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She shakes her head, burrows closer to me. “Somehow I don’t think so.”
I pause for a minute, trying to figure out what to say. Being here, in this neighborhood, with her—it mixes things up inside me. Makes it hard to think, hard to breathe. I’ve done a pretty good job of blocking it out until now, but looking at her kitchen and her ratty furnishings, seeing how little she really has—it takes me back to a time I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to forget.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she tells me, smoothing a hand down my cheek when I don’t immediately answer. “It doesn’t have to be big and important, you know. Tell me something completely inconsequential about yourself.”
Relief skitters through me at the out she’s given me, clears away the cobwebs of old memories and older guilt. Or at least tries to. “Okay, sure. You told me about the tea, so I guess it’s my turn to admit something food-related.” I pause for a moment, build up the anticipation. “I’m a grown man who is totally and completely addicted to…Fruit Loops.”
I’m aiming to make her laugh, but instead of the amusement I expect, she just widens her eyes. “You mean there are people who aren’t addicted to them?”
“It’s shocking, I know.”
“People are crazy. Toucan Sam, man. He’s where it’s at.”
I laugh then, partly because she managed to say that with a straight face and partly because I’m just really happy with how tonight is turning out, despite the rocky start.
“Your turn. Do you have any deep, dark secrets? About cereal or otherwise?”
Her face clouds for a second, those midnight eyes of hers going mysterious and far away.
“Hey. Aria? You okay?”
“Yeah.” She fades back in. “Deep, dark secrets. Hmmm. Okay. I talk in my sleep. And not just a little. I can carry on whole conversations.”
“What do you talk about?”
“I don’t know. But I’m hilarious, or so I’ve been told.”
Once again, jealousy rears its ugly head. And once again, I do my best to ignore it. It’s not like I’ve got any claim on Aria yet. And what she did before we met is none of my business anyway. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“I have no doubt,” I say. “You make me laugh when you’re awake—I can only imagine what you’re like when your subconscious is in charge.”
“I’m sure I’m perfectly lovely,” she tells me with a mock scowl. “Your turn again.”
“Okay. Hmmm.” I think for a minute, then hit her with, “I’m a comic book geek.”
“No, you aren’t!”
“Yeah, I totally am.”
“Seriously?” She looks delighted. “So which one’s your favorite?”
“I’m a big Batman fan, actually.”
“The villain-hero.” She studies me thoughtfully. “I find that fascinating.”
“There’s nothing particularly fascinating about it. I just like Batman. It’s one of the longest running comics DC has ever done, and through the years I’ve managed to collect almost all of the original series. Which is a considerable amount, considering it’s been running for seventy-five years.”
“Seventy-five years? How many comics is that?”
“Over six hundred.”
She looks astonished. “You have over six hundred comic books?”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that Batman is just one of five series that I collect. “I do, yeah.”
“That’s, um…that’s pretty fantastic, actually. Never in a million years would I have imagined you were a fan of comic books. And to find out your hobby includes over six hundred titles—”
“I prefer to think of it as a smart investment, actually. Not a hobby.”
