“What? No,” Al said. A little surprised by John’s comment, he turned to face him and gestured with his hands for John to speak quietly.
“You sure?”
“Yes, she’s not crazy. She has never done anything crazy.”
“Until now. That’s how the really crazy ones work. You go along, everything’s all smiles and sunshine, then bam! You’re tied up in a gas station bathroom being fed Cheez Whiz through a funnel.”
“Wh-what?”
John nodded knowingly. “She’s a crazy. How else do you explain it?”
“She crumpled up a piece of paper. Does that really qualify as mental? I don’t think so.”
“She crumpled up your article. You said she got all scary, like she gave in to her dark side, then shoved her crazy back in the closet.”
“Yeah, that’s not quite how I described it. But it definitely revealed a setback. Clearly, she’s not too fond of my critiques.”
Al grabbed a fistful of hair, leaned back in his chair to stare at the fluorescents. He could still feel her fingertips on his lips. If it weren’t for that chocolate-dipped kid, he could have finally escaped the friend zone.
“You act like it’s a bad thing if she’s crazy,” John said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Not at all. The crazies are great in bed.”
Al let out a sigh, sat up in his chair, and said, “Dare I ask how you know this?”
“Duh, how do you not know that? It’s natural law, like gravity.” John smiled, or at least his beard moved upward.
Al laughed.
“Now, back to the matter at hand: how do I tell Lou what I do for a living? I’ll need to spin it just right.”
“You tried. Why do you even need to tell her? Let it go and enjoy her company as long as it lasts.”
Al rubbed his hands on his pants and looked at the floor.
“I don’t want to leave Milwaukee anymore,” he said quickly, stringing the words together into one mashed sentence.
John’s mouth quirked.
“What was that? You don’t want to leave anymore? Has my fair city grown on you? Or, perhaps, just one fine lady?”
Al smiled, accepting any ribbing as his due.
“It’s both. I do really like Lou, but Milwaukee has wormed its way into my heart. My short-sightedness kept me from seeing it sooner.”
John got up and clapped his hand on Al’s shoulder.
“Glad you’ve finally come to your senses. Now, back to your secret-identity reveal. You’re not telling her you run a drug cartel. Just spit it out. Get it over with; then you can get to the crazy stuff.”
Al rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, “I think you might be right, at least about the spitting-it-out part. Thanks, John.”
“That’s me, the Dear Abby of smitten men everywhere.”
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •
A large stage towered in front of the audience, plaid- and green-clad revelers dancing the best they could with a beer in one hand. The loud music gave Al a reason to lean closer to Lou while the partiers gave him an excuse to keep touching her so they wouldn’t get separated.
“I can’t believe they’re here. I loved these guys at university,” Al said into Lou’s ear so she could hear him above his favorite band from home, his lips touching her hair.
Irish Fest won as his favorite Milwaukee event. While not the homesick type, he missed HobNobs, Cadbury Flake bars, and good tea and he could buy them all here. The fiddle and bodhran called to a part of him he usually ignored.
Lou had surprised him late this morning with a simple text.
Irish Fest? You free?
He’d had a reservation at a new Italian trattoria, but he canceled it. They arrived late afternoon, walked the grounds, argued about their favorite dog breed (he always fancied an Irish wolfhound but he wouldn’t hold Lou’s preference for Westies against her), and watched the afternoon parade, complete with bagpipes and dancers.
“Why do I find it so hard to imagine you partying in college?” Lou said.
“That’s because I went to university. And we didn’t party—we had diversions.”
“Complete with picnic baskets and polo, I suppose.”
“Precisely.”
Lou turned to see whether he was teasing. And he was, only partly. He had attended a lot of polo matches, since Ian was the captain. Those days seemed so far away from the evening’s muggy air. After he’d danced in the crowd, sweat dampened his hair. He couldn’t hear drums and fiddle without at least tapping his toes. Even back at university he couldn’t help patting his hand on his leg under the table. Ian’s crowd didn’t dance at pubs, even when the music was good. Here, he could dance a jig, sing a song, or slop a little beer.
Lightning flashed behind the overpass looming over the stage. A few cool bursts of air chilled his damp neck. The band played on.
“I think a storm’s rolling in. Will the band have to stop?”
“It depends on lightning, I think.”
In answer, thunder boomed and the sky dropped its cargo. Before the band could finish announcing their forced break, the crowd scattered. Lou and Al looked for shelter, but every spot filled. Within a minute shelter didn’t matter anymore.
Before the downpour, Al had thought Lou looked alluring in her pale pink T-shirt and simple flowered skirt. Her soft brown waves bounced around her shoulders with the humidity. She was simply beautiful. But with the addition of water, she evolved into a siren. Her thin cotton clothes clung to every curve. She slicked her hair away from her face, as if emerging from an enchanted lake. He simply had to touch her.
Without the band playing, Irish music piped through the speakers to fill the dead air until the concert could begin again. Al remembered a dance from festivals back home. The steps were simple and repetitive, and he recalled the basics. Soaked from the warm rain, there seemed no point in finding shelter now. He pulled Lou into his arms.
“Let’s dance,” Al said.
“Really?” Lou’s eyebrows rose, then she nodded.
Al set one of her hands on his shoulder, the other he held. He slid his spare hand down the curve of her hip. What was he thinking, trying to dance? His chest constricted as his hands warmed from the heat of her skin through her wet shirt.
Think about the steps.
“Do you know how to polka?” Al asked.
Lou rolled her eyes.
“Have I taught you nothing about Wisconsin? Any respectable Badgers fan knows how to polka. Honestly.”
Lou smiled, her eyes sparkling in the rain, the lashes clumping from the wet.
Al listened to the music to catch the beat, then started moving his feet to the music. Lou watched for a few seconds, then picked up his movements. They stayed in the same spot until he felt that she had the timing.
“Ready to spin?” Al said.
“Spin . . . ?”
But Al had already started turning them in tight circles. Lou’s look of surprise almost made him stop; then she laughed.
“Wasn’t expecting that.”
For the rest of the song, they plunged through the puddles, rain still pouring down, streaming off their faces as they turned. While everyone else huddled to stay dry, he and Lou had the entire area as their personal ballroom. The clean smell of rain washed away the day’s dirt and festival scents. The splash of their feet and pounding water muffled the music. They felt the heavy bodhran thumping more than they heard it. When the song ended, he couldn’t tell whether he was more out of breath from the fast dancing or the laughter, but he wished for another song as an excuse to keep her in his arms.
Al looked down at Lou. When they first met as he shivered in line at the newsstand, he hadn’t imagined her soaking wet, laughing and dancing in a summer thunderstorm with him. All the crowds, all the noise, all the distractions floated away until he saw only Lou standing in front of him. He could smell her, the rain intensifying the scent of vanilla at such a close distance. Her breath warmed the exposed skin on his throat. Everything felt more intense. He was a man tasting life for the first time.