Page 124 of Slapshot Baby

She catches me staring. Her laughter softens but doesn't stop, settling into a smile that pulls one corner of her mouth higher than the other. She tilts her head.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She studies me for a beat then looks away and starts on another piece.

"I'm making you with a massive forehead now," she announces. "Consider it punishment for being cryptic."

The massive-forehead version has its legs fully extended in opposite directions, stick raised overhead.

It joins the lineup beside hockey-butt Kai, scowling Kai, and naked Kai.

"That's physically impossible for any human skeleton," I say.

"So is your ego, and yet here we are.”

We continue creating different figurines.

By the time we’re done, her side of the table holds a small army of miniature Kais in varying states of dignity. Mine holds three lumpy Avas and the traumatized remains of several failed attempts.

We walk out carrying everything in a paper bag. The evening air smells like roasted coffee from below and something baked and sweet from the shop next door.

Her shoulder bumps mine on the sidewalk and stays there.

She is radiant. Guard lowered, laughter loose.

The sight of her like this fills me with sharp desire.

Dinner is half a block down in a small restaurant with no sign, just a green awning and soft light through the windows.

We order. She gets the short rib while I get the fish. Bread arrives warm and she tears into it immediately.

"Tonight was perfect," she says. "How did you find the studio?"

"I compared several options and eliminated the ones with group sessions."

"You vetted ceramics studios." She shakes her head, but her foot finds mine under the table and settles there. "You are the most romantic overthinker I've ever met."

"I prefer thorough."

"You prefer control. Lucky for you, it's working."

The candlelight catches the gold flecks in her eyes when she smiles. She picks at the bread, licks butter from her thumb.

I listen to her talk about her day, watch the way her hands move when she's passionate about something.

"Ava." I set my fork down. "I need to ask you something, and I need you not to steer us somewhere else this time."

Her chewing slows.

"Have you decided about what I asked you? About being my girlfriend for real."

Her smile fades.

She sets the bread down. Her fingers find the rim of her water glass and trace it slowly.

"Can we just enjoy tonight? We had such a perfect evening and I don't want to ruin it."