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“We’re on a trail check in a quiet forest at nine o’clock at night. The ward lines are holding. I have six minutes of actual attention to give and four minutes of conversation available. The conversation is going to happen.”
“The conversation is not going to happen.”
“The conversation —” Pike sidestepped a root without glancing down “— is happening right now, as this exchange shows. What did she think of the ship in the bottle? Was she impressed? Was she confused? Did she ask the questions that made you realize you’d been waiting your entire life for someone to ask them?”
“Pike.”
“Was it romantic? Because it is romantic, objectively. You made a tiny impossible thing by hand, and you let her see it. I’ve been saying this about your hobby for years, and nobody listened, and now —”
“She asked good questions.”
Pike stopped walking. “She asked good questions,” he repeated slowly to himself, as if the sentence carried more weight than four words should. “That’s — okay. That’s a lot coming from you. ‘She asked good questions’ from you is roughly equivalent to anyone else saying ‘I think I might be in love.’”
“She wanted to know how the rigging thread clears the neck of the bottle.”
“She’s been thinking about your ships.”
“Yes.”
“Since the forest session. When you mentioned them accidentally.”
“Yes.”
“She remembered the exact detail and followed up on it.”
“Yes.”
Pike was quiet for three steps, which, for Pike, took real willpower. “You are in enormous trouble, and I say that with complete affection. Also, I was right about the ships being romantic, and I would like that acknowledged.”
“It is not being acknowledged.”
“I’ll take it as implied. Do you want advice?”
“No.”
“The pastry strategy —”
“No.”
“— has been refined. Post-pharmacist. The key is timing. You don’t lead with the pastry. You wait for the right emotional moment, and then the pastry shows up as proof. ‘I was thinking about you, and here is evidence.’”
“She’s not going to be won over by a pastry.”
“A pastry wins everyone over. That’s the entire point of pastry. It’s social technology.”
“Pike.”
“Tabled. Again. Still tabled. The pastry is on the table.”
“Please stop saying tabled.”
“It’s tabled.”
Maelin, from twelve feet ahead of all of them, without turning: “The word is losing meaning.”
“Thank you, Maelin.”
“I’m not agreeing with either of you. I’m noting a linguistic observation.”
