Page 12 of Smoke and Fire
“Bastian.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Dahlia.”
I held out a hand. He paused for a moment to regard it—apparently, a barista had never introduced herself to him before—and eventually accepted. The warmth of his long fingers against mine felt like sliding on a hot-from-the-dryer-on-a-cold-day glove.
“Same.”
“The fire?” I nodded outside. “I’m assuming you and all those guys in the parking lot yesterday know something about it.”
“Not much.”
“Are you going to go fight it?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, you’re a barrel of helpful words.” The comment from Inner Me escaped before I could stop it. My eyes widened and I sealed my lips together in a thin line. The corner of his mouth twitched, which I took as either amusement or forgiveness. I flicked my fingers in a beckoning motion. “Give me something, brother. I don’t like fire. Imma water girl.”
He leaned back a little. A sliver of amusement appeared in his eyes. “The fire is north and winds are west.”
“Which means . . .?”
“Pineville is fine. For now,” he tacked on.
“That’s good news!” I cried. “Isn’t Adventura summer camp east of the fire?”
“Yes.”
“So does a west wind mean it’s blowing to the west, or to the east?”
“East. West to east.”
I frowned. Was Sione safe? “That’s not good news.”
He shook his head. I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. His voice appealed to me though, so I’d have to keep the conversation going myself. No problem. I’d tackled more difficult challenges before, like live karaoke and Pele singing just after me. I propped my hands on my hips.
“So are you going to fight it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Do you have the day off today?”
“Yeah.”
He stared at me, as if mentally preparing for the next question. I bit back an aggravated sigh and said, “Good talk,” before I spun around to leave.
I secretly hoped he’d call me back or grab my wrist again, but no such touch or call came. Egads, this man wouldn’t know how to converse if I provided a flow chart. For the next twenty minutes, I tried not to think about the intensity of his expression or the simple, one-word answers that left me still wanting more.
Duuumb.
When he appeared at the counter, money in hand, I tried not to jump out of surprise. His computer remained on the table, along with an open backpack that appeared bulky, as if it had several books inside.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He slid a twenty across the counter, then his cup. “Another coffee, please. Keep the change.”
“Sure.”
We remained quiet, and I kept my eyes oriented on the task at hand. Meanwhile, I could feel his gaze studying me. I had the absurd thought that, if this were a movie, he would burst into rapturous song. Birds would twitter overhead. The sky would change to a sunset, and glitter would spontaneously combust out of everywhere at once.
