Page 83 of Wish I Might
“They serve food.”
“We don’t have to buy it,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Yes, we do.”Genuinely appalled, she stared at him.“You can’t go to a movie and not get popcorn, Nash.That’s unconscionable.”
“It’s stale, overpriced, and gives me the farts.”
“Then we definitely can’t go to a movie.”
“We could find another museum.”
“Absolutely not.One museum a day is my limit.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.“Arcade?”
“Talk about overpriced,” she said with a snort, but the idea had appeal.“I haven’t been to an arcade in years.Think they still have foosball?”
“Only one way to find out.”
* * * *
“I still say you cheated.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”Bailey climbed the steps of home with a spring in her step.The sun had set, taking with it the blazing heat of the day, and she’d kicked Nash’s ass at foosball.“How can you cheat at foosball?”
“I don’t know, but you did.”Behind her, Nash juggled his armful of park souvenirs with the bag of leftovers from dinner.“Why aren’t you carrying anything?”
“I am.”She held up the little carved wooden carousel horse.“See?”
“That’s still mine,” he reminded her.
She aimed an innocent smile over her shoulder.“Absolutely.”
He scowled.“I know that look.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” she said blithely and punched the code into the lock.Braced for the blast of heat, she stepped into the house.“Ugh.”
He walked in behind her.“It’s actually not too bad.”
It wasn’t a sauna, but it was still uncomfortably hot.Especially after the arcade and the restaurant, both of which had their AC set to Arctic Blast.“Yes, it is.”
“If we get some air moving, it won’t be.”Nash walked past her, skirted the mattress in the middle of the floor to dump everything onto the sofa, then moved to the front windows.“Go turn the fan on.”
Deciding it couldn’t hurt, she crossed the room to switch it on, then plucked the bag of food from the jumble on the sofa.“I’m putting this away.Want a water?”
He was struggling with the window.The wood had swelled in the heat, and the old rope and pulley that operated the window was stubborn at the best of times.“Yes.Jesus, are these things glued shut?”
Leaving him to it, she stashed the leftovers and came back with two bottles of water.She’d had the foresight to stock the fridge before they’d left for the museum, so they were icy cold.
He was opening on the second window when she walked in.“Here.”
He grunted, nudging the sash up inch by inch.“Hang on, I’ve almost got it.”
She waited until he had it open, then passed him the water.“Nicely done.”
“Fuck, I actually worked up a sweat doing that.”He took the water and swiped the cool, condensation-covered plastic over his forehead.“You need new windows.”
“They’re original to the house,” she told him.“They have charm.”
