Sing For Me

Chapter Twenty-Three: Coffee and Cigarettes P2

Tim pulls up to the kerb outside my apartment building and we sit for a moment, staring out the front windscreen.

"So. Is it safe to say that we won the pepperoni pizza lottery?" Tim asks, turning toward me.

I purse my lips. "You know, I don't think we're entirely out of the woods yet." I clear my throat. "And considering the potential consequences, I strongly advise another hour or two of close observation by a bad pepperoni pizza professional." I add.

Tim nods. "Hmm. Sounds legit."

My palms are all sweaty again, and my heart is beating a million miles a minute. It's the first time I've ever asked anyone back to my apartment.

"I'll have you know; we are also in possession of a very average coffee machine. If you... you know. Want to, um, continue with your observation upstairs." I press my fingers to my cheeks to cool them, but they are so warm my fingers practically incinerate on first touch.

"Coffee and observation by a skilled pepperoni pizza professional? Now that's hardly an offer I can refuse." Tim's cheeks are pinkish, too. He unfastens his seatbelt, opens his door and circles around to my side to help me out of the car without ripping my dress.

"Oh, wait! One sec," I sat, holding a finger up, "we have to make a short detour."

Tim cocks his head to the side, like he's curious to see what's coming next.

He follows me as I shuffle around the side of our apartment building, hoisting up my dress so it doesn't drag along the ground.

"Err, Meg?" Tim asks, hesitantly. "Is there any reason we're making for the darkest, most suspicious-looking side alley I've seen in my life, or... ?"

I wave a dismissive hand in his direction. "It's fine. There's only ever been, like, three stabbings in this alley since we moved in – I swear – it's the safest in at least the surrounding five blocks."

Tim swallows audibly. "Really, only three?" he scoffs, "well why didn't you just lead with that?"

I grin at him and tug on his arm, taking his hand in mine. "You know, you really surprise me sometimes," I say. "Like, how can someone sing in front of a packed stadium of screaming fans, but be worried about a measly old alleyway at eleven o'clock at night? It's not even that late."

Tim cocks an eyebrow at me. "Well for one, autotune exists, and I don't happen to be wearing a stab-proof vest. And second – how are those two things even marginally comparable?" he laughs.

I don't answer, just roll my eyes and think about how strange it is that things can be so easy between us when we come from such completely different worlds.

We reach the spot I've been walking toward, but of course; I can't bend down because of my damned dress.

"Hey, Tim? Can you reach into that box right there?"

Tim looks at me like I'm a crazy person.

I roll my eyes again. "I swear, nothing terrible is going to happen. Just reach into the box. There's a container in there I need," I say.

Tim narrows his eyes at me suspiciously, but he complies with my request, anyway, and pulls out a plastic container filled with Scruff's cat biscuits.

"Scruffy! Pspspspspspspsps!" I call. "Scruffs, dinner time!"

Tim opens the container, and I nod toward the bowl I keep out here for Scruffs.

He pours some biscuits in, and although the tinkle of kibble against porcelain usually brings Scruffs running out from wherever she's hiding, she still doesn't appear.