“A cheese pun. You might be the coolest woman I’ve ever met.”
I knew a blush was rising on my cheeks, so I looked out toward the water of Lake Michigan glistening under the sinking sun. “I don’t give those puns to just anyone, so feel honored.”
“I do. Any other secrets up your sleeve? Perhaps your real name?”
I laced my fingers together, twirling the small gold ring I wore on my right middle finger. There really wasn’t any danger in him knowing my first name.
“It’s Naya. Like a papaya.”
He smiled at the device I’d used since I was a kid. “Nice to meet you, Naya like a papaya. Have you been here before?”
Since I’d never told him I actually lived here before insisting we not share details, I stumbled for a moment on the question. On one hand, I was still kind of anonymous with him not knowing where I lived. On the other hand, I was lying to him.
“I haven’t been here in a long time.” Not exactly a lie. I avoided crowded places.
He laced his fingers through mine, an intimate gesture that made me feel strangely girlish. “Let’s explore, then.”
His hand was so much bigger than mine, and a strange sense of contentment pooled around me. That was ridiculous, but still, his fingers wrapped around mine in this solid manner kept my doubts at bay as we wandered the pier. Walking in the warm night air, I was comfortable, and our conversation fell into an easy give-and-take. I pointed to the Ferris wheel and told him my favorite thing as a kid was when the carnival came to town and I could ride one. I always loved being on top of the world like that. He told me about his big family as we ate tacos from a food truck, and I made him laugh, telling him about my cousins trying to teach me, the lone girl, to pee against a tree when I was a kid.
“I never quite got the hang of it.”
“I have no words.” As we neared the water, the breeze picked up, whipping my hair onto my face, and he leaned over to tuck the strands back for me. It was the kind of romantic gesture I’d convinced myself I didn’t want, three years ago when I’d decided that men weren’t worth the risk. But with his fingertip lingering along my ear, a flurry of sensation ran up my spine, taking me back to the taste of his kisses.
“Thank you.” My voice came out softer than normal.
“No problem.” His smile faltered, and his eyes sparkled with an emotion I couldn’t place.
Did he feel that, too?
We stayed like that for a few moments, the rush of the water below us mixed with the sounds of laughter and people moving behind us. Over the normal noises of the pier, a Latin beat floated around us. There was a concert and a gathering crowd not far from us.
Jake craned his neck. “It looks like people are dancing over there. Want to try?”
I never danced in public. My dad teased me that whatever musical skills I should have gained from being of both African and Mexican descent seemed to have been obliterated by my rural Iowa upbringing—I had no rhythm. I shook my head slowly. “I have a hard rule about dancing in front of people.”
He raised an eyebrow. “C’mon, I’m sure if they’re public lessons, it’s just the basics.”
I bit my lip again, looking over his shoulder at the gathering crowd. A tinge of worry skittered through me, unsure about interrupting this odd sensation of confidence I felt standing and talking with him. I was getting used to our back-and-forth, gaining certainty he was into me. “I am a terrible dancer. It will be embarrassing.”
His grin was easy, and he wasn’t what I’d expected when we met—I’d been so sure his polo shirt and developed muscles were cues he’d be cocky and demanding. Jake was a nerd—a hot nerd—and seemed completely comfortable with himself. “Are you worried that knowing you’re a bad dancer will make me like you less? Give me some ammunition to use later?”
I winced and willed my body to not recoil. Ammunition is exactly what I’m worried about. “I don’t know,” I said, glancing at the growing crowds, then back to my date.
“What if I told you something I’m bad at? Then we’d be even, right?”
“Maybe . . .”
“Imagine the shortest, least-coordinated person you knew in high school, the one who wore suspenders to gym class and corrected everyone’s grammar. The grown version of that guy gets picked for basketball teams before me,” he said with a straight face. “I am horrible. People think because I’m tall, I might have skills, but I can’t make a free throw to save my life.”