St. Clair nudges me with a tal thermos. “Perhaps you’re upset because he won’t have the opportunity to woo you with his astonishing knowledge of
urban street racing.”
I laugh. “Cut it out.”
“And I hear he has exquisite taste in film. Maybe he’l take you to a midnight showing of Scooby-Doo 2.”
I whack St. Clair with my bag, and he dodges aside, laughing.
“Aha! Here it is!” Mer cal s out, having located the appropriate patch of greenery. She unrol s a blanket onto the smal lawn while Rashmi and I unpack
tiny apples and prosciutto sandwiches and stinky cheeses from our backpacks. Josh and St. Clair chase each other around the nearby monuments. They
remind me of the little French schoolboys I see in our neighborhood. all they need are the matching woolen sweaters.
Mer pours everyone coffee from St. Clair’s thermos, and I sip happily, enjoying the pleasant warmth that spreads throughout my body. I used to think
coffee was bitter and disgusting, but like everyone else, I’m up to several cups a day. We tear into the food and, like magic, the guys are back. Josh sits cross-legged next to Rashmi, while St. Clair scoots between Meredith and me.
“You have leaves in your hair.” Mer giggles and pul s one of the brown skeletons from St. Clair’s locks. He takes it from her, crunches it to dust, and
blows it into her curls. They laugh, and my gut twinges.
“Maybe you should put on The Hat,” I say. He asked me to carry it before we left. I chuck my bag into his lap, perhaps a little too hard. St. Clair oofs and jerks forward.
“Watch it.” Josh bites into a pink apple and talks through a ful mouth. “He has parts down there you don’t have.”
“Ooo, parts,” I say. “Intriguing. tell me more.”
Josh smiles sadly. “Sorry. Privileged information. Only people with parts can know about said parts.”
St. Clair shakes the rest of the leaves from his hair and puts on The Hat. Rashmi makes a face at him. “Real y? Today? In public?” she asks.
“Every day,” he says. “As long as you’re with me.”
She snorts. “So what’s El en doing tonight?”
“Ugh. El ie’s attending some terrible costume party.”
“You don’t like costume parties?” Mer asks.
“I don’t do costumes.”
“Just hats,” Rashmi says.
“I didn’t realize anyone outside of SOAP was celebrating Hal oween,” I say.
“Few people are,” Josh says. “The shopkeepers tried to turn it into a commercial thing years ago. It didn’t catch on. But give a col ege chick the chance to dress up like a slutty nurse, and she’s gonna take it.”
St. Clair lobs a chunk of chèvre at Josh’s head, and it smacks his cheek. “Arse. She’s not going as a slutty nurse.”
“Just a regular one?” I ask innocently. “With a low-cut dress and real y big br**sts?”
Josh and Rashmi crack up, and St. Clair tugs The Hat down over his eyes. “Ughhh, I hate you all.”
“Hey.” Meredith sounds hurt. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Ughhh, I hate you all but Mer.”