Page 47 of Napkins and Other Distractions
We make eye contact. What we did. Here. In the supply closet.
Kent blinks hard, his body twitches, and, provoked by his erratic movement, his laptop falls to the carpet.
“Anyway, Theo’s a great guy. He’s Jewish, too. We’re the only ones here at school.” He bends down, his head disappearing under the table to retrieve the runaway computer. “We bond over talk of high holy days and family shenanigans.”
Bam! Kent’s head smacks the underside of the table, and I wince at the sound.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” I kneel to check on him, keeping my hands off the carpet.
Crumpled on the floor, Kent rubs the back of his head, face down, groaning.
“Damnit all to hell!” he bellows.
“Should I get someone? The nurse?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Let me look.” Determined to keep my hands off the filthy floor, I rest the left one on Kent’s thigh while I investigate with the other.
Kent’s hair leans more salt than pepper. I try to conjure up a vision of him with a full head of dark hair, but promptly dismiss it. Carefully examining his scalp, I comb my fingers through, searching for any signs of injury.
“Here.” He reaches up, places his hand on mine, and moves it to the point of impact.
Rubbing his scalp, my fingers get lost in his thick, wavy hair as I assess the damage.
“You feel okay. Maybe the tiniest bump.” Pulling away, I say, “I think you’ll survive.”
Kent reaches for my hand and holds it in his. His eyes, darker and more intense than I’ve seen, search mine. Our gazes connect and, wrapped in his, the tips of my fingers become sensitive. The cuddling. The kissing. Kent holding me all night in my bed. His warm breath on my neck. My face flashes hot, and Kent’s lips pull my focus.
“What’s going on here?”
Geoff stands at the door, staring down at us with a quizzical look on his face.
“He hit his head,” I blurt.
“On the table.” Kent points up.
“We’ve got the system ready,” Geoff says as I detangle myself from Kent. “The devices weren’t syncing in the cloud.”
“I changed a firewall setting.” Shreya appears next to Geoff, staring at her tablet. “We’re good to go for testing tomorrow.”
“Awesome. We’ll be ready,” Kent says, pushing himself to the chair.
“Kent, what in the world?” Shreya asks, finally noticing our predicament.
“I’m fine,” he says. “Technology is trying to kill me, is all.” He holds up the offending laptop.
Shreya and Geoff shake their heads, turn, and leave for the conference room.
Standing over me, Kent continues to rub the back of his head. His shirt, which has become more untucked and crumpled, matches his now rumpled pants. The man is a complete mess. But something about the way he looks at me. Touches me. Perhaps we could at least be friends. Benefits to be determined. Maybe there’s hope for something more. We need a hard reset. My body vibrates, almost like it could float out the window and over the entire school, and I blurt, “Kent, let’s have a do-over at The Purple Giraffe.”
“A do-over?”
“A first date do-over.”
“Wait, so youaredating him?” Marvin asks, the warmer-than-average early March day allowing his curly mop to break free from the confines of a sock cap. Meeting at East End Espresso has become part of our routine. The shop is only a few blocks from his school. It’s small, with only a few tables inside, but today, with the warm early spring sun, we sit outside and chat.
“No. We’re working together.” I clean the plastic lid on my coffee cup with a wipe from my bag.
