—
I’m taking thefour-o’clock train back to the city, and Penn waits with me outside the station. We sit on a bench facing the train tracks, the brick rooftops of downtown Lakeville poking out above the trees in front of us.
“Katie seems nice,” I tell him.
His face is close as he slants me a look. “Very nice,” he agrees.
“Do you think you’ll hire her?”
He rubs his hand down his thigh, and I have to tuck my hands beneath my legs to keep from grabbing it. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe.”
“Do you think you’ll…date her?”
Penn’s quiet, so I sneak a look at him. He’s smirking. He’s onto me. Catching my eye, he says, “No. You were right before. I like brunettes.”
I tuck that tiny victory into my chest for safekeeping.
I hope I’m not blushing.
“I must say,” Penn continues, “I didn’t know there were so many types of fish. Or that you planned to buy seven of them.”
Technically, I put the fish on hold, telling Katie I’d pick them up after I move into my new place. “Fish need friends, too,” I insist.
Penn snorts. “One time in a pet store, and she’s concerned with the socialization of marine life.”
“Very,” I say with a solemn nod.
A smile lingers on his face. “You know those fish will die in, like, a day.”
“Hopefully not all at once.”
“Damn,” he says. “Bleak.”
“Maybe I should’ve gotten thirteen, just to be sure,” I consider aloud. “Like in that old MASH game that Bridget pulled out on my birthday.”
It feels bold, almost illicit, to bring it up. Like I might crack the universe in two.
“Will you tie-dye your Nissan, too?” Penn asks. “Whip out those old roller skates?”
I adore him.
“Definitely. I’ll need a charm full of colorful beadshanging from my rearview mirror, too,” I joke. “And, of course, two pools.”
Penn nods. “Of course.” He waits a beat, then adds, “You’d need me, too.”
I stare back at him, and my chest fills up like a balloon, making me almost dizzy with delight. The signs are all there: eye contact plus teasing. He’s flirting with me, openly.
I want to push past the subtext, say what I’m thinking, but Penn’s already rejected me once—the recoil that lives rent-free in my brain—and these days, it’s my real heart on the line.
So, instead, I face forward and joke, “Like you could ever put up with me.”
“True,” he says. “Your stance on condiments presents a real problem.”
“One of many,” I agree. Then I shift gears, tiptoeing toward the truth. “I can just picture it. You and me, having to share the same air for more than an hour.”
“Miserable.”
“You, wearing your dumb gray sweatpants—”
