Page 83 of Error Handling

“Gymnastics gave me a good start, but I keep these up at the gym.” He flexes both biceps and kisses his right one through his jacket.

“Interesting,” I say.

“Very.” Christopher leans in and lightly drags his index finger under my chin, then he bops his finger against my nose.

“I’m not a toddler.”

A smile broadens Christopher’s face and we both laugh.

“Let’s do this before the KGB arrests us,” he says.

“You said this was legal.”

“I did?”

He directs me to the fountain’s ledge and shows me where to sit with my legs crossed at the ankle, leaning back on one arm, and then he takes a series of closeups, this time without his tripod. When he checks them on his view finder, he looks pleased.

“Let’s just...” He leans in and rearranges my hair, his fingers resting longer than necessary while our eyes lock. My heart quickens.

This is a date. This is a date.

I repeat it a few more times, and then realize what I’m saying. In a panic, I repeat what I intended to say.

This is NOT a date. This is NOT a date.

I break eye contact, look down, and pick an imaginary hair from my jacket sleeve.

“You moved,” Christopher says softly.

“Oh. Oops.” I try to remember where Christopher positioned my hands and hair. He adjusts my pose slightly, and then backs up and takes pictures from various angles. While he’s taking the pictures, I notice a hulking frame in my peripheral vision.

“Um. Christopher,” I say. “Turn around.”

A very large, very tall police officer stands on the other side of the fence with his thumbs anchored in his gun belt. He rocks from his toes to his heels and then back again.

“Can I help you, Officer...” Christopher squints. “Parker?”

Officer Parker pulls a thumb from his belt and points silently at the fence.

“Doh,” Christopher says. “Can we not—Is this not okay?”

“Hop on over,” the officer says in a gravelly baritone. The deep lines in his cheeks deepen as he purses his lips.

“Sure.” Christopher holds his hand out to me, and I grab it. “Play dumb,” he whispers in my ear.

He helps me over the fence and then leaps out the same way he leaped in.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve taken pictures here before and no one has complained.”

“Next time take them on this side of the fence,” Officer Parker says.

“Will do. We’ll just take the rest under that palm tree.” Christopher points to a tree a few hundred meters away.

“How about you take them somewhere outside of the park?” The officer tucks both thumbs in his belt again and recommences rocking.

“Yeah. Okay. We were done here. Right, Sarah?”

I nod vigorously.