“I know I didn’t.”
“What’s on the city list?” she asks, and I hand it to her. Instantly, she laughs; a soft sound that makes me chuckle too. “This is a food hunt.”
“Yes, I know.” I shrug, not seeing the problem with this.
“Is this supposed to be done in one day?” She holds up the list.
I read what she’s pointing at: Eat 1 slice of New York pizza, add 5 points.
“Yes. One day.”
“Can I count previous days?”
“No, that would be cheating now, wouldn’t it?”
“Not cheating as much as stretching the rules,” she jokes.
“Nope. All or nothing.”
She nods her head, then lets it tip up. “All or nothing.” We lock eyes. It feels like she’s saying more, but before I can delve deeper, she turns and walks away.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Item five . . .” I can’t remember what item five is, so I stare at her. “Eat a street vendor pretzel. There was a stand right outside.” Again, she heads back to where we came from.
“Or we can do that later.” I raise an eyebrow.
“I’m starving. You stay here.”
“Kill two birds with one stone.”
“That really is a horrible expression.”
I nod. “It is.”
Willow turns and walks off. I look back down at the list. The first one is simple. The second could take more time. I’m not sure if she realizes that by committing to that list, she’s also committed to seeing me again, because she’s right. No way we are finishing this in one day. But since I know she’s attracted to me, I don’t think she’ll mind.
It only takes a few minutes before she’s back with one large pretzel in her hand. She smiles when she sees me waiting and holds it up.
“We can share,” she says and then rips a piece off, handing the other end to me.
“I feel like we should make a toast or something.”
She giggles.
“What do you have in mind?”
“To new friendships.”
She says the word friendship differently as if she’s trying to stress what this is. I’m not who she’s trying to convince, but I’m okay with that toast. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to fuck her. But for me, the chase for knowledge is almost as enticing.
Finding out what she’s concealing is almost better than sex.
Almost.
“That works. To new friendships.” I take my pretzel and tap it to hers. Then we both take a bite, sealing the deal.
“Next on the list. We have to find a vintage timepiece that hangs in the middle of the market.”
“Do you know where it is?” she asks.
“Maybe.” I smirk.
“Are you going to help me?”
“Nope.”
“So much for being friends.”
“Casper, we’ll always be friends.”
“And there’s that nickname again,” she chides.
“Well, to me, you’re still a ghost. The cutest ghost I’ve ever seen. But maybe one day . . .”
“Maybe,” she whispers.
And I smile. “Come on, I’ll point you in the right direction.”
Feeling bad for sobering the mood, I throw her a bone. I won’t tell her where it is, but I’ll lead her to it.
A few minutes later, she’s waving and pointing like a lunatic.
“Found it. Didn’t need your help.” She puffs out her chest in pride resembling a little kid who won a board game.
“I showed you where it was.”
“Not true.”
“I actually took you here.”
“Shut up. I found it. What’s next?”
“Now, we search for remnants of when this place was a bank.”
We spend the next hour doing this. We talk throughout, but she still hasn’t told me much. I know a few mundane facts. I tell my own stupid facts. Like how I don’t eat dark chocolate, a fact that she thought was blasphemy. And I love whipped cream.
That one she agreed with.
I learned she has a mild obsession with peanut butter and would marry it if that were possible.
I told her about how I never learned to ride a bike until I was an adult. And she looked at me as though I was crazy.
“I don’t get it. How could you not have ridden a bike?”
“By the time I was born, I don’t know, I guess you know what they say about the youngest.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Only child?”
She nods. But she looks sad as she does.
“Do you miss home?” I don’t ask where home is because I know she won’t tell me.
“Not so much home.” Her gaze drops to the floor.
“But the people?” I assume. “You can visit.”
She worries her bottom lip but won’t look up at me. “I can’t.”
“They can visit you . . . ?” I lead, and she finally meets my stare.
“Now that is not possible.”
“Why?”
“Jeez, you ask a lot of questions. I don’t talk to my parents. Good? You can file that in your mental scrapbook.” I watch as her arms cross protectively in front of her.
“Willow . . .”
“Not Casper anymore?”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Not that it’s any consolation, but I didn’t know, and now that I do, I’ll stop.”