The F-Word

I tell her that I never heard of Green Mansions and she gives me a quick rundown on the story of a sophisticated man who falls in love with a woman who is a creature of the rainforest. She makes the story sound exciting and beautiful, but what’s really exciting and beautiful is the way she keeps looking up at me, all that intensity directed at me and only me…

“Time to head back,” I say briskly.

A car suddenly speeds towards us as we step off the curb. I automatically grab Bailey’s wrist.

“Careful,” I say.

Somehow, our fingers entwine. They stay linked all the way back to my door.

Where she stops.

“It’s late,” she says.

I check my watch. “It’s midnight.”

“Exactly. It’s late. And tomorrow’s a work day.”

“I know the boss. He won’t mind if you come in late.”

She raises one eyebrow. “I know him too. And he’s a guy who believes in punctuality. It’s time I went home.”

She’s right. Not about punctuality. Well, yeah. I do believe in it, but I don’t want the evening to end. I don’t want her to leave…

Meaning, it’s time she did.

“Okay,” I say, with a little smile. “Let me get Walter set and then I’ll drive you home.”

She shakes her head. “I can take the subway.”

Spoken like a true New Yorker, but no way am I about to let her ride the subway at this hour. New York’s a civilized city, sure, but there are times not all its citizens remember that.

“No subway,” I tell her, and she makes a face.

“That’s foolish.”

“So is tempting the fates on the E train at this hour.”

“Fine. I’ll take a taxi and—”

“I’m driving you home.” She starts to argue. I put my index finger against her lips. “Uh uh. No arguing with the boss.”

She sighs and I unlock the door, undo Walter’s lead, get him a couple of biscuits while Bailey hugs him and plants a kiss on his enormous muzzle.

Then she and I head for the door in the kitchen that leads to the garage.

Did I mention that it’s a tight space?

She goes first and, being Bailey and being self-sufficient, she doesn’t wait for me to open the door. She reaches for the doorknob herself. The problem is that me being me, I reach for it at virtually the same instant.

Meaning that we both end up in the same six inches of space.

“Sorry,” I say.

“Sorry,” she says.

She steps back.

Bad idea.