Theater Buff

Murph's groan was more contentment than pain. Yuu and Mia's really was the best pizza in town, so splitting a pie with Levity hadn't been a chore. Usually, he kept to a strict diet. Nobody on a budget could afford to indulge this level of appetite. He'd be curbing calories for a while, getting his eager belly back in line.

"You're more of a beast than you let on," remarked Levity, who'd shrugged back into her long coat.

He fiddled with his scarf. "I get hungry, same as anyone."

"Not many people can match me. I keep finding new reasons to respect you."

They drifted across the road and stood outside their office building. He asked, "Did you need something from upstairs?"

"No."

"Then … why are you still here?" It seemed a fair question.

"I'm glad you asked! Take me out for ice cream."

"Ice cream? In January?"

"The pizza was spicy."

"It's late , Levity."

She eased to his side and tucked her arm through his. "I know a little place. Twenty-four hours. Eighty-eight flavors."

"That's an oddly specific number."

"It's the closest the owner could get to infinity without skimping. Eight flavors would have been too stingy."

Double Infinity was indeed open, and their offerings were enough to give any man decision paralysis. But Levity pointed out that instead of ordering a bowl, they could go for the unlimited tasting instead.

Eighty-eight spoonfuls and a brisk walk later, and Levity was seeing him to his door. It probably should have bothered Murph that she knew where he lived. He'd certainly never mentioned. But it was probably the same as her knowing the names of Tippy's brothers and Angelo's kids and everybody's birthdays.

"Tea?" she asked brightly.

"What?"

"I'd love some. Invite me in."

He hunched his shoulders against a bitter gust. "You want tea?"

"I wouldn't turn down your hospitality." And more softly, "Let me in, Murph."

"If you insist."

She inclined her head quite regally. "Thank you."

Minutes later, Murph was filling the electric kettle and feeling jumpy and self-conscious. Because Levity was in his apartment, and she was browsing his bookshelves.

Murph liked his home, which was one of the larger studio apartments in a renovated factory downtown. The ceilings were high, and the walls were concrete. When he'd first moved in, the echoes had bothered him, so he'd found tapestries for the walls and rugs for the floors. Oversized bookcases held bound scripts and folios and his collection of playbills. And the wall in the dining nook was decorated with vintage posters from theater productions, his favorite being a depiction of Ambrose P. Merriman in the starring role from one of the LeClerc Company's more obscure performances. The company hadn't bothered with large posters while touring in the new world, but the play had seen a decent run in Paris.

"You're a theater buff! Why did I not know that?" Indicating his collection, she asked, "May I touch?"

"If you must. Kettle's on, but I'm out of the good stuff."

She dragged her gaze from the album she'd selected. "Which stuff is that?"

"What? Oh. Ah. A gift from you, actually. Was it last summer?" He reached for the empty canister, which he hadn't quite been able to let go. "It isn't labeled properly, or I would have ordered more. Fine stuff. Do you recall where …?"

"Ohhh, right. I brought that back from vacation."

He found himself asking, "Where did you go?" He didn't usually ask personal questions.

"We were feeling adventurous. Went to France."

"Who's we ?" It was none of his business. Why did he care who Levity went off with?

She stepped closer, her gaze steady. "My sister and I travel sometimes."

"Is that so? You and Divinity."

"That's right. We usually request our vacations at the same time." Her posture shifted, and she changed the subject. "Do you have a favorite play?"

" One favorite? Not really, no. My needs change with the day. Though I will confess to having a favorite playwright. His works are my … oh, let's call them the dramatic equivalent of comfort reads." Murph waved at the poster that had pride of place. "I like happy endings, and LeClerc finds so many ways to bring them to pass. I stumbled across a performance in an obscure playhouse back when I was at university. Been collecting scripts and playbills ever since. He never disappoints."

She looked between him and the poster. "LeClerc, you say?"

"Canarian LeClerc." He shrugged. "He's not famous anymore, but he's not forgotten. Not by me."

"Show me," she urged.

So he brought out the correct folios, and he started with a broad overview. When she seemed interested, he expanded. The tea went cold. He made apologies, then made more tea. And she quizzed him further, drawing out all the reasons LeClerc appealed, why theater appealed.

While he brewed a third pot of tea, she found and set up his Scrabble board. She cheated—quite unabashedly—because nobody's first word was ever muzjiks, but after that she played fair. Letter tiles made a soothing clatter, and she coaxed for more stories. His stories.

Like how the pew in his office belonged to the chapel on the grounds of the orphanage where he'd lived for a while.

Like his unsurprising addiction to crossword puzzles and his ongoing collection of oxymorons and palindromes.

Like his tendency to associate the people he knew with punctuation marks.

And then he noticed that it was three in the morning, and she felt she should go. Reluctantly, he thought. And he wondered if he was meant to invite her to stay, because he rather liked having Levity Jones all to himself.

But he didn't have the courage, and she was putting on her coat.

At the door, she bumped closer and kissed his cheek.

He flushed and made a soft noise that was embarrassingly like a whine.

"I had fun, too," she said warmly, before the door clicked shut behind her.

Murph had to admit—at least to himself—that he really had enjoyed himself. Immensely.

And that it was entirely possible that he was an idiot. Because despite his usual complaint, he 'd been the one taking Levity Jones too lightly.