Ablaze

Chapter 10

Desiree's name flashes across the screen. Harris palms the phone, swiveling his head, searching for a private place to escape to with it. People are everywhere. They spread their elbows, pushed their chairs back, blocking the way.

Second ring.

His table in the corner is as good as it gets until he walks to his truck. His unfinished beer and the bills Sam left would keep the waiters away. Even if one decides to bother him, there are enough obstacles to slow them down. And the bustle will hide his words better than any doors if he picks up the call now. He has to, before the ringing annoys others into staring and hushing.

The third ring just starts up, when Harris taps the screen.

"Good evening, beautiful." And he was worried about someone overhearing that? Hah. He leans back, shoulder blades against the chair's back and takes a sip of his beer. It's still pleasantly cold.

Desiree's answering smile is so wide, he knows she's smiling, despite not being on a video call. He hears it. He can imagine it from her pictures he's seen.

"Sounds like you're partying," she says.

"Was supposed to be a business meeting, but I lucked out with the bar. It's buzzing." He pauses, realizing he can't leave it at that. "Want to drop by?"

"Tempting, but no. I have to get an early start tomorrow. Exciting project and...."

Desiree sounds like someone with clients, files and deadlines. Like his mother used to sound—no wonder Dad picked her. It's uncanny how often he does it, and that's why he fails in his matchmaking efforts so often. Harris isn't Edik, and he's determined to hit as far as he can from marrying his mother, no matter what the old adage says. Not that marriage is in the cards...

He clears his throat. "We're on for this Saturday though? Or are you working weekends too?"

She lets the previously suppressed chuckle out. "Never, that's the rule! I work hard, I play harder."

"Good rule," Harris says, sincerely. Maybe she's not like his mother at all.

"So, yes, we're on for Saturday. But a word of a warning—"

Harris takes another sip of his beer and almost folds his legs under him in his chair, like it's his own living room. Her voice is so jazzy, even if she's about to read him the riot act for some reason.

"In case you're the type to imagine things after a couple of texts, I'm on a rebound after a category five relationship. I'm not looking for anything serious."

He snorts in his beer, rising foam. His bickering with Ablaze has been broadcasted. The world has no privacy any more. In Singapore or wherever, who cares, if people saw him. But if people watch Ablaze here, at home, it sucks. Though how could they not? in Milwaukee, he might be even trending, curse it.

"I'm not the type, trust me."

"I see. Just a little bit of live drama for the podcasts then?"

"Sure. Personal story to hype the interest in fire safety. If it increases the cash flow to the Milwaukee's Fire Department, I'm game."

"The calendars didn't do it this year... Mr. March?"

"We're diversifying our sources of funding."

Harris shakes his head. What Dad did not pin to his dating profile? The yearbook's page from the chess tournament? Grade one photo where he looked sideways? The loners who live off the grid in mountain cabins... he understands why. Doesn't want to follow their example, but he understands.