Bewildering Amusement

The midday sun, usually a benevolent golden orb, felt like a spotlight of judgment, beating down on Danti’s already sweating brow. He stood frozen, a monument to mortification, somewhere between the grand oak tree and the slightly lopsided ice cream cart in Willow Creek Park. His carefully constructed internal monologue, a symphony of brave declarations and witty ice-breakers, had just imploded into a cacophony of panicked squawks.

“Chole!” The name, usually a soft, whispered prayer in the sanctuary of his mind, had launched itself from his lungs like a startled pigeon, loud enough, he suspected, to make the ducks on the pond consider relocating. He’d intended to simply stride over, a picture of suave confidence, perhaps offer a compliment about her book or the way the sunlight caught the highlights in her hair. Instead, he had bolted. He had practically sprinted from behind a particularly bushy rose bush, his legs churning with a desperation usually reserved for fleeing a swarm of angry wasps.

Chole, who had been peacefully engrossed in a novel, looked up, her expression shifting from serene concentration to mild surprise, then a flicker of something Danti couldn't quite decipher. Her brow furrowed slightly, not in anger, but in a kind of polite bewilderment, as if a rare bird had suddenly landed on her picnic blanket and started reciting Shakespeare.