So much for enjoying what he had to say. “This isn’t work; this is pleasure.”
But pleasure seemed awkward the way she choked it out. She covered by standing up. “No job talk,” she declared. She was supposed to be having fun with him so she’d kept reminding herself of that rule since he’d called her back on Tuesday and they’d made plans to meet today.
She tried to smile and signal that she was relaxed as they walked briskly through Marcus Garvey Park and toward the destination she’d chosen for them. Stroll don’t stride. This is supposed to be fun.
Oliver seemed unbothered, though. He had his usual chunky, black-framed glasses and was dressed in crisp trousers and a light button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up. She tried not to stare at his wrists, strong slashes of tendon and muscle even when his hands were relaxed. She remembered one time one of her friends had joked that for a planner he dressed like an architect and that impression remained in the sharp lines and stark blacks and whites of his clothing.
They didn’t talk much as they walked past the blue-and-yellow play structures, past a teenage boy playing the saxophone on the paved hexagonal stone path. Under the shade, a man was frantically doing crunches while his baby slept in a nearby stroller. Joggers swept by, serious and sweaty. It was early afternoon and the sun was strong that day, enough that, after some hesitation, Fay took off her canary-bright cardigan and revealed her floaty top, her bare arms.
She saw the flash in Oliver’s eye, but he didn’t say anything. She remembered she’d always found him quiet and reassuring, but he noticed a lot. She had always liked that about him. Maybe back when she was married, she’d thought vaguely to herself that it might be good to work with someone like him. Perhaps she’d even mentioned to her partners that they might try to lure him to their firm. But now she wondered at that version of memory. She had felt very aware of him—maybe she had been interested this whole time.
At the top of the sweeping stone staircase, they gazed at the fire tower in all its restored cast-iron glory and began to play a game of building-nerd I-Spy where they tried to identify landmarks and streets, points for obscurity and oddball facts. And then eventually they just watched, companionably taking in the view.
“Spot any fires, chief?” Oliver asked after a while, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Not even a whiff of smoke.”
Well, she was feeling warm. Oliver wasn’t standing that close to her. Sometimes, he moved in to point at something and she’d imagine she felt his breath on her cheek. And sometimes she would do the same, and it seemed almost as if he turned, he leaned toward her, his touch a phantom hovering just above her skin. She sighed and he heard it, judging by the tilt of his head, the inquiry in his eyes. By unspoken agreement, they picked their way down the stairs. And paused.
It really was a beautiful park.
“I know you probably have a whole itinerary we’re supposed to be marching steadily through or something,” Oliver said, “but it’s really tempting to suggest we just laze in the grass in the shade for a bit.”
She nodded. Shade. That sounded...cooling. And surely, she wasn’t so uptight that she had to do something every minute. Was that how he saw her? Fay frowned.
They found a patch of grass and she sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest, and Oliver lay down with his arms behind his head. He gave a blissful grunt and closed his eyes, again, allowing her another chance to look at him, his long, lean form like an exclamation mark in the grass, his shirt drawn tight against his flat belly, the outline of his thighs and knees. What would it be like to have that shape punctuating her moans, her cries?
He opened one eye. “Is this okay for you?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, it’s good.”
She blushed remembering the direction of her thoughts. This was the problem with sitting still. She’d never been able to do it for long. And when she did, she had thoughts. Like the ones she was currently entertaining about Oliver Huang.
“Ants on you,” she said.
Oliver sat up slowly. It was nice to watch. He inspected his arms, his pant legs. He gave her a questioning look.
It was an invitation to touch.
“Here,” she said. And she brushed a few away gently.
He was again very still while her fingers were on him.
“Remember that time a group of us were at a site in New Jersey, and you waded into the grass and got all those insects on you?” he asked her.
“Oh, you aren’t going to bring that up! That was embarrassing.”
He laughed. “It wasn’t. And I like that memory. You waded into some tall grass, and when you came out your ankle socks were covered in bugs, little gnats or green flies or something. Someone—I don’t remember who it was so long ago—started shrieking about ticks.”
“Don’t remind me.” But it was too late.
“You were so calm! You got behind the car and took off your shoes and some of your clothing and asked for help to be inspected—just in case.”
“And you stepped up. No one else would. Everyone was too busy freaking out the minute I said the t-word.”
“Yeah.”
“And you were not gross about it.” She smiled at him.
“High praise. I try.” He grinned back, his cheeks reddened as their eyes locked for a beat longer than necessary. Flashes of memory came—his hands, confident and cool with long tapered fingers closing around her ankle. Her blood stirred, but he looked away first.
She cleared her throat, “So is this a story about how great you are or about how great I am?”
He laughed. “Luckily you were fine. And someone did have a change of clothes. But you insisted that we go to a store and get you new ones.”
“I remember. Rob. He’d been at the city with me, too, and Linda.”
“Linda! My classmate. That was her name.”
“Yes. So, Rob—it was his car—didn’t really want to stop. I think he was worried you hadn’t done a good job and that he’d have to industrial-strength clean his precious Acura.” She wrinkled her nose. “Can you blame him?”
“Yeah, I can. He was being a jerk. Did he think he should leave you stranded? You were his colleague. It wasn’t like you were spilling an entire colony of ticks onto his upholstery.” He shook his head. “And then he wanted to go to a big box store.”
“Against all of our community planning principles.” She snickered, and Oliver started laughing, too.
“You managed it so well! You said, no, let’s stop in this other nice town. And you arranged to get the car vacuumed out!”
“It wasn’t thorough.”