It was warm, though not uncomfortable, when Jennifer left the air conditioned bar and walked the block to where her car was parked at a meter. She'd just unlocked the car when she heard her name called. Having a very generic name, her initial instinct was it was directed at someone else, but this time it was not. It was Gabriel.

"Jennifer," he called, a little out of breath like he'd been hurrying to catch up. "Wait up."

"Hey," she said, quite surprised. It wasn't often a stranger hurried to catch up with her.

"I'm, uh," he started, looked down at his boots for a moment before meeting her eyes again. They had the exact same eye color. It was a little creepy. Her eyes were not common, a sort of ugly olive green with a band of orangey brown around the pupil and a dark evergreen outline. "Okay, sorry if this sounds weird," he continued, "I have a couple panels tomorrow, but maybe we can grab a coffee or something in between? Maybe come up with an outline for my comic?"

"Um, I don't know." It was not the first time she'd been invited for coffee, but it had been a while.

"I go to these cons every weekend in the summer and usually just stay in my hotel and am bored out of my skull. But you're interesting, and I really liked talking to you in there."

She had to agree that she enjoyed talking to him as well. She'd lived in this city nearly her whole life, and it was rare to find someone that easy to talk to by happenstance. Maybe she could meet him for coffee.

"Yeah, maybe," she said.

Maybe her maybe sounded like a no, because he changed the subject. "So, what do you recommend to eat around here? I always prefer to ask the locals over the concierge, you know."

"Have you had Skyline?"

He laughed a little. "Twice today."

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Twice? And you haven't had dinner yet?"

With a shrug, he said, "We'll call it brunch and high tea."

"High tea. Right," she smirked. "I'd love to see you bring out a three way with crumpets and whatever else they serve."

"Scones."

"Huh?"

"Not crumpets. Scones. And teacakes and sandwiches. No crumpets."

"What's the difference?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"How do you know? Have you been to one?"

"A couple times," he said. "It's pretty cool, but I don't like tea."

"Me neither. You like fish?"

"Fish? Yeah. They don't serve fish at high tea. Fish and chips is more pub food."

"Well," she drummed her fingers on the car hood. She was enjoying his conversation even now, and with nothing else between now and bedtime, maybe she would like to extend the conversation. "I was going to grab some fish on the way home for dinner. It's not English fish and chips, but it's better. Southern fried fish. Alabama Fish Bar. You want to come?"

He smiled at her. It was a genuine, grateful smile, one that wasn't built around a pretense of anything, just gratefulness. "Yes," he said. "That sounds great."

"Good," she smiled back but doubted her smile was a good as his. "You okay walking?"

"How far?"

She shrugged. "Walking distance?" She was awful with measurements. "We may walk up an appetite, but I promise it will be worth it."

He smiled again. This time the grateful was layered with something else. Amusement? Whatever it was, she lied it. She might even like him.

They talked as they walked, and she learned that he flew in that morning and had four panels, one he already had today, two on Saturday and one Sunday.

"What kind of panels?" she asked. She had never been to a comic expo. It had never interested her one iota. Until now.

"They're all a little different, but it's basically I talk about an aspect of the comic - the origin or the artwork or whatever - and then we do a Q&A."

"That sounds terrifying."

"Oh, it is."

"Are you up there by yourself?" She thought back to some presentations she'd had to do for work, and how intimidating that could be with a bunch of strange faces waiting for you to screw up.

"No fucking way," he laughed. "I always have a wingman. Actually, I try to be the wingman, but, well, Ubiquitous Allies got pretty popular because of Netflix, so..." he trailed off.

"You don't like being the star?"

"I like the paycheck," he laughed.

"Here we are." She stopped walking at the back of the line that snaked out of the little storefront. The sign on the front was wooden, with a blue fish and the words Alabama Fish Bar in matching blue. They were the only two white people in line.

Gabriel looked around at the clientele and back to Jennifer. "This is going to be amazing, isn't it?"

"So good."

Looking around the streets, the neighborhood was lively yet in need of some TLC. It was nothing like the pretentious area surrounding the convention center and the bar between Jennifer's work and home.

