Chapter 17: Cold on Purpose

On Thursday night I carried twelve panna cottas into the boathouse kitchen and set them in a row on the steel counter.

They were the cheapest excuse I had ever made.

I needed to know whether the hall's walk-in could hold four tiers at thirty-eight degrees, and for that I did not need dessert.

But a chilled dessert is the right way to test a cooler, and I will argue it with anyone.

The kitchen was empty and bright.

I propped open the back door, left every light on, and turned the radio up to something with a trumpet in it.

This time nobody was hiding.

Lark came in at nine with her hair in a damp braid and her aquarium badge still clipped to her fleece.

She smelled like herring, and I was glad to see her anyway.

"I've been feeding the harbor seals all day," she said. "One of them stole my keys."

"Did you get them back?"

"I traded him a herring."

I took her face in both hands and kissed her in the middle of the lit kitchen.

She laughed against my mouth.

"This is a very different building," she said.

"It's the same building."

"It feels different with the lights on."

I opened the door of the walk-in and held it for her.

"After you."

"You want to test the cooler."

"I want to test the cooler."

"With a pastry chef inside it."

"With a pastry chef and a seal keeper, both well above freezing."

"Get in."

She stepped inside, and I came in after her, and I pulled the door shut behind us.

It clicked.

The cold wrapped around my forearms exactly as it had the first night, and the fan hummed over our heads.

Butter on one shelf, cream on another, the leftover milk crate in the corner.

"I sat there," Lark said, pointing at the crate. "For forty minutes. I counted tarts."

"I know."

"I was sure you'd call the police."

"I was sure I'd drop the tray."

"You did not drop the tray."

"I almost did."

I put my hand flat on the steel wall beside her head.

Her breath made a small cloud between us.

"Lark," I said.

"Yes?"

"I corner people. It's a character flaw."

"I've noticed."

"I'm going to corner you now. On purpose."

"On purpose," she said, as if the words tasted good. "Then do it right."

I did.

I kissed her against the wall, and the cold made every point of contact bright.

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