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“That one there is my favorite,” he says, pointing at one with a bottom half painted red. “That’s a thousand footer.”
I try not to ever talk with my mouth full of food, but the urge to mock him is relentless. “How can you have a favorite cargo ship?”
He looks at me like I should already know the answer to that. “The name. Victor Q. Gleb.”
“I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but that’s not a real name.”
“Sure it is.” He proceeds to inform me about who Victor Q. Gleb is and how he came to have a ship named after him, and then tells me about the history of the ship itself.
I can’t say I’ll remember everything he’s telling me, but he sure is fun to watch when he’s excited. He’s like a little kid talking about his favorite Avengers characters. Smart guys with unique hobbies are sexy as hell. He rambles on about all about ship facts until it’s long passed through the locks and another one is coming up behind it.
“Oh!” he says, pointing again. “See that one there? That one came straight down the Saint Lawrence River from the ocean, traveled down to Lake Ontario before it made its way up here.”
I’m getting quite an education today.
“How can you tell?” I asked.
He points to the bow of the ship. “See that round ball on the bow, down near the water? That’s how you know it’s a Salty.”
I nearly choke on my banana Nutella crepe. “Salty balls? I’m listening. Go on.”
Josh shakes his head, but it’s too late. He’s laughing too. “No, the ship is called a ‘Salty’ because the sea is salty and…it’s not exactly a ball, but a protuberance…you know what? Never mind.”
He takes a huge bite of his crepe.
“Aw, honey. I’m sorry. Tell me more about the salty balls!” I urge.
He’s trying not to spit out food.
I touch his shoulder. “Why are you turning so red? Are you choking? Did I shock you? Do you require mouth-to-mouth?”
He chews thoroughly and swallows while he recovers his composure. “No, I nearly lost my shit because you just got cuter, if that’s possible.”
I smile and finish off the rest of my crepe. “I’m sure I’m even more attractive while stuffing my face.”
Josh blinks, his gaze taking in my mouth, my eyes, my hair, my chin. “Don’t even try to be self-effacing. I’m not buying it. But you do have a little…” He gestures with his pinky toward the corner of my bottom lip.
I swipe it with my napkin and apologize. “How’s the peanut butter and jelly?”
“Best PB&J of my life. Except for the one you made for me.”
Confused, I correct him. “I didn’t make you a PB&J. That must have been your other girlfriend.”
Without missing a beat, he says, “I was thinking of the one you’re gonna make me when we’re married.”
The words coming out of our mouths sound like a game of one-upmanship, like we’re trying to scare each other away. But there’s a certain sense of sincerity behind it.
“Did I freak you out?” he asks, wiping his hands and face down with the wet wipes from
my purse. “Because a woman who carries wet wipes in her purse is marriage material.”
He’s not wrong. I wouldn’t say no if he asked me.
“I tend to believe in fate, and our meet-cute will definitely be a story to tell our grandchildren.”
He playfully scoffs. “Grandchildren? Oh, did I not mention I don’t want any children at all?”
My jaw drops. I know we’re just playing around, but this actually could be a dealbreaker.
