Page 57 of Keep

Public. You are in public. Rule number one. Rule number literally one.

He pulled his hand back like he’d touched a stove.

Chad glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I just—we’re in public.”

“We’re in a greenhouse. There’s nobody here.”

“There’s the woman with the sketchbook.”

“She’s drawing ferns, Hank. She doesn’t care about your hand on my back.”

“The rules⁠—”

“Which we made twelve days ago and have already broken approximately—” Chad tilted his head, calculating. “Six times? Seven? Depending on whether you count the thing with the blanket on Sunday.”

“I don’t count the blanket. We were in my apartment.”

“You opened the curtains.”

“The curtains were already open.”

“And my hand was already down your⁠—”

“Chad.”

“I’m just saying. The forty-eight days are more of a guideline at this point.”

Hank rubbed his face. He was trying very hard to maintain the gravity of the situation and failing entirely because Chad was grinning at him with the uncomplicated delight of someone who found his discomfort genuinely entertaining.

“You’re enjoying this,” Hank said.

“Very much.”

“I want the record to reflect that I take our agreement seriously.”

“The record reflects that you had your hand on my ass at the Safeway on Monday.”

“That was—I was reaching past you. For the⁠—”

“Yogurt. Yes. Very slowly. With both hands.”

He has a point. You have no defense. You are a senator who cannot keep his hands to himself in the dairy aisle.

Hank looked at the jade plant. The jade plant offered no counsel.

“Come on,” Chad said, and bumped his shoulder. “There’s a room with cacti. I want to show you the one that looks like it’s giving everyone the finger.”

They wandered for another hour. Hank relaxed by degrees—the anonymity of the place, the green quiet, Chad’s voice explaining things he’d forget and observations he wouldn’t. In the cactus room, Chad found his obscene specimen and presented it with the pride of a curator unveiling a masterwork. It did, Hank had to admit, look remarkably like a middle finger.

“Nature’s editorial comment,” Chad said.

“On what?”

“Everything. Take your pick.”

As they made their way toward the exit, Hank noticed a figure near the entrance—a man in a dark jacket, standing by the information desk, looking at his phone. Not at the plants. Not at anything in particular. Just standing.