And—though it pains me to admit—he’s also somewhat hilarious.
I hate that I look forward to his texts.
And I hate even more that I’m looking forward to seeing him tonight.
“Hello there, Miss Donahue. What a nice pair of slacks!” Mrs. Montgomery says as she pushes her walker to her favorite table.
“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery. Lots of luck tonight,” I reply with a genuine smile.
The doors open.
A fresh blast of cold March air sweeps into the hall.
People begin filing inside.
I busy myself with making sure the Bingo cards are all ready to go, and the cashier has enough change.
I fiddle with the stack of volunteer’s name tags.
The attendance sheets.
The cash box.
Anything to stop thinking about Kai.
It's working beautifully.
Right up until a familiar deep voice says, “Hey there, Firecracker.”
My stomach immediately performs a gymnastics routine.
Gulp.
I look up.
And promptly forget how words work.
What the hey now?
Oh no.
Kai is dressed nicely.
Not suit nice.
Not black tie nice.
But still—he looks really, really nice.
Good even.
Dark jeans.
Brown boots.
A white button-down stretched across broad shoulders.
The shirt is just thin enough for me to make out the inky tattoos swirling across his body—more art than act of defiance.