"That sounds an awful lot like you're offering to go with me, angel."
"I think you need to get your hearing checked then," she told me, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips.
"I mean... I could do it myself," I agreed, reaching for another lollipop, unwrapping it, noticing her eyes were following as I lifted it and slipped it between my lips. So, of course, I went ahead and made a show of it for her. "But then I might end up with an air hockey table instead of a dining one."
"Who do you have to play air hockey with?"
"Well, I got you, don't I?"
"No one has me," she countered. Then, seemed to realize what she had said, eyes getting a bit wide. "I mean, I don't have time for frivolity."
"Frivolity," I repeated, chuckling.
"It's the right word."
"I'm sure it is. I get that work is important to you, doll, but you gotta live a little too."
"And playing air hockey is living a little?"
"If the opponent is worthy," I agreed. "But, yeah, if I'm left to my own devices, things could get weird in here. And then whenever you visit, you will have to be a part of that weirdness," I told her, shaking my head.
Her eyes rolled, but she was trying her best to keep her lips from twitching.
"Fine. I will help you pick out furniture."
"And by 'help me' you mean that you will walk in, pick out pieces, then order me to pay the man."
"That sounds about right," she agreed. "Tomorrow?" she asked, reaching for her phone, swiping through, likely looking at her calendar.
"Tomorrow works. So, what are we ordering for dinner?"
"We aren't."
"Sure we are, sweetheart. I have to pay you back for busting your ass for me here today."
"That's not necessary."
"Tell me you're not hungry, and I will let it go." I knew she couldn't. My stomach was grumbling. Hers had to be as well. "Good. Then we have a date. What kind of takeout is your favorite?" I asked before she could object to the word 'date.'
"I'm not pic--"
"You are," I cut her off, smiling. "Picky," I finished for her. "Or maybe you prefer the word 'particular.' But you are. And that's okay. So, what do you like the most in this town?"
"Annie's," she told me.
"That's the place that is take-out only, right? I haven't tried it yet. What does she have?"
"Basic comfort food type things. Though, they are always expanding the menu."
"What do you get?"
"Annie makes this really cool imitation of Hamburger Helper I used to eat a lot as a kid. But she makes it with fresh ingredients and some kind of soy crumbles. It's amazing."
"Alright. So we will get two of those. And some fried chicken and mac and cheese. And...what are your opinions on potatoes?"
"Yes," she said, a shy little smile pulling at her lips.
"Tots? Wedges? Spirals?"
"Yes," she answered again, this time letting out a little laugh. "But their wedges are the best I've ever had."
"Okay. And wedges. Let's order."
"I can order on the app, but it is probably smart to go and pick it up. I have been really careful to keep your anonymity here. The less people who know you're here, the safer you will be."
"Looking out for me again, darling? A man could get used to all that sweet."
"I'm not sweet," she objected, sounding almost offended at the idea.
"Sure you are, angel. But let's not argue about it. You get to ordering. I will clean up your cleaning supplies. Then we can drop by the convenience store to get some drinks."
And then we did just that.
Ever efficient, we left a little early, so that Chris could follow me to the truck rental place. Then she brought me back into town. We loaded up on drinks and snacks. I made a mental note that she liked ginger ale and those glassed coffee drinks in the mocha flavor.
"Yes, it is a cliche," I said when she eyed my handful of sweet tea bottles. "But I can't help liking the stuff. Oh, dessert," I said, stopping at the end-cap where they had all the assorted Entemann's boxes were stacked. "Well, we have to have a coffee cake. That's classic. And the apple puffs can't be passed up on."
"Finch, we ordered dinner. We're not going to be hungry enough for any of this."
"Well, maybe a snack after furniture shopping tomorrow. Come on. Pick something out." She stood there for a long moment, lips pursed, mulling the options before finally picking the glazed Pop-Ems. "Solid choice. Okay. I think we're set. And not just because I can't hold another fucking thing."
I could feel Chris's eyes on me through the whole shopping and checking out process, her brows pinched. Like she was trying to figure something out. Like this very normal interaction was foreign to her.
I understood that Hailstorm was some sort of survivalist and paramilitary outlaw organization run by a badass woman by the name of Lo. And I had come to find out that Chris was Lo's adopted daughter, that she was being primed to take over someday.
So, yeah, maybe she had been living a very different lifestyle. But she had to have gone to a store with a friend before. Right?
"I know, I know," I said to the guy behind the counter who kept sneaking glances at Chris. "What's a schmuck like me doing with a goddess like this, right?" I asked. "Guess I must have done something real good in a past life," I added, handing him the cash, noting the way Chris's cheeks tinted pink.
"Do women actually fall for that?" she asked, trying to make light of her reaction to me as we moved back into the parking lot.
"Sometimes they do; sometimes they don't. But, angel, I don't say that shit if I don't mean it."
"You told the waitress at the diner that she had beautiful hands."
"She did," I told her, shrugging. "I don't have to lie to get anything out of women. Usually, the truth works well enough. If you've gotten this far in life without hearing that you're gorgeous, then everyone in your life has failed you. You're beautiful. It's a fact. If I say it, it's because it's true, not because I'm trying to soften you up."
She took the bags from me, tucking them into the backseat, then climbed into the front, saying nothing.
And I let her mull it over as we walked up to the window to pick up our food, and drove back to my new place.
"There's nowhere to sit," she realized, belatedly, something that didn't seem normal for her.
"Nope, but luckily, I have this," I said, going into a box to produce a blanket I'd taken from the apartment since I didn't have one of my own. I flicked it open on the clean floor, waving down at it.
"I haven't had a picnic since I was a kid," she admitted.
"Me either. Think maybe my joints aren't going to like this. I know, I know, you're not quite at the 'my joints hurt when I stand too fast or sit cross-legged or sneeze to hard' point in life, but it is coming," I told her, watching as she sat cross-legged across from me, reaching into the bag to scatter the contents between us.