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She was the first person I had seen in the plaza in a long time. It made things feel somewhat normal as I sipped my coffee.
By nine I started getting worried.
Molly: Did the zombies get you?
Donovan: They tried, but I escaped. I’m 100% unbitten.
Molly: That’s exactly what a zombie would say. Where are you?
Donovan: At the airport
Molly: ???
Donovan: I finally got a ticket home. I’m in first class as we speak. They’re serving champagne. Should I get the chicken, or steak?
Molly: Not funny!
Molly: You had better not be!
Donovan: I’m out running an errand. I’ll be home soon.
I typed out my next message, then waited several minutes before working up the courage to hitsend.
Molly: I’m really sorry about last night. You were trying to be careful, and I got reckless. I shouldn’t have been using my phone to read the info signs, and we should have gone back the way we came. It’s my fault we got caught. I hope you can forgive me.
Donovan: Shit, it’s not your fault. And even if it was, I overreacted about it. Sorry for being a dick when we got home. I guess I was flustered after our run-in with the po-po.
Molly: You weren’t a dick about it! I deserved it! I’m the one trying to apologize here. You have nothing to be sorry for.
Donovan: That’s a relief. I picked up a surprise for you, but since I have nothing to be sorry for, I guess I’ll take it back.
Molly: Ohh
Molly: A surprise?
Molly: What is it?
Molly: Did you charter a private plane for us to take home?
Donovan: Line cooks can’t afford private planes, Feisty. My surprise is cheap.
Donovan: But I promise it’s worth more than all the art in the Pope’s house down the street.
I knew the surprise was condoms. He was right: thatwasworth more than all the wealth in the Vatican. As exciting as our shower sex was, teasing and rubbing and then pulling out like a couple of teenagers, I didn’t want to take the risk again.
And I planned on having alotmore sex with Donovan.
Just then I saw Donovan on the other side of the plaza. He was tall in his jeans and a grey T-shirt. Once again I was struck by just how well he fit in, with his Mediterranean features and dark hair. Even with his mask on, I could tell he was grinning widely.
When he got close, I leaned over the balcony and in my best Shakespeare impression said, “Donovan, oh Donovan, wherefore art thou Donovan!”
He laughed and unslung something from his shoulder. Two big bags, orange in color, which he held up like the prize-winning salmon at a fishing competition.
I gasped. “OH MY GOD!”
His smile disappeared. “Don’t scream too loud,” he shouted up at me. “Someone’s going to think you’re being murdered.”
I threw on some clothes and ran downstairs. Donovan had dumped the oranges in the lobby cleaning station we had built, and he was already running into the pool room to scrub himself clean. I poked my head in there in time to see his cute naked butt jumping into the hot tub.
