Page 74 of Play With Me

“Always.”

“Good,” she said. “I close in ten. Help me pack up, and I’ll bury you in hot nuts.”

My mom squeezed my arm as she stepped back, murmuring, “We’ll take the truck home.”

As they walked off, arguing about what to do next, I stayed where I was, leaning against the edge of the booth. Lou moved back behind the table, rearranging a few pieces, checking her square reader, humming under her breath.

“You did good, sis,” I said.

She glanced up at me, smiling. “Thanks for coming.”

I watched her for another second—the easy competence, the way people seemed to leave her space happier than they entered it.

“Yeah,” I said. I don’t want to be anywhere else.

Her arms were full—two bags hooked over her elbows and a big box in her hands. The wheelbarrow I pushed groaned under the weight of her wares.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hauling all this back to the studio every night,” I grunted, righting it as it tried to tip.

“It usually takes two or three trips, so this is a real treat,” she said. She shifted the box against her chest, dug into one of the bags, and pulled out a pair of roasted chestnuts. “Open.”

I slowed. Her bags bumped against me as she popped one into my mouth and one into hers.

I scrunched my nose, and her laugh tinkled across the holiday-lit storefronts. The tire thudded loud against the cobblestones, soft with low pressure. I’d fill it before I left.

“I think you’re awesome,” she said into the quiet night. She looked up at me happily, still chewing. “I’m really happy we met.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t hide my smile. We were like a couple of dumbasses, just grinning at each other. “I think you’re awesome, too.”

She skipped, like she had too much energy and nowhere to put it. “Will I be able to write you when you’re gone?”

The wheelbarrow wobbled. I couldn’t really name what I felt hearing her ask that. I’d never written a woman while I was away, outside of my family. Eilidh.

She’d probably use individual letters cut from magazines like a psycho. We were almost to her studio.

I sounded strange when I finally answered her question. “I’ll send you my FPO address. I’ll be there, ready to read your bullshit.”

She glanced up quickly and giggled. “With your reading glasses on?”

“What? I don’t wear glasses.”

She gave me a look as she tucked the box under one arm. “It’s a whole thing. You’re very…“ she waved her free hand around me, “domestically attractive.”

“Domestically attractive?” I laughed.

She snorted and put another handful of nuts in her mouth. She looked like a chipmunk holding one out for me. I shook my head and she crammed it into her mouth. It shouldn’t have been sexy, but somehow it was.

“You should check your nightstand,” she said through a mouthful of nuts. “Your reading glasses are probably there waiting for you.”

I stopped short, the wheelbarrow’s feet scraping against the stones. The load pitched forward.

“What?” she called, turning back. She struggled to swallow. “You need to switch?”

I shook my head again.

It’s just that my dad’s glasses are in my nightstand.

Forcing a smile, I lifted the handles again. The sound of the wheel resumed.