Page 49 of Just for the Plot

“No, it is,” I say. “Just, yeah, forget I even got weird.” I look her in the eyes. “Thank you for the cronut, feel free to bring over pastries every morning if you want.”

“Don’t tease me. There are enough pastries in this city to try something new every day for a year. Ooo—” Her eyes widen with excitement. “We could start a food blog about pastries. Kind of like what Nolan does with his breakfast burritos.”

“That would require me caring about social media, and I don’t care in the slightest.”

“Yeah, you don’t seem like someone who would care. Maybe we can keep the reviews to ourselves. Start a notebook, rate them.”

“I could get on board with that,” I say and take a bite of my cronut. “What would you rate this?”

“Well, given my moaning, I would grade it pretty high. Oh, maybe we can rate it by moans? How loud and long it made me moan.”

“Or we can go by stars. Stars are pretty universal.” Because I don’t need her moaning around me.

“Ugh, boring, but fine.” She examines the cronut. “Are we talking solid one through five stars here, or can we go with decimals?”

“I think we can go with decimals.”

“You’re a real savior.” She studies the cronut some more. “Okay, I think I’d give this a four-point-two-seven.”

“A four-point-two-seven?” I ask. “How the hell did you come up with that?”

She shrugs. “Just felt right.”

I shake my head because she’s weird but really fucking cute.

“What about you?” she asks. “What would you give it?”

“If we’re giving oddball numbers, then three-point-eight-two-three.”

Her mouth falls open and she sets her cronut down. “What? Three-point-eight-two-three? Have you lost your mind? That’s outrageous.”

“How is that outrageous?”

“Because”—she picks up her cronut again—“this hybrid of a flaky, buttery croissant and ooey-gooey donut is easily no lessthan a four-point-one-seven-two-nine and you go and give it a three-point-eight-two-three?” She shakes her head. “You’re no longer invited to offer ratings with that kind of tomfoolery.”

“This coming from the person who uses a four-point-one- seven-two-nine as a rating.”

“I’m impressed you remembered those numbers, because I couldn’t have told you what it was if you asked me.”

I chuckle. “My point exactly. I think decimals have to be taken out.”

“Decimals are what makes the world run smoothly.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Unsure.” She smirks and then nudges me again. “There you are, the easygoing guy I know.”

“Was here the whole time.”

“No, you weren’t, but nice try.” She wipes her hands on a napkin.

Not wanting to harp on my weird mood, but instead, try to show her what a fun, compatible guy I can be for her, I say, “So when are you going to invite me over to your place so I can see it?”

“Ooof, that will be a little while.”

My brow scrunches together. “Why?”

“Everything is still in boxes besides clothes. Haven’t had much time to unpack since I’ve been either helping my boss, running errands, or too exhausted after the day to even think about unpacking.”