Gabriel easily chatted to anyone in line who would talk to him, not quite understanding there were only three things on the menu, but absolutely understanding the devotion of customers who would wait around the block for those three items.

"I think I'll get the cod," he told Jennifer after thoroughly interviewing everyone around them.

"Nah, man. Get the perch," said the man behind him.

"The whiting's where it's at," said the woman with him.

"Now I'm back to square one," Gabriel said.

When their time came to place their order at the noisy, cramped counter, Gabriel tried the cashier's patience with his agonizing indecision until Jennifer interrupted and ordered for him, one of each that they would split.

"Brilliant," he smiled and she noticed he had a little gap between his front tooth and the one next to it, and it angled in such a way it resembled a fang. If he had a matching one, it would look goofy, but as it was, it looked endearing. "This is really cool," he added, looking around the tiny restaurant. It was carryout only, with a counter to order, no place to wait, and a window that looked out to the street.

A chalkboard announced the simple menu: your choice of whiting, perch or cod, fried and served with french fries, coleslaw, bread and peppers. It was served in a wax paper bag, maybe a napkin and plastic fork if you were lucky. They each grabbed a 20-ounce Diet Dr. Pepper from the cooler and Gabriel paid for it with his stipend.

"If you let me buy you another drink after this, I might be able to use it up," he told her.

The proposed nightcap made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long time, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Where do you usually eat?" he asked as they exited back onto the crowded sidewalk.

"I usually take it home," she said. "But home is this way and my car is that way," she pointed in opposite directions. "We could eat on the curb or, oh wait, I know a better place. Come on."

"I really am walking up an appetite," he joked.

"It's not far. Food won't even get cold."

She was right. It didn't take them long to walk the three blocks to Washington Park, an urban playground and dog park with a water feature that ran in the summertime. It was September, the city rolled up the sidewalks after Labor Day. Although it was evening, it was still light, just after six, and there were several groups of children playing on the swings and slides, nearly as diverse as the dogs in the adjacent dog park. The two found a bench between both areas and sat.

He looked around like he had at the Fish Bar, maybe he did this everywhere he traveled, she didn't know, but he was observant, taking it all in. "It's funny," he started, "this is not my first time in Cincinnati, but I never thought it had all these cool places."

She shrugged. "It's not so bad once you get to know it." Like me, she thought.

"I guess I'd only seen the convention center and the airport before."

"The airport isn't even in Ohio, let alone Cincinnati," she pointed out. "So you can't judge us by what Hebron, Kentucky, looks like."

He laughed a little. "True. But you've got all these cool little neighborhoods and architecture and shit you wouldn't even notice if you didn't look for it. It's like a palpable New York City or a condensed Chicago."

"I guess." She wasn't much of a city girl. Suburbs were okay, but she preferred the beach or the woods, nature. If he were around longer, and they knew each other better, she'd take him to a county park of the nature center, show him the lakes and trails, so many trails that if you knew where to look, you could get lost in this city.

"Well, this smells delicious," he gestured to the wax packets. "Which should I try first?"

"They aren't labeled, so I'd go with whichever is closest."

They each unwrapped a package to the simple fish dinner inside. But one bite in told them this was no simple fish.

"Oh my god," he said with his mouth full. "I could kiss you, this is that good." After swallowing, he added, "but I won't, y'know, fish breath and all."

As she ate, she enjoyed watching him, the pleasure he found in each bite, the way he acted amazed at every morsel, like he'd never eaten a french fry before or added rings of pickled banana peppers to a dish.

They split the three dinners evenly between them, and when they finished the last bit, Gabriel said, "Good thing it's a long walk back to the hotel. I need it after this."

"But was worth it, right?"

"Hell yeah. I may come back here tomorrow instead of my third trip to Skyline."

She laughed. “How long are you here? You said you have a panel Sunday?”

He nodded. “I think it’s an eight o’clock flight.”

“Home?”

Another nod.

“Where’s home?”

“San Diego. Then I fly back to Indy next weekend. I know, it’s stupid to fly across the country just to fly back in a week, but they only do these cons on the weekends. Not like touring for a concert.”

She nodded but didn’t understand quite why he made that comparison.

“Have you ever been to one?” he asked.

