“Yes?”
“Off the record?”
“Sure.”
“I did split my lip open in a motorcycle accident, but it was technically reinjured. There was already a scar there.”
“Oh?” She didn’t want to appear too exuberant about his declaration, even though she was bursting inside.
“Yeah. Fell off a pool slide when I was a kid, acting like an idiot. You can see why I prefer the motorcycle story.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like she meant it.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” she asked, nuzzling his neck.
“When I told you that motorcycle story, you seemed skeptical.”
“I don’t know. A scar from a motorcycle? It just sounded... like a guy story.”
“I am a guy.”
“I know,” she sighed. Boy, did she know.
“I like kissing you out in public. I can chase away any of your stalker boyfriends.”
She laughed. “Not to worry. None of those out here.”
“Stalkers?”
“Boyfriends.”
“None?”
“Nope... not at the moment... I don’t... nope.” Her lack of clarity on what to confess made her stumble. Should she admit her astonishing dating history, or lack thereof, or should she simply gloss over it?
He sensed her disquiet and deftly lightened the mood.
“Well, in keeping with this G-rated date, I think I should ask you out again, Ms. Porter.”
“Oh really, Mr. Bishop?”
“Really. I’ve actually been meaning to bring it up all day, but you’re distracting.”
“Good distracting?”
“Very.”
“Good.”
“So, Fourth of July. K-B has this big event...”
“A defense contractor and fireworks? Seems fitting.”
“You’re actually the first person to notice that. Most people think patriotism.”
“Patriotic explosions,” she quipped. He chuckled, a dimple on his left cheek making a rare appearance.