Page 48 of Parker

When she looks up again, she’s all business. “That’ll be six dollars and ninety-five cents, please.”

I pull a ten-dollar bill from my wallet and slide it to her. She hands me a bag with the turtle, and my change.

“Thank you, sir. Have a great day.” She turns to Parker. “Just the penguin?”

“Yes, please.”

I turn away because I can’t quite believe what just happened. If I’m not mistaken, Parker just metaphorically pissed on my leg in front of the sales girl, purposely letting her think we were a couple. And the sales girl, younger and less confident than Parker, backed off immediately.

But did I read that right?

Did Parker just mark her territory?

And wasIthat territory?

“Let’s go,” says Parker, swinging the bag holding Wren’s penguin. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I say.I am. Foranythingas long as it includes you.“Where to now?”

“There’s a place called The Border Grill nearby.”

“My treat?”

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “This isn’t a date, remember?”

“Right.”Tell yourself whatever you want, Parker.

I follow her to an exit at the back of the aquarium, and we step outside, into a dark and surprisingly crisp night. A path to the left, moving guests between the aquarium and the pool is well lit. Not far from us, I see the yellow lights of the restaurant Parker mentioned.

“You seem to know your way around.”

“I do. I’ve stayed here before. And I’m a fan of margaritas and Tex-Mex. Hope that sounds good to you.”

“If you like it, I’ll like it.”

“Then you’ll like it,” she says.

A few minutes later, we’re standing in front of the hostess stand.

“It’s quiet tonight,” she tells us. “You have your choice, in or out.”

Out has the moon and the stars, and heat lamps to keep us warm. Soft, jazzy Mexican music plays from overhead speakers, and the occasional splash of someone in the hotel pool makes the place feel tropical. Plus, there are no other outdoor diners tonight, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.

“I’d prefer outside,” I say, looking at Parker, “if that’s okay with you.”

She nods. “It’s my preference, too.”

We’re seated at a small square table, side by side in a corner. The hostess whisks away two pre-set place settings and disappears, promising the waitress will arrive soon.

“Here,” I say, taking the turtle from its bag and placing it on the table. “This is yours.”

She smiles at the little creature, then lifts her eyes to mine.

“Should I duck?” I ask.

“I said I wouldn’t throw it at you!”

“I know. I’m just teasing.”

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