me. She pulls plates from the cabinet while I unpack the containers. I ask where she keeps napkins and she nudges a drawer open with her hip. Our hands brush once when we both reach for the rice container and neither of us comments on it.

She opens the Pad Thai and inhales. “No peanuts. Thank you. They forget more often than you’d think.”

“I made sure to stress it when I ordered,” I say. “I wasn’t messing that up.”

“Oh, come on Keller. You don't mess up, do you?” she asks teasingly.

I almost laugh at that. “On occasion. I try not to make a habit of it.”

She studies me a second longer than necessary, then looks back at her plate. “Just messing with you.”

The air shifts slightly, but not enough to fracture the moment. We carry our plates toward the living room.

“I know. So, do you do television recommendations too, or am I on my own?”

She pauses halfway to the couch, considering. “I do love my shows. What about you? Do you have any must-sees, or are you one of those people who claims not to watch television?”

“I don't have any shows, to speak of. But I’m not above zoning out to documentaries or whatever game happens to be on.”

Her mouth tilts. “That’s tragic. I’m going to have to fix that.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“No. I have excellent taste.”

“That’s reassuring.”

She sets her plate on the coffee table and reaches for the remote. I watch her with mild curiosity, interested to see what she chooses.

She scrolls for a moment, then glances over at me. “Have you seenThe Lincoln Lawyer?”

“Not yet.”

She nods toward the screen. “He’s a cocky defense attorney who thinks he knows more than everyone else in the room. And most of the time he does. It’s irritating in a very satisfying way.”

“I’m not sure that’s a glowing endorsement.”

“It is for me.” She studies me briefly. “I think you’d appreciate how he reads people.”

“I feel profiled.”

“Maybe you should.”

Our knees brush as she shifts closer to angle the screen toward me. Neither of us moves away.

She hits play on the trailer. I watch it with half my attention, more aware of the warmth at my side than whatever dramatic music is swelling in the background.

She doesn’t rush. Not the show. Not the food. Not this. From the beginning, she’s been deliberate about pace. At the gala. After she learned what I do. Every time the tension climbs, she decides whether it tips or settles.

And I let her.

Not because I’m uncertain, but because I like it. And I like her.