Page 10 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

Andrea turns, startled, car door hanging open.

It occurs to me that “wait” isn’t the best greeting, and it isn’t the greatest opening line into asking a beautiful, delicate human woman if she would like to go out with an oversized, grunting dude with an overbite. Knowing she is going to say no takes some of the pressure off.

“Do you want to bowl?”

Andrea unfolds herself from the car, and when she stands, she looks much more proportionate.

Much more beautiful.

She’s kind though, so I’m sure she’ll let me down gently, probably with a lovely smile. “Bowling, with you?”

“Yes. Tonight.”

To my utter consternation, her face lights up.

That’s terrible. She’s far, far too pretty when she’s smiling up at me. My stomach hurts, like hunger pangs, but they’re in the middle of my chest.

I don’t think high cholesterol is contagious, at least not just by word of mouth...

Andrea gasps out, “I’d love that! Thank you. But... Is this a pity offer? Because I was moaning about being on my own and missing my vacation?” She gives me a half-nervous smile, twirling her long dark hair around one finger. As if she realizes she’s doing it, she drops her hands guiltily and clutches them tightly at her waist.

“It’s not pity. You are new in town. You need to see it to appreciate it. It is less lonely with someone. So, I’m offering.” Please say no now.

“So, not a date?”

Wait, why does she sound disappointed? I don’t want her to be disappointed. If she’s sad, she’s going to leave town faster—and for all I know, Sunderland is listening in, ready to aim something heavier than a newspaper, like the truck manual for Big Red, at my head.

“No. It is like a date. But you can say no, now,” I say firmly, nodding to show I expect her to.

“Oh, no. I w-wouldn’t say no. I’d be... I mean, I’d love to. I’d love to go bowling. I haven’t been bowling in months, not since there was a school event.”

I nod again, mainly because I can’t talk. My mouth doesn’t know what to do. I was prepared for her kind rejection, not her delighted acceptance, and now all I can do is bobble my head like the annoying little plastic baseball players on Sunderland’s desk.

“Uh. What time?”

“Seven.” That’s after the dinner hour. I’ll be done with my shift.

“Seven sounds great. Meet you there?”

“Yes.” How else do humans do this? Troll courtship is not like dating. Trolls bring kills, and if the female accepts them, he can try to carry her off to his cave. If she fights him off, he brings more kills the next night, and so on, and so on, until she comes with him without severe injuries.

Imagining anyone trying to drag Andrea anywhere causes a different kind of pain, not in my chest, but behind my eyes.

“Maybe we could go to the Night Market after?” Andrea suggests, voice happy and somehow shy, bashful.

Why? She is a gorgeous, smart, talented woman. She should have the confidence of an empress. If she should be bashful about anything, one would think it would be sobbing in the grass with a can of tuna. We’ve already done that.

“I will see you at seven. Bowling, first. Market, second. I have to get back inside. My captain needs to go home, and I’m on duty.”

“Oh! Right. Okay, then. I’ll see you tonight!” Andrea beams, inserts herself back into the car, showing off those long, smooth legs, and shuts her door. She drives off with a wave.

I stalk back into the station, trying to ignore the captain’s smug face. “She say yes?”

“Mhm.”

“Where you going?”

“Bowling. Night Market.”