“I mean more than the phrase implies.”
Her breath catches.
My panic returns instantly. “Not that I am implying expectations. Or obligations. Or?—”
She squeezes my hand. “Breathe, big guy.”
“I am breathing.”
“With all four lungs?”
I blink. “How do you know that?”
“You told Mr. Eddison after he asked whether you could hold your breath longer than a human.”
“That was not relevant to dating.”
“It’s relevant to breathing.”
I obey because apparently she can command physiology now. Air moves through me, slow and unsteady.
“When?” she asks.
“When what?”
“Our date.”
“Yes. When.” I search the plan I made and realize I had prepared the invitation with such panic that scheduling became theoretical. “Tomorrow?”
Her eyebrows lift. “That soon?”
“Is that wrong?”
“No. It’s just…” She looks down at our joined hands, then back up. “Tomorrow is good.”
“After closing?”
“If we go after closing, we’ll be exhausted and smell like fryer oil.”
“I do not mind.”
“I know. That’s part of your mysterious charm.” She thinks for a moment. “Darlene can close early Saturday if I beg, bribe, and threaten. We could go around seven.”
“Saturday. Seven.”
“You look like you’re memorizing coordinates.”
“I am.”
She laughs again, and this time it does not hurt. It warms.
Then Darlene’s voice comes from the stairwell. “If you two are done negotiating the Treaty of Awkward Mutual Thirst, I found the ceiling crack. It looks like a butt.”
Evie closes her eyes. “I hate this building.”
I look toward the stairs. “Were you listening?”
Darlene appears at the bottom step. “No.”
