Chapter Two — The Ordinary People Test (continued)

The evening air outside the diner smelled of rain on warm pavement and somebody's aggressively optimistic garlic bread.

Luna stopped under the arcade's flickering sign and adjusted the Ambassador beneath her arm. The toy's helmet kept sliding over one eye.

“He's not fit for diplomatic service,” Asher observed.

“He's been through a contentious election.”

“Did the other candidate have two eyes?”

“Don't undermine the democratic process.”

He laughed. Neither of them walked toward the corner yet.

Through the arcade window, the pinball machine continued its frantic electronic celebrations, already making their contest feel like something that had happened much longer ago. Luna had been on dates that felt like job interviews. This one had involved a stuffed pigeon, a badly behaved flipper, and a man who hadn't checked his phone once during dinner.

She was enjoying herself enough to be suspicious.

“Can I ask you something without you turning it into a joke?” she said.

Asher's expression changed. Not dramatically. He just gave her his whole attention. “You can ask.”

“You asked about my job like you actually wanted the answer. Most people hear ‘library’ and start telling me about the last book they read in high school.”

“I can do that if it would make you more comfortable.”

She gave him a look.

“Right. No jokes.”

Luna ran a thumb along the Ambassador's crooked seam. “A woman came into one of our oral-history workshops with a cassette from her father. She couldn't play it anymore. Didn't even know whether there was anything on it. We got it working and there was this tiny recording of him describing how to fix a kitchen drawer.”

Asher waited.

“She'd forgotten the sound of his laugh. It was right there, between instructions about a screw.” Luna's voice softened. “Everybody talks about saving big, important history. But sometimes the important thing is somebody's dad explaining a drawer.”

“That's a good reason to do the work,” he said.

“It is.” She looked up. “I don't need you to think it's glamorous. I just need you not to think it's a placeholder for something better.”

“I don't.”

He said it without ornament. For once, she had no clever response prepared.

“And you?” she asked. “Music, mostly. Travel a lot. Excellent references. That's quite a collection of answers that don't tell me much.”

Asher glanced toward traffic. “Fair criticism. My work's collaborative. Writing, rehearsing, building things people only see when they're finished. Sometimes I'm away more than I'm home. And sometimes I agree to something because I want it, then discover the schedule doesn't care what I want.”

“That last part sounds like experience.”

“It is.”

Luna shifted her weight. “I can deal with somebody being busy. I can't deal with being treated like a slot to fill when the important stuff is done.”

“You shouldn't.” He met her eyes. “If I have to change a plan, I'll tell you. No disappearing and expecting you to understand by magic.”

It wasn't a promise that he would always be available. She liked that he hadn't offered one.

A bus hissed to a stop at the corner. People spilled onto the sidewalk around them, and Asher stepped closer to give an elderly passenger room. His hand brushed Luna's sleeve, then settled back at his side. The movement was ordinary. Her awareness of it was not.

“Monday,” she said, partly because the silence was beginning to make her reckless. “There's a paper-lantern market by the river. I've been meaning to go.”

“Are you inviting me?”

“I'm informing you of a public cultural event.”

“Very civic-minded.”

“If a reasonably pleasant man happened to appear there around five-thirty, I might consider allowing him to buy a lantern.”

“Would he have to win it?”

“Only if he's foolish enough to challenge me again.”

Asher smiled, but there was something gentler beneath it now. “I'd like that, Luna. Monday at five-thirty.”

“Don't be late. The Ambassador will file a complaint.”

He glanced at the stuffed pigeon. “I'm more worried about its legal counsel.”

They started toward the corner together. At the crossing, Luna held out the toy so she could free a hand to adjust her bag. Asher took it without comment, cradling its ridiculous silver helmet as though it were breakable.

She watched him for a moment. A man she barely knew, carrying a cheap stuffed pigeon with absolute seriousness because she'd asked.

The crossing signal changed. Neither had mentioned a kiss. Neither was ready to say goodnight.

“Come on,” she said. “I'll show you which way I'm going.”

Asher fell into step beside her.