Page 110 of Power Play

“Good.”

“That sounded smug.”

“It was.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re still here.”

His hand slid from my wrist to mine and threaded our fingers together. The simplicity of it nearly undid me more than the conversation had.

We had no title or announcement and hadn’t used boyfriend or girlfriend, but we understood that whatever we were doing, neither of us was doing it with anyone else.

Ryan turned back toward the notebook as though he hadn’t just changed the shape of my entire summer.

“Now we’re doing vowels.”

I stared at him. “You cannot possibly expect me to discuss vowels after that.”

“I absolutely can.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“You’ll thank me when you stop pronouncing everything like a tourist.”

“I pronounce things beautifully.”

“You murdered buenas noches two days ago.”

“I was nervous.”

“You called my night good cheese.”

I covered my face. “You promised never to mention that again.”

“I promised nothing.”

Ryan laughed and pulled my hands away.

For the next half hour, he made me repeat vowels, basic phrases, and enough greetings that I threatened to throw the yellow book off the balcony. He corrected me relentlessly and rewarded every improvement with that pleased little shift in his expression. Somewhere between ¿Cómo estás? and hasta mañana, he got up without asking and went into my kitchen.

I turned in my chair. “What are you doing?”

“I’m hungry.”

“You ate lunch.”

“That was hours ago.”

He opened the cabinet where I kept the plates.

I stared until Ryan looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“You know where my plates are.”

“I’ve been here before.”

“That isn’t the point.”