The probability of confusing her, of angering her, was fifty-fifty. Most things in the world could be taken apart by numeric value, and in their midst, there was, ever-still, something that ringed of the absolute creation of it all, of the possibilities that lay ahead.
He prided himself heavily ‘pon his gift of foresight, of one thousand and one chances and worlds that could happen with the slightest action, with its reaction, with everything that came before and after. Cause and effect, the basics, the law of motion.
Science and numbers and atoms and grey matter.
Just when he believed he had seen it all, however, there was a cluster of color, the silent bat of eyelashes so pale, he found himself wondering if they were even there at all.
Often he wondered why, of all of the ( and this was a precise estimate, he did the math in the four spare minutes he had to think about hypothesis ) approximately four hundred fifty-six chances for Val to meet someone else, and that number doubled for women.
And it had been strawberries, that cafe. A rare outing.
He believed in love. He believed in that possibility.
She kissed him and his eyes snap closed and she is cupcake frosting lapped up by his tongue.
“I suppose I could ask if you wish to be my girlfriend and I, your boyfriend, but, I believe that has already been established. No, this is more intimate,” and index finger finds his lip and he tugs it down, lost in thought, synapses firing.
“Yes…will you be my sweetie?”
His eyes narrow and he leans forward, interested in her answer, in her, and he wonders if she slept atop him last night or he, buried in the scent of her hair.
These things he wonders instead of the growing crime rate and of cases.
She is a distraction - but she is motivation.
she blinks. once. twice. processing ------------ nothing.
❝ i’m --- still not sure what you’re asking , but it doesn’t sound bad at all ! i mean --- believe it or not , i see us together for a long time. maybe forever , but ----- that’s a little cliche... which isn’t always a bad thing , right ? fairytales are never overrated ! ❞
the scratch of chairs across linoleum & clinking glass & silverware doesn’t remind her of the prison of work. it’s resonant & comforting when he’s around. something welcome / something wanted.
his visits are sporadic & spontaneous it seems. only on the surface. she’s positive they’re carefully calculated. he’s so collected & calm --- it paints her hysteric; but she knows the truth !
> they are yin & yang , black & white , dark & light. a really cute couple.
a pause & a realization , ( she’s been rambling about love for upwards of two minutes without even saying the word ) & her mouth is shut.
❝ oh gosh , i sound insane. ❞ the table is set but the girl is wrecked. she’s slumped in her chair , hands combing hair.
❝ i’m sorry. i got really nervous. for a second there , i thought --------- well , it’s not important. all that matters is my answer. and it’s yes ! i love you , lolly. you can call me whatever you want. ❞
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