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December 18, 10:08 a.m. 26 seconds
(Mission District, San Francisco)
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“Aren’t you going to drop me?” Kyle asked Evan. They stood outside BirdsEye office building waiting for Pat to arrive.
Evan grinned idly. “I’ve got better things to do than take you to the airport. Sylvia seagull management. Legal battles. Argentinians. Some fun plans tonight.”
“Do they involve Mr. Horn Rimmed Glasses?”
Evan shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“You found someone. And you were not even looking.”
Eyes clouded, Kyle looked at the intersection teeming with bikers, on-foot morning commuters and traffic-stalled cars. “I don’t know. Me and her. Feels wrong, Evan. Just don’t want to hurt her. And I think I might.”
“Don’t. I’m on Team Juniper. And if you dare hurt her, I’ll knock your solar plexus out,” said Evan, chewing on his every word.
Kyle turned in disbelief. Usually Evan, his best pal and brother-of-circumstances, showed less emotion than their AI prototype. “What brought that on?”
“You know. She is...different and crawls under your skin, even if you don’t want to like her. Like a virus. A good virus. I can’t explain.” Evan grimaced and turned away, his emotion-sharing-quota done for a year. He handed Kyle a sleek spinner suitcase. “I had Marlene pack your clothes, like Juniper asked. Do not open the suitcase for clues to her surprise. Juniper was very specific and scary in her orders.”
Kyle shook his head. “One weekend with me and she’s bloody running my life.”
“Good. This is the happiest I’ve seen you, Kyle, since I was 7 years old.”
“Wasn’t looking for happiness.”
“Okay, enough with the introspective meta-narrative bull.” Evan shook his elegant head.
Both men exchanged wry smiles.
Just then, Pat pulled up the black car and Kyle threw his bag in the trunk and slammed it shut. “Bye. Evan, door-sock warning. Do not disturb, unless the office burns down or Sylvia goes postal.”
