Page 16 of Luna
“I ordered it for you.”
Ah, well, even I don’t really have anything to say about that, so I just give him a grateful nod.
He blinks, giving me some respite from his eyes. “Would you like something else?”
I chuckle. “I think two double-decker club sandwiches might be enough for now.”
He nods, then waves to someone at the counter. Our server wanders over with a small paper bag and slides it onto the table, giving him a warm smile.
“You changed your mind and got yourself a four a.m. snack after all?” I say, gesturing to the bag. “Smart. You won’t regret it.”
He shakes his head. “It’s yours.”
I wait for him to volunteer more information, but as has become the norm, he gives me nothing. “I didn’t order this,” I finally say when the curiosity gets the better of me.
“I thought you might like something sweet after…” He gestures to the two plates in front of me, almost empty except for the two discarded pickles and some crumbs.
“Ooh, what is it?” I ask, a little spark of excitement igniting in my stomach as I reach for the bag.
“You’ll see when you eat it.”
The urge to peek is almost overwhelming, but for some reason, I push it down, wanting to keep it a surprise for later. I do give him a big grin, though. “That’s very nice of you. Thank you.”
He just shrugs, leaning back against the booth. And when he finally speaks again, it’s just to say “So do you want to tell me what’s going on now?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve met you three times now over the course of the last month, and every time, you’re causing trouble of some sort. That’s usually a sign that something is going on.”
Almost choking on my too big sip of coffee, I take a moment before responding to the accusation. “I wasn’t causing trouble any of those times.”
“You called that guy at the bar a hulking meat mound. Like a baked potato with fewer brains.”
Out of my mouth, it sounded vaguely ridiculous; out of his, paired with his bone-dry delivery, it sounds downright hilarious, and I almost spit out a mouthful of coffee over his perfect suit.
“Oh, come on, you know that was an accurate description. His eyes literally looked like potato eye, all crooked and misshapen and smooshed too close together! Like they belonged on a dried-up old spud that had rolled behind your refrigerator, musty and dusty and easily mistaken for a cat turd.”
He opens his mouth but then closes it, his jaw twitching.
“You can laugh,” I tell him. “I know I’m a delightful conversationalist.”
This time, the laugh breaks through, and he lets out a little exhale.
It’s the singular best sound I’ve heard all night. I could eat out on that sound alone for a week.
“You could learn something about how to conduct a conversation from me,” I say with a knowing nod.
“Pass.”
I scoff, waving my hand at him. “See? Like that. That doesn’t give your company anything to work with. Banter is kind of like doing improv—it’s alwaysyes. Anostilts the conversation.”
His eyes flash with something unreadable, but all he says is “Mission accomplished.”
I sigh, giving him a patronizing headshake. “Two words that time,” I say, holding up two fingers. “Growth. Maybe I’m rubbing off on you.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Three words.