“A concert?”

“A con.”

She shook her head. “I’m not really into comics. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I am into concerts, though. My Chemical Romance is coming in September. I’m so excited.”

“My Chemical Romance?” He wrinkled his nose.

“I love Gerard Way.”

“Ew, that guy?” he sneered. “You have really weird taste in guys. No offense.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“But if you change your mind or get curious about the con, I can put in a ticket for you at will call. Two tickets, for you and your…boyfriend or girlfriend?”

As much as she appreciated all of the intentions behind those words, she was tempted to say something snarky like “They don’t like comics, either” but she refrained and said instead, “There’s no one waiting for me at home.”

The way his eyes responded to the intent in those words made her look at him from a new angle.

“Me neither,” he added, though it should have been neither here nor there.

“But, I do have a dog waiting,” she stood from the bench and brushed the crumbs from her lap and dust from her seat. “And a cat, but he is less likely to revolt if I don’t get home soon.”

He, too, stood, and took their empty papers to the trash can where he disposed of them. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Because you don’t know your way back?” she teased.

“That, too.” He laughed.

She liked his laugh. It was bubbly and giddy like a kid. Like being with him and laughing could erase twenty years and make her feel alive again.

“But even if I did,” he continued, “I’d ask to walk you back.”

She looked to her shoes instead of his face. “Thank you,” she said very quietly and changed the subject as they walked. “Do you have pets?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a cat at home, silver tabby.”

“Awww, what’s its name?”

“Scissors.”

She snorted. “Scissors?”

“Yeah,” he glanced over as they walked. “He’s silver and sharp as hell.”

She laughed. “My aunt and uncle had a cat named Velcro because she stuck to everything: the carpet, couch, drapes.”

He laughed and she felt ten years old. “So, who’s waiting at home?” he asked.

“I have a collie mix named Lysander.”

“Lysander?” he repeated. “Shakespeare fan?”

“And my cat is Gratiano.”

“Merchant of Venice?”

She shrugged. “He could stand to lose a pound of flesh.”

They walked easily as the sun sunk lower and the sky turned from blue to gray. She thought about saying goodnight and about wanting to see him again and decided to ask, “If I did come to the con, when is your panel?”

He stopped walking, and as his eyes lit up, he was animated when he spoke. “Would you really come? Please come. I would love that. Sometimes seeing a familiar face in the audience is the only thing that keeps me from freezing up.”

“Since you put it that way, I can sure try. What time?”

“I have a one o’clock and a four. Maybe if you can come to one, we can grab a coffee in between or something?”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” She couldn’t make any promises, but the prospect of seeing him again sweetened the pot.

“Good. I’ll put your name at will call. And can I, uh, if I give you my number, maybe you can let me know if you want to grab a coffee first.”

“Um, okay.” It had been a while since she’d gotten a guy’s number.

“Hang on.” He stopped walking again and pulled out the sketchbook and pen from his bag. When he scribbled his name and number on a page and tore it out, she saw the sketch on the opposite page. It was a woman and looked a little bit like her: oval face, bangs, Darth Vader panel on her chest.

“What’s your drawing?” she asked, pocketing his phone number.

Holding it out for her to see, he said, “I told you I was going to make a character sketch for your villain origin story. I didn’t get far before you left, but see? No gargantuan boobs or butts to be seen.”

“Very tasteful,” she replied with a strong laugh. She loved the drawing. Loved the idea that Gabriel started to draw her at the bar, even though it was an evil Jennifer. Who was she kidding? That made her love it even more.
The familiar car ahead made her frown. Her car. Though she really did need to get home and let out Lysander, she wasn’t ready to call it a night with Gabriel just yet.

“And she still needs a tragic backstory,” he added, looking at the sketch once more before closing the book and returning it to the bag.

“Why?”

“Because something awful had to have happened to her so she’d turn evil like that. Haven’t you read any, I mean, haven’t you seen the movies? Like Penguin being abandoned because he was deformed?”

“But why?” she repeated. “Can’t some people just be born evil? Pretty sure I know one or two of them.”

“Well, yeah.” He looked her over, saw the car and slowed his steps. “But you clearly were not born evil. I’ve spent the better part of the evening with you and the only evil I’ve seen is that you want to dry hump a disfigured Nazi.”

