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I chuckle, then release my hold on her hand, only to wrap my arm about her shoulders. I pull her close and kiss her forehead.
The journalist smiles.
Goldie stiffens, then inch by inch, she melts into my side.
"Giorgina’s go-to karaoke song?" the journalist asks.
"I will survive by Gloria Gaynor," I reply.
Goldie draws in a sharp breath, and I know I’m right. Again.
The journalist turns her attention to her. I glance down to find her forehead furrowed, then she juts out her chin. "Rick wouldn’t sing but if he did, it would be Highway to Hell by AC/DC."
I bark out a laugh. "Apt choice."
"If Giorgina were on a deserted island, what's the one thing she’d take with her?" She tilts her head in my direction, a look of challenge on her features.
That’s a tough one. What would she take with her? What would she? What would—"Her phone. She’s a PR professional. She has to be connected. Her phone is the one thing I know she can’t do without. Case in point—" I glance down to where her phone has been placed screen down next to her.
"Given there is no Wi-Fi on the island, and her phone would be useless, what else would she take?" the journalist persists.
Goldie pulls away from me, and this time, I let her. I glance into the distance, trying to make the connections in my head.
A few seconds pass. Goldie shuffles her feet. The journalist watches me closely. When a few more minutes pass and I haven’t come up with a reply, a look of disappointment comes into her eyes. "Well, that was a difficult question, to be fair, and—"
"Her Kindle."
The journalist frowns.
Goldie looks at me in shock.
"Is he right?" The journalist turns to her.
"Oh, I know I am." I place the tips of my fingers together. "I’d have said all her favorite novels, but a Kindle is easier to carry, and this way, she can keep herself entertained until help arrives, which would be me, of course."
"Of course," the journalist laughs. "And what about Rick? What's the one thing he’d take to a deserted island?" she asks Goldie.
"Nothing. Except himself, that is."
I narrow my gaze on her.
So does the journalist. "Care to explain?"
"Rick’s very resourceful. He’d use whatever he found on the island to fashion a shelter for himself. He’d manage to catch fish with his bare hands, and keep himself fed. He’d find a way to gather rainwater or, no doubt, find a plant from which he could drink sap to keep hydrated. And he’s so sharp, he’d keep himself occupied with his thoughts. And I bet he’d manage to flag down a ship in the distance by making a fire, or attract the attention of a plane flying overhead in no time."
Silence stretches. The journalist looks at us with something like envy in her eyes.
Gio avoids looking at me, though. "So, what do you say? Do you have everything you need?" she asks the other woman.
* * *
We drive back to the rink in silence. The journalist was more than happy with our answers. She declared she’d never seen a couple more in love, wished us the best in our life together, then wrapped up her interview. Apparently, we pulled off the impossible. We convinced her we're made for each other. Goldie must have been as stunned as I was; neither of us attempted to start a conversation on the way back.
I park in front of the arena where her office is located. Neither of us moves. She stares ahead, and I stare at her. The silence extends.
"What?" she finally snaps.
"That last thing you said about me. Did you mean it?"
