I listened to Mary talk, only half taking in her spiel about consolidating lines and minimum payments, and lifted up the note that had come with the flowers.
A phone number was scrawled on the bottom of the card, a line for me to call if I wanted to accept the dates.
The note said that I could pick where we went for the first date, and that by agreeing, we would both be contractually obligated to go on three dates, before deciding if we wanted to move forward with an actual contract.
The woman on the phone said the amount of my interest added since last month and I cursed quietly under my breath.
This was the only option that I really had.
Three dates and the hope that Walter wasn’t an asshole—that could be the solution to all of my problems.
After all, I was only agreeing to three dates, just to see where it led. Three dates, one of which was chosen by me.
What could go wrong with that?
6
Walter
The sun beamed brightly down, warming me deeply even though I had shed my usual suit attire for something a little more appropriate—a soft blue linen shirt and pair of light slacks. I’d chucked the jacket in the car, despite knowing that I was bordering on dressing casually without the structure that the jacket gave me. It felt wrong to be without the confines of my suit, especially on a weekday, but, alas, Arlo insisted.
It was hardly within my rights to demand he change the timing or location of our first date, especially when I had insisted that Arlo get the first choice and it had taken him so many days to even agree in the first place.
I knew that I was on thin ice already. So here I was, on a Tuesday afternoon, at the zoo of all places.
I had racked my brain to go over our conversation at the event again and again, trying to remember if I had said anything that indicated my complete disdain for such an activity. It felt particularly pointed, inviting me out here. I couldn’t remember anything that would have told Arlo that.
But then, I wouldn’t be surprised if Arlo was just that good—able to easily infer what activities I would hate the most. He had sharp, bright eyes and as much as I wanted to pin him against the nearest wall, I knew that Arlo was more than just a pretty face.
Thankfully, though, he did have a pretty face, too.
He was wearing a faded gray baseball cap, pulled low over his face. Tufts of brown hair stuck out in a haphazard way around the edges. His t-shirt was equally as faded, the logo just specks of white that hadn’t flicked off yet. His jeans hung low on his hips, a half size too big and barely showing any of the long, thick leg muscles I remembered from his tight suit the other night.
Arlo certainly had been gifted clothes from The Club, as was typical of any courting situation, but it was clear that these worn items were all his.
I liked that. A spark of something—curiosity, perhaps—had lit in my chest when I first saw him standing at the gates of the zoo’s entrance, thumbs hooked through the hoops of his jean’s waistband. I liked that Arlo was committed to himself, even if that meant I was now staring mindlessly at an elephant, chewing slowly.
Arlo had a Coke in his hand, the long straw a little bent at the edge from his teeth. He watched the elephant with his head tilted, a small smile on his face.
“You like elephants?” I asked, clearing my voice halfway through. We had been here for nearly a half hour, slowly walking around the different exhibits, but Arlo seemed as reluctant to break into conversation as I felt.
Without the smoothness that the free-flowing champagne offered, it seemed that Arlo and I were a tinge more uncomfortable by the prospect of each other than I’d have hoped.
Of course, the distinct smell of manure and animals might have something to do with the dampened romantic mood.
Arlo glanced up at me, blinking as the sun shone in his eyes. “No,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. He slipped the straw back in his mouth, sucking a quick drink before worrying the straw with his teeth. He let it pop out. I scrunched my nose.
“Well. All right, then.” I wasn’t sure what else there was to say.
Arlo sighed and glanced back at me, eyes squinting in the sun. “I don’t like elephants, more than any other animal, I guess, is what I’m saying. But they’re fine to watch. They’re just—really big.”
I couldn’t help it; the corner of my lips twitched, pulling up in a small half smile I couldn’t wipe away. His cheeks had tinged red after this comment, his embarrassment clear.
He stood straight, sighing and rolling his eyes. I watched as a complete array of emotions flickered across his face before he took another long pull of Coke and pointed with the cup away from the elephants. “Look—lions. Let’s go.”
Dutifully, I followed Arlo around to each exhibit. As the afternoon sun beat down on us, sweat gathering at my hairline, I thought I would find the experience of being at the zoo miserable. But instead, watching Arlo leisurely stroll, his easy smile was nearly contagious. Although Arlo wasn’t quite jumping up and down with excitement, there was an ease to his shoulders and expression that made me feel like I had watched him unfurl. His whole body seemed less tense, like he wasn’t quite as alert as he usually held himself.
Half the time, I wondered if he remembered I was with him.
“Oh, look! Wallabies.” Arlo’s hand shot out, his long fingers curling around my hand as he tugged me toward a kangaroo exhibit. He moved quickly, mindlessly tossing his soda into a trashcan as we passed it, and then pulled until we were both pressed flat against the fence.
“That’s a—cute? Kangaroo?” I wasn’t sure what a good adjective was best to describe the small brown animal, hunched over by a leafy tree.
Arlo’s head snapped up, his jaw falling a bit. “That’s not a kangaroo. It’s a wallaby.”
I frowned at him, then looked over to the animal, and then back to Arlo. “That’s a kangaroo.”
Arlo let out a frustrated sound and then shouldered his way through the few other people standing outside this display—thankfully, there were no children around, just a few other adults who were clearly day drinking—and jabbed a finger at the little card that explained the animal.
Wallaby.
Well, huh.
“They’re herbivores,” Arlo said, leaning with one hip on the fence, grinning at me. “They’re mammals, too, which I would have assumed you knew, but you didn’t even know that the wallabies are actually cousins to kangaroos.”
“Surely that’s not common knowledge,” I defended myself.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Anyway. They can grow up to about six feet, head to tail, but they’re nowhere as big as kangaroos. They can only get to about fifty feet, standing up.”
I glanced back at the wallaby. It was chewing on some leaves. “Those are a lot of fun facts.”
His cheeks tinged pink again and he shrugged, turning so I couldn’t see him. He stared long at the animal. “I used to come here a lot. Grew up around the corner.”
I wondered if this meant that Arlo choosing this location was a way to share a bit of himself—although considering how little of himself he had actually shared via communication, it seemed more likely that he just wanted to be a place where he was comfortable.
It endeared me to the place more than I expected.