having her suck on ice cubes all night.”
“I do not suck on ice cubes.”
They had spent most of the past forty minutes discussing… well, givenJustin’s propensity for changing topics at the flip of a dime, discussing everything under the sun. His energy, his bounciness, reminded her quite a bit of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. He did everything quickly: speaking, inhaling his food, and gesturing constantly with his hands. She never knew into which direction he might take the conversation or when one topic would remind him of another. And then another. And yet, even in the throes of his animated and ever-changing dialogue, he never took his eyes off of her. It was rather enjoyable. He did, she assumed, do this with everyone, and his charming style probably garnered him a sizable fan club.
“So I have an idea,” Justin leaned in and whispered, forcing her to lean in even more to be heard.
“What’s that?” She forced herself to meet and hold his look, despite this being quite nerve-wracking and unusual.
“You still hungry?”
“Would you like to order an entree?”
“I don’t know Harvard Square well at all,” he said. “How about you show me all the cool insider places to eat here? You must know every good spot, right? Let’s start with pizza.”
“Pizza,” she said transfixed. It was not her fault, she thought, that his half-smile with its mischievous edge captured her and made it impossible to look away from him. She’d assumed that he would be returning her home after their shrimp tasting, but perhaps it was over pizza that he would give the final hard Barton sell. “Pizza,” she repeated. “Yes, that is an excellent idea. If you would like, I can suggest Pinocchio’s, an establishment that has been here for years. It’s in a picturesque nook off of JFK Street.”
“Why’s it called Pinocchio’s? Are they all liars there?”
She smiled. “No. The owners want to be real boys.”
“Maybe that’s just what they told you.” He winked. “But you can’t trust them because they’re lying.”
“What is not a lie is that the pizza is lovely, and so we shall ignore any fibs they should throw our way. It is a small place, mostly specializing in take-out orders, so do not have high hopes for fine dining.”
“Let’s do it.” Justin pulled back quickly from his close position, knocking over a glass and sending water and ice cubs across the table. “Oh God, again? I do this all the time.”
Celeste reached for all available napkins. “It is not a problem.”
Justin shook his head as he frantically helped to mop up what they could. “Seriously. You can’t take me anywhere. I’m such an embarrassment. Did I get you? You’re probably soaked.”
“I’m completely dry. It was an accident, so please do not fret over this. One does not cry over spilt milk, and so one certainly does not feel even the slightest pang of remorse over spilt water.”
“You’re too nice. I’m a complete klutz. Really, I shouldn’t be let out in public.”
“Justin?” He looked at her, both of them with soggy napkins in their hands, and Celeste smiled softly. Justin looked near frantic.
Then very deliberately and very calmly, she tipped over her own water glass. “There. Now we can go have pizza.”
He looked down at the table, stunned, and shook his head. “You are remarkable,” he said.
And so they had pizza. Celeste ate her slice and watched as Justin gobbled gooey cheese. In between bites, he managed to eke out, “If loving food made by liars is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” He ate three slices, and she two. It was amazing that he was not sick, given how fast he ate. They tossed their trash and without thinking anything of it, Celeste brushed a paper napkin over a spot of sauce that had fallen on his shirt.
“ Of course I have food all over me.” He rolled his eyes.
“It’s just a spot. In the shape of a marionette, by good fortune.”
She pulled her hand away. How odd
“I do not suck on ice cubes.”
They had spent most of the past forty minutes discussing… well, givenJustin’s propensity for changing topics at the flip of a dime, discussing everything under the sun. His energy, his bounciness, reminded her quite a bit of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. He did everything quickly: speaking, inhaling his food, and gesturing constantly with his hands. She never knew into which direction he might take the conversation or when one topic would remind him of another. And then another. And yet, even in the throes of his animated and ever-changing dialogue, he never took his eyes off of her. It was rather enjoyable. He did, she assumed, do this with everyone, and his charming style probably garnered him a sizable fan club.
“So I have an idea,” Justin leaned in and whispered, forcing her to lean in even more to be heard.
“What’s that?” She forced herself to meet and hold his look, despite this being quite nerve-wracking and unusual.
“You still hungry?”
“Would you like to order an entree?”
“I don’t know Harvard Square well at all,” he said. “How about you show me all the cool insider places to eat here? You must know every good spot, right? Let’s start with pizza.”
“Pizza,” she said transfixed. It was not her fault, she thought, that his half-smile with its mischievous edge captured her and made it impossible to look away from him. She’d assumed that he would be returning her home after their shrimp tasting, but perhaps it was over pizza that he would give the final hard Barton sell. “Pizza,” she repeated. “Yes, that is an excellent idea. If you would like, I can suggest Pinocchio’s, an establishment that has been here for years. It’s in a picturesque nook off of JFK Street.”
“Why’s it called Pinocchio’s? Are they all liars there?”
She smiled. “No. The owners want to be real boys.”
“Maybe that’s just what they told you.” He winked. “But you can’t trust them because they’re lying.”
“What is not a lie is that the pizza is lovely, and so we shall ignore any fibs they should throw our way. It is a small place, mostly specializing in take-out orders, so do not have high hopes for fine dining.”
“Let’s do it.” Justin pulled back quickly from his close position, knocking over a glass and sending water and ice cubs across the table. “Oh God, again? I do this all the time.”
Celeste reached for all available napkins. “It is not a problem.”
Justin shook his head as he frantically helped to mop up what they could. “Seriously. You can’t take me anywhere. I’m such an embarrassment. Did I get you? You’re probably soaked.”
“I’m completely dry. It was an accident, so please do not fret over this. One does not cry over spilt milk, and so one certainly does not feel even the slightest pang of remorse over spilt water.”
“You’re too nice. I’m a complete klutz. Really, I shouldn’t be let out in public.”
“Justin?” He looked at her, both of them with soggy napkins in their hands, and Celeste smiled softly. Justin looked near frantic.
Then very deliberately and very calmly, she tipped over her own water glass. “There. Now we can go have pizza.”
He looked down at the table, stunned, and shook his head. “You are remarkable,” he said.
And so they had pizza. Celeste ate her slice and watched as Justin gobbled gooey cheese. In between bites, he managed to eke out, “If loving food made by liars is wrong, I don’t want to be right.” He ate three slices, and she two. It was amazing that he was not sick, given how fast he ate. They tossed their trash and without thinking anything of it, Celeste brushed a paper napkin over a spot of sauce that had fallen on his shirt.
“ Of course I have food all over me.” He rolled his eyes.
“It’s just a spot. In the shape of a marionette, by good fortune.”
She pulled her hand away. How odd
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