Page 8 of Hang the Moon
When he nudged the last dumpling toward her, she waved him off, completely stuffed.
He plucked it from the basket with his chopsticks. “The Space Needle? Isn’t that one of those places you visit once? One and done?”
She sipped and shrugged. “I guess I’ll let you know once I see it if I feel compelled to go again.”
His brows rocketed to his hairline. “You’ve never been?”
“First time in Seattle,” she said, laughing when he stared. “What?”
“I just assumed you’d been.” His lips twitched. “You’ve been everywhere else.”
“I haven’t beeneverywhere.”
Technically shehadbeen to Seattle, but until today, she’d never left the airport. Which didn’t count.
He set his chopsticks aside. “Let’s see. Berlin. Prague. Paris.” He ticked each city off on his fingers. “New York. Singapore. Should I keep going?”
“Been keeping tabs on me, have you?” she teased, using his words from earlier against him.
“Darcy talks about you all the time.”
She ducked her chin, burying her pleased smile in her glass of wine. It was nice knowing Darcy thought about her often.
Belatedly, it struck her that she’d only been in Prague for less than a day thanks to a long layover. “I don’t think I ever told Darcy I was in Prague.”
The tips of his ears turned pink. “All right. I might’ve seen that on Instagram.”
She bit back a smile. “So youhavebeen keeping tabs on me?”
“You make it sound creepy.” He palmed his face, groaning softly into his hand. “Like I was Facebook-stalking you or something.”
She snickered. “Were you?”
Humor danced in his whiskey-brown eyes as he rested his elbow on the table and ran his thumb over his bottom lip. “Now, why would I do something like that?”
Why indeed. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t turn her into a total hypocrite, seeing as she’d stalked his Instagram, too. First, because Darcy didn’t have one and he was the best source of updates on her friend. Then, because his content was interesting and the handful of selfies he’d posted over the years were cute. Rather than speak, she smiled.
“Okay, there’s a question I’ve been dying to ask.” He leaned in, resting his forearms on the table. “Just how many languages do you speak?”
She laughed. “Fluently? Or ‘I can fumble my way through a conversation but I might stick my foot in my mouth’?”
“Why do I feel like there’s a story there?”
She pressed her hands to her fiery cheeks. “It’s so embarrassing.”
“You realize you’re obligated to share now, don’t you?”
It was a good story, only she wished it hadn’t happened toher. “I was in Rome on business, but I decided to take a guided tour on my one day off. After it was over, I told the tour guide I was going to need a nap after the day spent trekking around the city on foot. Which would’ve been fine, except the word for nap ispisolino, which is staggeringly similar to the wordpisellino”—she shut her eyes—“which means ‘small penis.’”
He sputtered into his fist. “You told your tour guide you were going to need a—”
“Mm-hmm.” She nodded miserably. “Awkward.”
Brendon’s broad shoulders shook with silent laughter. He wiped his eyes and grinned. “Okay. All languages, then.”
She enumerated them on her fingers. “English, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
