Page 32 of ClickBack

“Enough to know I don’t want to become a subject.”

He sets down his fork. “I can’t promise nobody will take a picture.”

“I’m not asking you to.” I look at him. “I just don’t know how this works. Who sees what. Who decides what it means.”

“Instagram isn’t my world.”

“It shows quite a lot of it.”

“Parts.” He considers me. “Some of what you’ve seen is true. I’ve been single. I’ve gone places and done things because I wanted to.”

I appreciate the answer even as it deprives me of an easy objection. I have just spent the night with a man because I wanted to. I cannot reasonably require him to have been waiting untouched for my arrival.

“I’m trying to be careful,” I say.

“Okay. Ask me what you need to ask.”

“It’s too early to know all the questions.”

“Then leave some room for the answers.”

I meet his eyes. There is a little hurt in the request, less than last night gave me and enough for me to recognize. He has been sitting here telling me about himself. I have enjoyed it, then reached outside the table for a version I can be suspicious of.

“Fair,” I say.

He lets the word be enough. When the waitress comes to clear the plates, he asks whether I want more coffee. I do. We stay until I finish it, talking about the cake Zion has requested for his actual birthday and how little of it he is likely to eat.

At my car, Jarrett looks down at the shorts.

“You still planning to mail those?”

“I haven’t priced the shipping.”

“I want to see you again.”

I look up. “We said one night.”

“We did.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m asking for another day.”

I turn the fob in my hand. Behind him is the building where I learned things about myself I will not be discussing with my daughter. Ahead of me is my car, my house, an ordinary Sunday waiting for me to return. He isn’t asking me to choose between them. Even so, I feel the temptation to make this harder than it is.

“I need to get home.”

“Go home.” He smiles a little. “Think about it there.”

I open the door and put my bag inside. Then I turn back, reach for his shirt, and rise onto my toes. He bends to meet me. The kiss is warm and unhurried, and when I step away, I find I would rather be staying.

“Let me know you made it,” he says.

“I will.”

He waits until I start the car, then moves back. At the exit, I lower the visor and catch sight of his cap over my glasses. I almost take it off. Instead, I adjust the brim and turn toward home.

Chapter 6