“Do I look okay?” Raine countered, laughing. Eli’s worry transformed into relief and something softer—an openness to closeness that skipped past the usual rehearsal of dating.
They sat on opposite sides of the slope, the hum of the building behind them and a wind that smelled faintly of copier toner and cut grass. Under the courtyard lights, faces softened, conversation found its rhythm. Eli was funny in the way he noticed small details—how Raine’s watch strap was frayed, how the zip on Raine’s bag had a tiny star charm. Raine laughed more than they had on the first date, surprised at how easy it felt to answer questions. meat log mountain second datezip work
Raine smiled, the kind of real, easy smile that changes the face. “Only if you promise to bring bread.” “Do I look okay
Eli grinned, as if sealing a pact. “Deal. And I’ll bring a map.” Raine smiled, the kind of real, easy smile
Raine found the office park oddly charming at dusk: the chrome-and-glass of Zip Work softened by a mauve sky, and the courtyard’s small, planted slope people called Meat Log Mountain. The name had stuck from a lunchtime prank years ago when someone stacked the cafeteria’s leftover meatloaf molds into a ridiculous cairn. It was silly, juvenile, and everyone loved it.
“Only the finest,” Raine said, handing him a soda. “Thought we could claim a peak.”