Page 98 of Never Alone

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"You can take it," she said.

I pulled it out.

I winced.

Davis had taken it—him and Martinez in the station kitchen, both of them shirtless, both of them flexing for the camera. Martinez had a rose between his teeth. The caption read:Mr. JULY OR ME.

"Bad news?"

"Davis and Martinez."

"Is it work?"

"It's the calendar."

She put down her fork.

"What calendar?"

"The firefighter one. They want me for Mr. July."

She laughed out loud, into the room, head back. The waiter looked over.

"You should do it."

"No."

"Cole. Come on."

"No."

"I would buy six. I'd ask Mrs. Thompson if I could put one up by the register. We'd get more customers."

"You'd put it up at the bakery?"

"Yes."

"My face. At your bakery."

"That's the idea."

I shook my head.

"I don't want more attention than I've already got."

"Boring," she said. But she was smiling. She picked her fork up.

The rest of the evening was lighter. Smaller things. Noah at Jamie's earlier in the day. Noah's running argument with himself about whether he wanted to play soccer in the spring. Whether the bakery's new oven was actually new.

The bill came. I took it.

She watched me put my card back into my wallet.

"Thank you for dinner."

"Don't think about it. I wanted to eat out."

"Yeah," she said. "You did."

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