Page 28 of Burning Hearts
“Scowl or smile?” I asked the couple.
“Scowl,” the man said, grinning at Ellis.
“I’m the villain this season,” Ellis said helpfully.
“Not tonight you’re not,” the woman laughed as she lifted her phone. “Three, two?—”
We scowled politely. The camera clicked. They thanked us and moved on, all smiles and glee.
Dinner arrived: meatloaf square, biscuit plate glistening with just the right amount of butter, and coffee that smelled strong enough to power an entire project.
The food runner asked, “Do y’all need anything else?”
Ellis thanked her by name. A small thing that wasn’t entirely small. Something in my chest unhooked, the way a strap does.
We ate like normal people for a minute. Heads down, appreciative noises. My fork did geometry, I squared what didn’t need squaring. I lined up salt and pepper the way I lined up cones.
“Stop tidying,” Ellis said, his dimples like a trap.
“Operational hazard,” I said, my voice nearly cracking. “If I’m still, I start thinking.”
“What’s the thinking tonight?”
“Power,” I said. “Wind. People.”
I didn’t sayyou.
“We can move some things around if the forecast lies,” Ellis said. “You can run your demo inside?”
“Canopy stays,” I said. “Sandbags only. No stakes on the Commons. If it gets flirty, we add weight.”
Ellis stopped eating for a moment and stared at me. “You talk about wind like it’s a person.”
“It is,” I answered. “It’ll help you out for an hour, then change its mind and take half your setup with it.”
He laughed low. Not a broadcast laugh. A back-booth one.
“Lantern,” I said as I noticed someone approaching.
Ellis’s laugh dropped instantly.
A vendor appeared, apology already on his face. “Quick question, Cade—do we need a second permit if we put a table near the fountain for flyers?”
“No,” I said, placing my fork on my plate. “Keep it off the bricks and out of the sightline. If a stroller can’t pass, it’s wrong.”
Ellis translated for the civilian ear. “Picture a stroller and a dog meeting. If they’d have to share breath, you need to move your table.”
“Got it,” the vendor said, and skittered away, relieved.
“Why do you do that?” I asked when we were alone.
“Do what?”
“Translate.”
“It’s my job,” he answered. “Say the same thing differently so that people will hear it.”
“That’s not nothing,” I said, before I could stop myself.
