Page 28 of Mixed Signals
“I don’t know. Grover suits you.” Her touch moves down to my forearm, where three other bandages are slapped together. She taps at the bright blue Sesame Street face right above my wrist. I don’t even have a cut there. I don’t know what Oliver was thinking.
I grab another chip. “Tonight was not my best showing.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she muses. “There was entertainment. Dinner.” She nods at the tray of nachos between us. “Dessert if you take me back inside for a churro. It’s a better date than I normally have, pending you not leaving me in the parking lot at the end of it.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “This shouldn’t rank anywhere close to the top of your list, Layla.”
She shrugs. “That’s for me to decide. Not you.”
She leans back on her elbows, her body a smooth curve against the grass. We’re caught in the endless evening of late summer, the sun hanging heavy in the sky just above the horizon. A warm wind blows through the little patch of grass we’re situated in, the weeds and the flowers dancing around us. It lifts the edge of the scarf in her hair and trails it across her bare throat, a temptation if I’ve ever seen one.
I wonder if the skin there tastes as sweet as the sticky honey glaze she uses. Or if the taste of her is more indulgent like the heavy, rich chocolate ganache she uses on some of her cakes. I wonder if I’d taste her on my tongue for hours. If I’d crave her the same way.
“Caleb.”
I force my gaze away from the hollow of her throat, heat rushing to my cheeks. I look up at the sky instead, the fluffy, white clouds floating slowly by. That’s not the sort of relationship we’re going to have, Layla and I. It’s an arrangement.
“What?”
“I said, we should probably talk about how we’re doing this.”
“How we’re doing, what? Sharing these nachos?” I nudge the tray towards her. “I already told you that you can have the cheese.”
“No.” She looks amused. “Our arrangement. The last time we talked about it, you came into my bakery and barked at me about my phone.”
“Oh.” I rub one finger across my eyebrow. That’s exactly what I did. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry about that, by the way. I was … stressed this week.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.” Everything isfine.Assuming that my tumble through the skate rink wall didn’t give me blood poisoning. “What did you want to discuss? Do you think we should make some rules?”
Her face pinches in distaste. “No. I don’t think we need to do that. That makes it feel like something—” She trails off, looking for the right words.
“Fake?”
Her face eases, soft lines and bright eyes. Out in the sunlight, they match the grass around us. Forest green. Flecks of brown in the middle. “Yes. Exactly. I don’t want that.”
“I don’t either.”
“Good.”
Layla plucks a blade of grass and holds it between her thumb and forefinger, watching me the entire time. “Why are you doing this, Caleb?”
“I told you,” I make sure I keep my eyes on hers. It’s important that she believes me. That she understands I’m telling thetruth.“I’ve been, ah, struggling on dates lately. And I need your help to figure out why.”
She cocks her head to the side and searches my face. I feel the drag of her gaze like a finger against my cheek, turning my face into the light to evaluate. “Have you taken anyone roller skating recently?”
“Just you.”
“Hm.”
“What’s that?” I ask. “Thathm.”
“It means I haven’t reached a conclusion yet. It means we have more work to do. More dates to go on, to figure it out.”
I fight against my smile. “I think so.”
“Good.”
