“By who?”
“No one.”
“Darlene?”
“No one relevant.”
Her mouth curves. “All right. Continue with your very plain speech.”
I clasp my hands behind my back because if I do not, I may grip the counter hard enough to damage it. “There is a location outside Halo. A sports bar near downtown. It has grav-ball machines, food, beverages with bubbles, and enough public visibility to reduce concern while allowing conversation.”
She stares.
I continue because stopping now means death. “I have examined the route. It is well lit. There are three exits, four if the kitchen access is usable. The clientele appears irritating but not especially dangerous before midnight. I would escort you there, remain with you, purchase your meal and drink, and return you safely to the bakery or your apartment afterward.”
Her face is unreadable now.
I add, “This would not be a work meeting.”
Silence stretches between us, but not empty silence. It is full of her trying not to laugh, I think, and my dignity bleeding quietly onto the floor.
Finally she says, “Kauss.”
“Yes.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
The word date hits the room with terrible finality.
I force myself not to look away. “Yes.”
Her mouth opens.
No sound comes out.
Then she laughs.
I almost die.
Not physically, though my hearts strike hard enough to make the distinction seem temporary. The laugh is not cruel, but my body does not know that immediately. I take one step back before I can stop myself.
Evie sees and stops at once. “No. No, I’m not laughing at you.”
“It appeared that way.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She presses both hands over her heart, eyes bright and face flushed with something that looks like delight. “I’m laughing because you just described a date like a military extraction plan with appetizers.”
“I was told not to mention extraction.”
“You were told correctly.”
“I failed.”
“No.” She comes around the counter, still smiling, but carefully now. “You didn’t fail.”
“I did not ask well.”
“You asked like you.” Her voice softens. “I liked it.”
