Tristan burst out laughing.“That’s incredible.”
“Incredibly tragic.”I held up the socks.“I could use these to flag down aircraft.”
“Don’t knock high visibility footwear.Safety first.”His boots tapped against mine.
Digging further, I pulled out a hard plastic toy.“And—oh my gosh, a kazoo.”I blew into it, producing the world’s most tragic honk.“Wow.I feel cooler already.”
“Clearly,” he deadpanned.“Your kids must be so proud.”
Nothing of interest, aside from plastic-wrapped hard candies, was left in the bag.“What’s in yours, Captain Cool?”
He opened his bag with an irritatingly confident ease that suggested he’d somehow even win at a game of random luck.Frowning, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper.Inside were three rubber bracelets in day-glow green, pink, and orange, each stamped with glossy white letters: GOOD VIBES ONLY, STAY CHILL, and ZEN AF.
I nearly choked laughing.“Oh my God.The universe is screaming at you.”
His jaw ticked.“This is ridiculous.These packages have gone downhill.How is this even worth a buck, let alone the ten-dollar steal of a deal?”
“It’s poetic,” I said, snorting and pointing to his new jewelry.“A man who probably schedules his coffee breaks getting told to stay chill.”
He rolled one between his fingers, unimpressed.“You know what these are?The participation ribbons of adulthood.”
“You say that now,” I teased, “but I bet by tomorrow, you’ll be wearing one.”
He held one up like it was radioactive.“Over my dead body.”His brow lifted.“And why do you think I schedule my coffee breaks?”
“You tell me, Mr.Control-the-Playlist, Control-the-Route, Control-the-Snack-Stops.”
“Someone’s got a schedule to keep,” he interrupted, half defensive, half playful.But there was an edge to his grin now, a tightness I hadn’t seen before.
I tilted my head, studying him.“You always like running the show?”
He hesitated, gaze dropping to the bracelets in his palm.“Only when the show keeps trying to run off the rails.”
The air between us thickened in a way only control freaks could understand.
I gently pushed against his arm with mine.“What else you got in there?”
He pulled out another item, a small metallic compass, and turned it over in his hand.The look that crossed his face wasn’t amusement this time; it was something quieter.“Trade you for the kazoo?”
I pretended to think.“Tempting.But no.The kazoo speaks to my soul.”I placed my hand over my heart.
He laughed real and unrestrained, hard enough to make his shoulders shake.“You’d drive people crazy with that thing.”
“Good,” I said, putting my items beside Mr.Moose on the far side of the bench.“It’s what I was born to do.”
“But having a compass in your back pocket never hurt either.”He shoulder-checked me.
My instinct was to lean in.
My history told me to step back.
Men leave.Security doesn’t.
“How’s that?”I leaned back, crossing my legs.
“Then you’ll be able to find your way.”
The laughter quieted between us.The light was low enough now that his eyes had gone darker, softer somehow, and yet the air was much heavier.
