Page 96 of One Adult, Please

"No, I mean, that was really."

"I know what you mean." He kisses my hair. "It was really."

"We should do it again."

"Right now?"

"No. My thigh needs a minute. But soon. Like, within the hour."

I close my eyes. His hand is still on my thigh, tracing lazy circles.

"Hey Beck?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for being a chair."

His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. "Hey Grace?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for having a table."

His heartbeat thuds against my cheek. The crime boat creaks gently. Outside, somewhere in the adventure part, Gregory is probably shuffling around with his fanny pack and his Hawaiian shirt and his gift for showing up at the worst possible moments. But he can't reach us here. The thinking box is ours.

I fall asleep listening to Beck breathe.

23

THE ROUND FRIENDS HAVE OPINIONS

GRANT

Once Wonder Garden is secured, we move the animals back from the crime boat. The ship was defensible, but the rescue center has proper enclosures, refrigerated feed, and equipment designed for something other than theatrical piracy.

I'm used to the solitary rhythm of meals consumed between tasks, calories as fuel rather than experience. But Grace starts appearing at the wildlife center with offerings. A protein bar she found in the supply bedroom. A bag of chips from the snack corner of the Sunrise Grill. Half a churro, cold, bitten, which she presents to me with the solemnity of a sacrament.

"I already had some," she says, offering the churro. "But I saved you the good half. The half with more cinnamon sugar. I counted the sugar crystals. This half is superior."

"You counted the sugar crystals?"

"I estimated the sugar crystals based on visual assessment. The methodology wasn't rigorous but the conclusion is sound."

I take the churro. I eat it while she watches, while Captain watches, while Pepper's small head pokes out of my jacket and watches too. Pepper has learned that Grace sometimes arrives with her bottle or a handful of approved greens, and Pepper has no dignity about either.

"You don't have to bring me food," I say. "I'm capable of feeding myself."

"I know." She sits down on the floor near the capybara enclosure, her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her. "But you get focused on the animals and you forget that you're also an animal who needs feeding."

"I don't forget."

"You forgot lunch yesterday. You forgot breakfast the day before. Joel mentioned it. Joel notices things about resource distribution."

"Joel told you I wasn't eating?"

"Joel told Beck he was concerned about your caloric intake and Beck told me because Beck tells me everything now. It's like I unlocked a conversational achievement and the reward is all of Beck's thoughts, constantly." She's smiling when she says it.

"You and Beck," I say carefully. "You and Joel."