Page 8 of Memories of You

He aims again, and this time manages to completely soak theT-shirt I’d worn to work this morning. “Hey!” I protest. “This is a genuinediscount bin Old Navy T-shirt. How dare you defile it?”

“Well, it fits you very nicely,” he says, letting his eyesskim over me in what I know is an exaggerated leer.

I glance down, realizing that since I knew I was going to bethe only one in the office today, I hadn’t bothered to wear a bra. That’s somethingI can usually get away with, but in a wet T-shirt, even my barely-B-cup breastslook pretty perky.

I roll my eyes. “Perv.”

“I apologize for nothing.”

“Behave,” I order, then point to the Fiat’s hood. “Andclean.”

He does, this time aiming the spray so that it doesn’tsplash goo on me. I join in from my side, and soon enough we’ve not onlyeradicated the fake blood but have thoroughly cleaned the entire car.

He steps back, looking it over like a foreman on an assemblyline before meeting my eyes over the roof. “Do you remember all those timeswe’d run around in your backyard, me with the hose from the back of the house,and you with the one from the side?”

“I nailed you almost every time,” I say.

“Like hell you did. I let you get away with it. I’m a yearolder than you, remember? I had to watch over you. Be careful not to bruisethat fragile child’s confidence.”

I make a face. “A week,” I say. “Our birthdays are only oneweek apart.” December and January, true, but still only a week.

“It is what it is. Two different years. I’m clearly olderand wiser.”

“Wiseass, I think you mean.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” he says, then shakes his head.

“What?”

“I just…I just can’t believe it’s been so long since wetalked.”

My whole body seems to go soft. “I know. Me too.”

For a moment, silence lingers. Then, just before it getsweird, I clear my throat. “Right,” I say. “So, um, we should probably get to myhouse. I could use some dry clothes.” I grimace. “I’m sorry I sprayed you. Ididn’t even think about the fact that you probably don’t keep a change ofclothes folded up somewhere on your bike.”

“If you have a dryer, I think we’ll be just fine.”

“Right,” I say, trying not to blush as I think about whathe’s going to wear as his clothes are spinning. “I’m a full-service hostess.I’ll even wash them for you if you want.”

“I never turn down a free wash,” he says with such mockseriousness I start laughing all over again.

I get myself under control, then clear my throat. “Okay,let’s go.”

He takes a step, then stumbles. He reaches out, steadying himselfwith a hand on the hood of my car as I hurry that way. “Are you okay?”

He holds up a hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I just slipped on someleftover stuff on the ground.”

He glances toward his bike, then back at me. “Why don’t Iride with you and get it tomorrow or later tonight?”

“Um, yeah, if you’re sure.” I nod to the car. “Hop on in.”

It’s not far to my place, and I score a spot right in frontof the duplex. It’s probably just as well that he left his bike at the car washsince parking on my street requires a permit. Besides, I know the car wash’sowner and he won’t mind. In fact, I send him a text just to let him know.

We get out, and right away I see Lilah sitting on the frontporch, watching us with an eagle eye. It’s a friendly neighborhood, and Lilahand I like to drink wine on the shared front porch and chat with the neighbors.Especially the forty-something TV writer who moved in across the street and hascompletely captured Lilah’s imagination. So I’m not surprised to see her on theporch now, especially since we’d planned to do that very thing tonight.

“Look at you,” she calls as we get out of the car. “Bringinghome random men?”

“Ha ha,” I say. “Lilah, meet Renly.” I keep my eyes on herface to watch her reaction. I’m immediately rewarded, and she actually standsup, pushing herself out of the chair as if in reflex.