Page 66 of Employing Patience

“Wow. You’re a smart one.”

“I know.”

I wave my hand toward her, smiling angelically Art’s way. “You going to say no to that and be on the side of the patriarchy?” I crouch down, and Gus doesn’t hesitate to climb onto my back. His fingers and face are covered in chocolate, which I guess I’ll be wearing soon too.

“Down with the patriarchy.” Art laughs and crouches down so Alice can throw her arms around his neck. He stands with a grunt, and we fall into step with each other.

“Thank you for this wonderful idea,” he says.

“I’m choosing to ignore that sarcasm.”

“Ignore it all you like; that doesn’t mean it’s not there.” He huffs. “I’m too old for this.”

“Please. You’re not fooling anyone with that ‘too old’ shi … stuff.”

“That was a close one.”

“I don’t spend much time around kids. I’m learning as I go.”

“You’re good at that.”

“Ah.” I nudge him with my elbow. “So you admit I’m good.”

“Don’t remember ever saying otherwise.”

The fact he isn’t trying to deny what happened or that he enjoyed it is a nice feeling. We’re quiet as we walk down the street, and it’s the kind of quiet that’s heavy with unasked questions. We’ve never really seen each other outside of work, let alone just taken a walk together with his niblings in tow. I’m being presumptuous, but Art hasn’t told me to back off, so I’m going to keep pushing, little by little, until the quiet isn’t filled with questions but with comfort.

I’ll wear him down into liking my company if it’s the last thing I do.

“So why are you doing school drop-off?” I ask, wanting to find out everything I can about him.

“I wanted to. My sister is doing it solo, and I love these two little brats, so I try to have them as much as I can.”

“You’re a brat,” Alice throws back.

“I agree with her.”

“If I’m a brat, what does that make you?” Art asks me.

“A very good boy.”

And maybe stirring him up isn’t the way to get him to like me, but it’s too fun to resist. I want that Art who’s fun and flirty, who doesn’t hold back and is careful about whatever he says. That Art is the one that most people get to see, but there’s always a hesitance from him when I’m around, and I hate it. He’s too serious. It’s not him. And we both know it.

I start bouncing Gus up and down as we get closer to the school, pretending to be a pony. “Favorite thing to do with your niblings?” I ask him.

“Cook.”

“What do you cook?”

“Food.”

“Do you ever answer questions with more than one word?”

“Occasionally.”

I glance over to see him fighting a smile.

“Do you think I’m charming?” I ask.

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