“Love . . . huh?” I asked quickly and awkwardly. “We’re not . . . um . . .”
“No!” Mike added.
“We just met.” I pointed at him and then to myself. “Today. So, no.”
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “It just looked like you were on a date.”
“What gave you that impression?” I asked.
“Just the vibe you’re giving off to each other,” she qualified.
“Vibe?” I asked.
“Yeah. Awkward looks, blushed cheeks, coy bar-stool sitting.” She pointed down at Mike, and I looked.
“Coy sitting?” Mike piped up, adjusting himself on his seat.
Techno Tannie rolled her eyes at us. “Hey! I run a bar. I see first dates all the time and this is what they look like.”
“Psssht. Oh, pleeeaase!” I tsked.
“We’ll have two Cokes, please,” Mike mumbled. “And it’s not a date.”
She smiled at us. “Fine. Whatever you say, mister.” She glanced back at me. “You look good in red lipstick.” She turned around and took a couple of Cokes out the fridge. I could see she didn’t believe us.
“Anyway, if you were on a date, you’d both be seriouslycheapdates.” She pushed the Cokes towards us. “Shall I put this extravagant beverage on your tab, sir?”
Mike nodded, then turned to me, raising his glass. “Cheers!” he said, then he smiled slyly at me. “You must be thirsty.”
“What?” I asked.
“It’s just that climbing fences is really hard work; I would be parched, if I were you.” He looked at me over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.
“If you recall, I didn’t actually climb the whole fence. I barely made it up a meter.”
“Still, it looked like you were really exerting yourself,” he teased.
“Playful teasing; small, shy smiles . . .” Techno Tannie cooed.
I shot her a pointed look.
“Fine, I’m going.” She finally moved off and Mike and I were alone again. He put his glass down and moved an ice cube around with the tip of his finger. I stared at it, mesmerized by his finger.
He finally stopped playing with the ice and looked at me again. “So, tell me your boring stories,” he said.
I shook my head. “Nah, you really don’t want to hear them.”
“I do, trust me. I really want to know why you were lurking in a cemetery, pretending to visit your dead uncle.”
“You’ll think I’m strange, if I tell you,” I replied.
“I already think you’re strange,” he said, with a smile.
I looked down at my glass and tapped it with my fingernails. It made a nice noise, melodic, almost calming. Like wind chimes or something. “I just like cemeteries,” I said slowly.
“You do?” He sounded genuinely interested, and, for some reason, I continued.
“My father died, before I was born, and I like to go and sit and talk to him. I know that probably sounds strange and—”
