“Do I have to dance?”
I laughed so hard I knocked over my water bottle.
“Yes,” I said. “You have to dance.”
Edward sighed like a man accepting a terrible fate.
“Fine,” he said. “But I’m warning you. I dance like a refrigerator falling down stairs.”
For the next three weeks, Edward took it very seriously.
He asked me questions. Lots of them. How long had we been “dating”? (Four months, we decided.) How did we meet? (At work, which was true.) What was my favorite flower? (Peonies.) What did I order at restaurants? (Whatever was cheapest, he guessed, and he was right.)
“You’re overthinking this,” I told him.
“I’m a woodshop teacher,” he said. “Measure twice, cut once.”
He also asked about Max. A lot about Max.
What does he do for work? (Commercial real estate.) What is he like at parties? (Loud. He likes to be the center
