The Other Shore

I told Nate I wanted a date I hadn’t organised and immediately began suggesting places.

He waited through the first three.

“Do you want me to write these down?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Gently.”

“There’s a restaurant on the west shore.”

“Four.”

I folded my arms. We were outside the office at the end of a hot Thursday. Jonah had gone to meet the independent valuer; Britta was on her afternoon off. I had spent most of the day persuading a group of weekend visitors that seven people could not safely occupy a boat intended for four, and my ability to distinguish planning from control was wearing thin.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I said.

Nate’s amusement softened.

“Go on a date?”

“Want something and then leave another person room to give it to me.”

He leaned against the wall beside me. He didn’t touch me yet.

“Saturday,” he…