Upside Down(37)

“Hey,” he said as he got closer.

I had to do the breathe-in, breathe-out thing because of the effect he had on my not-automatic respiratory system. “Hey.”

He handed me a cup. “Soy.”

“Thank you.”

He was still grinning. “You look great today. Love the white. Haven’t seen you wear white before.”

I looked down at my white scarf, dark jeans, and white sneakers. “I wasn’t sure where we were heading, so I figured my cerise pink might not be appropriate.”

He grinned. “I like pink, and I don’t care. If you want to wear hot pink, wear it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I replied, happy he had no qualms about clothes and colours. After all, wearing bright colours against my drab uniform was my thing. “So, any clues about where we’re going or what we’re doing today?”

He bit his bottom lip, looking a little nervous. “I thought we could go to the New South Wales art gallery. There’s a new exhibit I’d love to see, but if it’s not your thing, I thought we could check out the—”

“Are you kidding? It is so my thing. It’s actually like a perfect thing, and the fact you thought of it without even asking me…” I stopped and studied him. “Did you ask Merry what my most perfect date would be? Or did your Truman-Show-perfect hologram program do some weird algorithm to find out what would be the best second date ever?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “No! I promise! There’s a Brett Whitely exhibit I wanted to see, and I just needed an excuse.”

“Oh my God, I love Brett Whitely!”

He smiled and let out a breath like he was immensely relieved. “Shall we?” He nodded toward the bus stop.

“We shall.” I was so excited, I was struggling to rein it in. He looked at me and I laughed. “Coffee and an art gallery. You’ve won me over already.”

We sat on the bus, both smiling like fools, our sides touching from thigh to shoulder, neither of us in a hurry to put even an inch between us.

“How’d your pasta go last night?” he asked.

“It was so good, and the carb coma was great too.”

He laughed. “Maybe you could make it for me one day.”

My heart squeezed and I felt a little faint. “Sure. I’d love that. Um, how did your work thing go? Weren’t you taking some work home?”

“Got it all done,” he replied. “Well, what I could get done. But it’ll give me a head start on next week. It’s one of my biggest contracts and it’s almost done, so it’ll be good to wrap it up.”

“Are you just being modest, or is it a really big accomplishment that other internet ninjas would be envious of?”

“Internet ninja?”

“Yes, all that dark-net stuff you do.”

He laughed, but he also blushed. “I like internet ninja. But okay, yes, I’m being a little modest. It’s kind of a big deal.”

I bumped his shoulder with mine. “You can be honest with me. If you’re the best at something, you can just own it. I won’t judge. I’m totally the best librarian in all of Sydney, possibly Australia, just so you know.”

He chuckled. “You are?”

I nodded. “Yep. I have trophies and everything.”

His grin widened. “They have trophies?”

“No. But they should.”

“Like the librarian Olympics?”

“Yes! Oh my God, that is the best idea ever. I can see it now. Merry and I would make a kickarse synchronised cataloguing duo. We would totally smash Mrs Mullhearn.”

“Who’s Mrs Mullhearn again?”

“She’s our boss. She’s just recently celebrated her 258th birthday, and she’s an expert on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales and Merry and I are almost certain it’s because she bound the first editions herself.”

Hennessy snorted. “Pray tell, which events would you smash Mrs Mullhearn in?”

“Well, all of them. But I’m taking gold in the Decathlon of Motherfuckers. That’s where the contestants have to find ten ways to incorporate it into varying library scenarios. You get extra points for creativity and cadence. Samuel L Jackson is the presiding judge.”

He laughed. “Lucky for you he’s not competing, because he’d be tough to beat.”

“I know, right? He’s the master.”

“Shit, here’s our stop!” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me off the bus. It all kind of happened so fast I didn’t have time to object, not that I would have, but then we were on the footpath and there was no reason for him to be holding my hand. He’d actually held my hand a few times, so I was sure he had no issue with it. “Oh, sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I should have asked before now. I don’t know if you have issues with holding hands. Some people don’t like it, and if I made you uncomfortable—”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“If you can hold my hand. You said you should have asked before now, which might be true, I don’t know, but you’ve held my hand like three times already.”

“Three times?”

“I’ve been counting.”

“Oh, sorry.”