Page 28 of Attraction & Repulsion

A girl with a spotted, frayed apron wrapped around her tiny waist approached their table. “What can I start you off with tonight?”

“Water, please,” Carson ordered.

“I’ll have water as well,” Jax said.

The waitress scurried off, leaving two giant menus for them to peruse.

“How was your day off?” Carson asked as her eyes skimmed over the variety of meal options without really reading what they were. At the table beside her, a toddler started fussing because he wanted the red crayon his sibling had stolen from him. She smiled at the cute whimpers, wondering what her son would have sounded like at that age. If he were still alive, he would have been four-almost-five years old. He might even have a youngersibling to fight over a crayon with.

Jax clapped his menu shut. “Lazy. I mostly caught up on sleep.”

“Nothing exciting happened?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a solicitor at your door?”

“Not even a solicitor at my door.”

The waitress came back with their drinks. “Have you had a chance to look over the menus?”

Jax, with his menu flat on the table and hands resting on top, looked questioningly at Carson. She’d had a chance to look over the menu, but her nerves had made her blind. She glanced back down and ordered the first thing she saw, pork tacos and jasmine rice.

When the waitress left again, Jax leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. His black button-up shirt was tight against his biceps; his tattoo peeked out under his right sleeve. Carson knew just how firm those arms were.

“Any other filler questions you want to ask to break the ice?” he asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Your leg is shaking the table.”

Once Carson’s foot stopped bouncing, the ice inside their waters calmed. “Oh.”

She didn’t know what to do with her hands. First, they gripped the edge of the table. That was too tense. So she folded them on top. Too formal. Finally, she let them fall in her lap, drumming her fingers on her thighs.

Jax leaned forward and rested his forearms on top of the table. “Alright. What is your favorite animal?”

The beat of her finger drums stopped. “Serious?”

“Trust me.”

Skeptical, Carson played along. “Fine. My favorite animal is a platypus.”

“The duck-beaver?”

“No, theplatypus,” she said. “What is your favorite animal?”

“The octopus.”

“Why an octopus?”

“Have you seen one? They’re cool.”

She grinned, and so did he. His plan was working.

“What is your favorite book?” he asked.

Placing an elbow on the edge of the table, Carson rested her chin in her palm. “It’s a children’s book. Well, a children’s series about a farm dog calledHank the Cowdog. I loved it so much, I always had one checked out from the library.” She reminisced on sneaking a flashlight into her room and squishing herself under her bed so she could read. How exciting and free it had been to learn about a dog who had unlimited access to the outdoors and friends who were there for each adventure. “I was always getting in trouble for staying up past my bedtime reading them.”

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