Her jaw dropped. “I told you he is not a Nazi!”

He smirked and for some reason it did not irritate her like so many other smirks had done. “Your vehement denial of that is the only reason I’m giving you a pass for crushing on him,” he said.

“And I was five,” she added.

“And you were five.”

The car loomed ahead of them, even though it was tiny, a Volkswagen Beetle, but the implication was large.

“You know, your car even looks like him,” he said.

She laughed and looked at the black vehicle. “What do you mean?”

“Big black dome? Looks like Darth Vader’s helmet. It wasn’t intentional?”

She shook her head.

“It must have been subliminal. Man, Freud would have a heyday with you.”

After making a childish face at him, she examined the car in a new light. Yes with the rounded black top, sloped hood and grill, maybe it did resemble the Sith Lord’s helmet.

“Plus, the Nazis invented the Beetle, so there you go,” he added.

“They did not!” she gasped.

“They did, I’m serious,” he told her. “It was commissioned by Hitler himself to be the ‘people’s car’ which literally translates from ‘volks’ ‘wagen.’”

“Please tell me you’re lying,” she said. “I always thought the Porsche guy designed it.”

“Yeah, the Porsche guy had something to do with it, but it was Hitler’s idea.”

“Oh my god,” she shook her head. “Now I’m going to have to sell it. I can’t be driving a Nazi car.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine. That stigma’s all gone thanks to the hippies. Now people just associate them with burnouts.”

“I’m not a burnout. Or a Nazi,” she added. “I just thought it was cute.”

“Cute like Darth Vader?”

“Exactly. Welcome to the dark side,” she joked. “Want to see my Jedi powers at work?” She touched the door handle, automatically unlocking the vehicle.

“Impressive, Padawan,” he imitated Darth Vader’s voice poorly.

“I don’t know what that means,” she laughed.

“Oh yeah, Darth Vader fan, not Star Wars, I almost forgot.” He outstretched his hand a bit like he might touch her, but stopped short. “Will I see you tomorrow, you think?”

She swallowed, looked inside the car, then back at his expectant face. “I’ll try,” she said with a quick nod.

“Call me or text if you come early and maybe we can get that coffee or whatever.”

“I will.” She opened the door, but he held onto it.

“I had a really good time,” he said and looked directly into her matching eyes. “Thanks for introducing me to the fish place and for showing me around. Usually I just hole up in my hotel room between things on these trips. This was really nice.”

“I had fun, too,” she said and paused, considered him standing there with his hand on her door. She hadn’t really thought of his appearance during their evening – he was not striking nor unattractive. She’d only paid attention to his clothes and their shared ugly eye color. But standing there with the sun low in the sky and the street lights just turning on as it was dusk, she saw him in what they called the “golden hour” and then he was striking. His round apple shaped face and pointy nose, and now she just noticed in the golden light the little freckle off center at the tip of his nose. It was something she would be morbidly self-conscious of had it been on the end of her angular, surgically formed nose, and maybe he was, but she liked it. It and his scruffy brown eyebrows, long, curled eyelashes and pouty lips. He was like a soft adult angel. Like if Raphael had instead of choosing child-like cherubs, he’d painted this grown man whose hand was still on Jennifer’s car door, beckoning her to stay just a moment longer.

Maybe she would. Maybe she’d stay with him forever.

But at that moment when she’d surrendered eternity to him, he let go. A pass to get in her car and drive away. He didn’t let go to move his hand from the door to her cheek, waist, or hell, she’d even let him touch her lower back. No, he let go and slipped both hands in his pants pockets as if to physically confirm he would not be touching her tonight.

Taking that as her cue, she entered the vehicle and positioned herself on the seat.

“Goodnight, Jennifer,” he said.

Hearing her name again from his lips made her want to kiss them.

“Goodnight, Gabriel,” she purposefully used his name in case the saying of it evoked the same response from him. It did not, so she started the engine.

He closed her door and she rolled down the window. He made no move to kiss her or stop her, so she put the car in gear, waved by wiggling her fingers at him with a smile, and pulled away from the curb.