Wanna Bet?

Part 4

"My place is all kinds of random," I said. "I guess if I think it's cute then it comes home with me."

"Sounds promising." He smiled, measuring out ground coffee and pouring boiling water into the press. He worked on the batter as my face burned at the unintended double entendre. "Do you like big floppy pancakes or tiny doll pancakes?"

"Big floppy please. And it must be flipped on the pan."

He looked over at me with what I was starting to recognize as his game face. "Is that a challenge?"

I leaned my chin on my hands. "Hundred bucks says you can't flip it on the first try."

"Why don't you show me how?"

"I can flip a pancake in my sleep."

He left the batter for a moment to lean over the counter, his face close to mine. "Let's change the wager. You and I get two tries. First one to flip wins the bet. If you win...?" he tilted his head, inviting me to name my terms.

"Hundred bucks?"

He chuckled. "You don't want to think of a more creative bet?"

"Well, what do you want if you win?"

That crafty, feline grin stretched his face again. "Saturday night there's supposed to be a meteor shower. Come and watch with me?" He watched as I glanced at his open door. "I mean, our balconies are beside each other. What do you say?"

"Sure," I said. He looked relieved. "I'm holding my wager in reserve, though."

"Cool."

"Okay. So let's do this."

I joined him behind the counter. Taking a ladle, he spooned some of the batter onto the buttered pan on the stove and carefully tilted it until it formed a big circle. He stepped aside and gestured at me. "After you."

I studied the pancake, watching for the tiny bubbles to form on the top and sides. At the right moment, I grabbed the pan's handle. "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose," I called, tilting it down and snapping my wrist up. The pancake wriggled up, building a little height. I had to put a bit more force into the fling to get it to its fullest height and complete its arc.

"Look at the stars..." Kiko crooned.

I lifted my shoulders in surprise, causing my wrist to lose momentum. The pancake wobbled and fell back into the pan, folded in half.

"No fair!" I protested. "You distracted me!"

"We didn't have any rules against trash talk, did we?"

"I see how it is." I stepped back from the stove. "Fine. Your turn."

He gave me a smug grin and even made a show of stretching out his arms. He placed the half-moon pancake on a plate, planted his feet behind the stove, re-buttered the pan, ladled the batter and grabbed the handle. I stood beside him, watching for the bubbles to form.

"For glory!" he cried.

"Call your girlfriend!" I sang at my loudest, tone-deaf best; guaranteed to make Robyn shudder in concern for her song.

Without missing a beat, he lifted the pan, shifted it once, twice; flicked his wrist and sent the pancake soaring in a perfect arc in the air. At the last second, he slid the pan under it, the pancake settling into a fluffy golden circle.

"Yes!" He shouted, pumping his fist. After a minute, he grabbed another plate, carefully tipped the pancake on it and presented it to me. "It would be my honor for you to have this perfectly flipped pancake, Miss Jane."

I stuck out my tongue at him but took it anyway. He joined me at the counter with my flop pancake, along with a plate of butter, a jar of thick mango jam and a small squirt bottle of honey. I followed his lead and added a small dollop of jam to my plate.

"You have a sweet tooth, huh?" I asked.

"You have no idea." He drizzled more honey onto his cake and took a luxurious bite. "And incidentally, the answer's no."

"I'm sorry?"

"The song you keep singing. Call Your Girlfriend. There is none."

"Oh."

His eyes met mine, clear and steady.

"There's none too," I said. "Girlfriend. Or boyfriend."

He handed me a cup of coffee. "What's your number?" He grinned. "So I can let you know when the meteor shower is starting."

I gave it, pretending notto notice his ears and neck reddening as I did.