Page 71 of Plays Well With Others

I don’t say any of those things that are bubbling up in my throat.

I won’t let myself. That’s boyfriend or best friend territory, and here in this no man’s land, we’re not enough of either for me to get away with it.

* * *

Every now and then, there’s a Monday night farmers’ market at the Ferry Building. The stalls are teeming with crowds since the Ferry Building is the trendy place to be. It’s right on the bay and boasts gorgeous views of the starry sky over the water as well as fantastic food in the booths.

When we walk in, we pass a few vendors peddling flowers. Rachel’s attention snags on the buckets and buckets of buds as she slows to admire them, then sniff some.

She stops. “All right, before I get distracted by wildflowers, let’s do the video.”

“Let’s do it,” I say, then bring her to my side and hold up my phone, making sure there’s a nice view of the flowers and fruit vendors behind us. I hit record. “Some people might be wondering how the hell you do a date at a farmers’ market,” I say.

“I know I was,” she says. “But I have some ideas why it’s a great first date.”

“Don’t keep them to yourself.”

She gestures behind her to indicate the stalls. “Well, you get to walk around with your date,” she says, bumping shoulders with me. “It can be easier to get to know someone as you’re walking around rather than sitting at a coffee shop or a bar. Walking means there are plenty of things to see. And you can talk about all the things you see as you go.”

“The whole farmers’ market is one big conversation piece,” I say, and this is what I need. This date will shove all these strange thoughts about what I’m telling her and not telling her out of my head once and for all. “We can even make it a game. Like, let’s go find the weirdest produce here.”

We hunt through the stands, stopping first at the eggplants—because how can you not make an eggplant joke at a farmers’ market, and these purple veggies are big. But at the next stand, she finds a kohlrabi, a pale green bulb thing with leaves that look like they could commit murder. “Those leaves want to kill me,” I say to the camera.

“Don’t cross them, Carter,” she says.

Next, we find a neon green vegetable that looks like cauliflower. But also broccoli. I hold it up while she shoots. “Now, let’s be honest—is this broccoli’s cousin or cauliflower’s?”

“Or maybe it’s related to a sea urchin,” she says, then tells me it’s Romanesco broccoli. “And it tastes good.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say.

“Or you could let me cook it for you. Since that’s another great thing about farmers’ markets. They can be the starting point of a two-part date. Shop and eat,” she says, on a hopeful note.

But with a hint of innuendo too.

Which means it’s time to turn off the camera. “I do want to eat,” I say in a low voice, letting her connect the dots. That shouldn’t be hard to do.

Her lips part, and a greedy breath seems to ghost across them. Ah hell, I’m desperate to kiss her in public, too, but Date Night would have a field day if I did that. They’d say we’re a thing, and then people would get excited, like they did about Quinn and me, and then I’d have to say we’re not together.

Not for real.

Just for lessons.

And fuck that.

I don’t want to explain what we’re doing to anyone. It’s private, and I want the rest of this night to be private too.

Starting now.

“Want to get out of here?” I ask quietly, but a voice interrupts my thoughts.

A booming voice from a few feet away. “Dude. That loss sucked last night.”

I groan, but then slap on a smile. It was inevitable that we’d run into a fan.

I turn around. “Hey, man,” I say to a guy wearing a Renegades sweatshirt. Don’t know him but the sympathetic look on his face tells me he’s a hardcore fan.

“Good game, Hendrix. But that was a tough loss. Why did Cafferty overthrow?”

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