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“But we can’t eat it.” I giggled as he set the tub between us.
“You said this is what people do on dates. I wanted to do this right.”
I grabbed his face between my palms and kissed him good. This was the Gabriel I’d fallen for. I could put up with the uncertainty, the brain-wracking questions, for just a little taste of this kind of happiness.
“Are we skipping the popcorn hand-brushing thing?” he asked, between nips on my lips.
“Hey! Go get a room!” bellowed a loud male voice behind us. Gabriel glared over my head at the elderly hall monitor. I giggled as he stood up and headed in the guy’s direction.
“Sit down,” I told him.
Gabriel glared at the loudmouth. “But that was very rude.”
“It’s all part of the experience.”
Gabriel mastered the yawn move and the knee squeeze and was well on his way to the around-the-shoulder chest grab by the time the credits rolled. As we left the theater, he talked animatedly about seeing Bela Lugosi play Dracula in the original Broadway play.
“But I must admit that his screen performance was even more compelling. It’s fascinating that they managed to film his eyes as ours appear, as if lit from within.”
“He had help. The cinematographer shone little pinpoint spotlights into his eyes during filming. It was the cheapest, most effective way to get the effect. Did you know that there was a Spanish-language version of the movie shot at night on the same set with different actors?”
“No, but it makes sense that you do.”
“So, what did you think of dating outside our homes?”
“It reminded me of my youth. Being close to a beautiful woman I wanted desperately to touch and not being able to,” he said, winding his arms around me as he led me to his car.
I chewed my lip and made a pouty face. “Was there a good-looking woman sitting next to us?”
“Are you ever going to just take a compliment and not turn it into a joke?”
I considered for a moment and shook my head. “Not likely, no.”
We had a few blocks to walk before reaching the car. It was a beautiful night, and I was enjoying strolling down a downtown sidewalk arm in arm with a handsome man. The downtown area was an odd mix of beautifully refurbished buildings and abandoned storefronts. One of those lovingly restored buldings contained the Coffee Spot, a Hollow institution known for bad java and unbelievable pecan pie. My father and I used to make up errands on Saturday mornings, then hide out at the Coffee Spot and eat cheese fries. From across the street, I peered through the window, smiling at the memory of Mama demanding to know how Daddy had gotten melted Velveeta on his shirt during a trip to the hardware store. I was about to seize an opportunity to share a nondisturbing experience from my human years with Gabriel, when I recognized two faces in a front booth. It was Mama Ginger and my synapse-slapping senior friend, Esther Barnes.
“What the?”
I couldn’t step closer to the window for fear of Mama Ginger’s internal Jane-tracking device going off. Instead, I ducked behind a nearby car and squinted at them. Really hard.
“Jane?” Gabriel grinned, staring down at me. “What are you—”
“Shhh!” I hissed, pulling at his coat and making him crouch next to me.
“This seems unnecessary,” Gabriel grumbled, frowning as I shushed him again. “We will discuss the shushing later.”
Framed by the coffee shop’s logo in the window, Mama Ginger and Esther seemed to be arguing. Knowing Mama Ginger, this was not unexpected. She’d once started a fistfight at a Relay for Life meeting over whether her card club’s booth should be luau- or casino-themed.
I couldn’t hear through the glass, but both Esther and Mama Ginger talked with their hands. Esther was pointing one of her long, bony fingers at Mama Ginger and then made a gesture that meant “More money” or “I need moisturizer.” Mama Ginger was shaking her head and seemed to be saying, “I need it sooner.”
I tried to zero in on Mama Ginger’s thoughts but heard only white noise. I looked up to Gabriel, who was sticking a finger in his ear and seemed to be trying to pop some pressure loose.
“You, too?” I asked, narrowing my gaze at the septuagenarian psychic. Maybe Esther’s psychic presence acted like some sort of scrambler, keeping both of us from reading the people around her. I clutched a fist and shook it at her. “Esther Barnes.”
I watched their conversation for a few more minutes, culminating in Esther’s threatening to get up and leave. Mama Ginger made placating gestures and finally broke out her wallet. She slid some cash across the table, which Esther counted. Twice.
I waited for either of them to get up and leave. Maybe if I could get Mama Ginger alone, I could ask her a few questions about Esther. But they wouldn’t budge. They both seemed determined to win some sort of impromptu pie-eating contest.
Sighing in exasperation at my own suspicious nature, I stood up, turned my back on the scene, and brushed off my coat. More than likely, all I was witnessing was some sort of illegal transaction involving unlicensed Precious Moments figurines.
