Page 56 of ClickBack

“I know it.”

“Knowing it and being familiar with it are different.”

She starts moving while she waits for my answer. I put the cups on the edge of the table we have just left and take her hand. Her surprise lasts only until I bring her closer.

“Oh, you know it.”

“I said I did.”

She laughs, then corrects my timing with a squeeze of my fingers. A woman passing us points at Giselle and joins in for a few steps before her friend drags her toward another stall. Giselle calls after her to come back. The woman says she is trying, and her friend says that is the problem.

By the end of the song, Giselle’s hand is warm in mine and I have forgotten who might be watching. She retrieves her bag, checks that her CD survived, and looks up at me with a smile I want more of.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m having a good time.”

“So am I.”

She says it without making me work for it. I pick up the cups, and we keep walking.

Later, outside her car, she brushes powdered sugar from my shirt. The funnel cake was her idea. Holding it while she broke pieces off was apparently mine, though I don’t remember agreeing.

“You missed some,” I tell her.

“I can see it.”

She dusts my sleeve and takes a step back to inspect me.

“Presentable.”

“That the standard?”

“For leaving you unattended.”

I want to kiss her. I also remember the women outside the restaurant and how quickly she became conscious of herself. While I am working out how to ask without making it awkward, she catches the front of my shirt and draws me down.

I get one hand against the car beside her. She kisses me again, and I forget the question.

When she steps away, her fob is already in her hand.

“Before we keep doing this,” she says, “I need to tell you something.”

“All right.”

She turns the fob over in her hand. “I’m not sleeping with anybody else.”

“Neither am I.”

She looks at me carefully. “I’m not asking you for a title.”

“I heard you.”

She nods, but her fingers are still tight around the fob. I want to know how long she’s been working up to telling me. I want to hear it again, too. Neither is something she needs to deal with while she’s standing here wondering whether she said too much.

I reach for her again. This kiss is shorter, partly because she starts smiling against me.

“What?” I ask.