“Broadway Park,” he says.

I get in and wait for him to slide into the passenger’s seat next to me. After he does, I shift the gear into reverse and catch a glimpse of the helmets in the rearview mirror. One’s black; the other’s pink. I suck in a deep breath and then slowly exhale. God, really, what have I gotten myself into?

“Kev, this is Ada,” Jorgen says, introducing me to a man who’s maybe in his late twenties. “Ada, Kevin.

I meet Kevin’s outstretched hand with my own.

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He has somewhat of a country twang to his voice — not Southern, just country.

Kevin is one of those guys who kind of reminds me of a teddy bear. He’s not super round or anything. I mean, he’s not nearly as chiseled as Jorgen, but he’s not really overweight either. He’s just a little shorter and a little heavier than average — a teddy bear, a sandy blond teddy bear. And he’s squinting his eyes at me.

“You know, you look kinda familiar for some reason,” he says, searching my face.

I turn my attention to Jorgen. “I feel like I’ve gotten that a lot lately.”

Jorgen is staring at Kevin and has a look on his face as if he’s in deep thought or something.

“She’s Ada Cross,” Jorgen says after a second. “She writes the people stories in Outside.”

Kevin looks at me again and then starts slowly nodding his head. “You know, that’s probably it.”

For some reason, he doesn’t look completely convinced.

“Well, wow. I’ve never met anyone famous before,” he goes on, refitting the baseball cap on his head.

A laugh unexpectedly escapes me.

“Famous?” I say. “You guys really need a new standard for famous.”

“Well, I’ve never had my name in anything,” Kevin says. “Good or bad.”

Just then, Jorgen puts his arm around Kevin. “Now, Ada, you could actually write a pretty good story about this guy.”

Kevin stands in his place, smiling proudly all of a sudden.

“This guy just might be the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

The sandy blond teddy bear seems unfazed by Jorgen’s mention of the word strange.

“Am I right, Kevin?”

Kevin shrugs his shoulders and then nods his head.

“This guy has some kind of weird photographic memory,” Jorgen continues. “I mean he can remember the smallest of details and the most common of faces.”

I take a second and squint one eye playfully.

“Really?” I ask.

“I can’t remember everything,” Kevin modestly confesses. “But I can remember faces pretty good. If I’ve seen a face even for a few seconds, then nine out of ten times, I remember it.”

I cock my head a little to the side. “Then where have you seen mine?”

He seems to be a little taken aback as I hold my stare in his.

“It’s…uh…not completely foolproof. You might be the exception.” He looks nervous all of a sudden.

I start to laugh. “I’m just joking with you. I wish I could remember faces better. That sounds like a pretty cool strange trait to have.”

I watch the life slowly return to Kevin’s face.

“Hey, Kevin, these your brats over here?”

We all turn our attentions to a voice coming from a pavilion in the center of the park.

Kevin grabs the bill of his cap and adjusts the hat over his head again. “Well, it looks like I’ve got some brats that need tendin’ to. It was nice meeting you, Ada.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” I say.

Kevin playfully punches Jorgen in the arm and then trots off toward the pavilion. We watch him until he reaches a barbeque grill and plants his feet behind it.

“He’s a pretty good guy,” Jorgen says, regaining my attention. “I’ve worked right alongside him ever since I got the job here.”

I slowly nod my head. “He seems nice.”

My eyes trail off to Kevin under the pavilion again for a moment, until I feel Jorgen’s eyes on me.

“What?” I ask, starting to laugh.

“Nothing,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

I don’t say anything. I just flash him a playful smile.

“You want any more to eat?”

I shake my head. “I think I’m good.”

“You wanna walk?” he asks, gesturing toward the trail behind us.

My eyes wander to the trail and then back to him. “Sure.”

We start off toward the base of the little, white-graveled path, which wraps around the park. I’ve run on the same trail a few times before, but I’ve never walked it with anyone.

“So, did you go to college here?”

I glance up at him and nod my head. “I did. Mizzou.”

“Aah,” he says. “They’re known for that — what you do,” he states and sort of asks at the same time.

I slowly nod my head some more. “Yeah, they are,” I confirm. “What about you?” I ask.

“Oh, I got my paramedic license at a small school back home.” He steals a quick glance at me. “It’s not world-renowned or anything.”

I think I get stuck in his crazy blue eyes for a second. I would call them ice-blue, but they’re not at all cold.

“Well, I’m sure you’re great at what you do even so,” I say. “You work for a pretty respected hospital.”

Jorgen’s expression instantly turns bashful, and his gaze falls to the ground as we walk a few more steps in silence.

“I was wearing pants,” I say, eventually.

He stops walking and sends me a questioning look.

“That first time we met, I was wearing boxers — shorts,” I quickly correct myself.

He starts to grin, and then he sets out down the trail again. “I’m still going to remember it as no pants.”

I lower my head and laugh softly to myself.

“In my head,” he continues, “the first time I met you, your hair was down; you were wearing a big sweatshirt and nothing else; and you promised me that you weren’t a former one-night stand.”

“Oh my gosh,” I exclaim. “Please don’t.”

“Can’t undo a memory,” he says, laughing. “Plus, it was perfect. You don’t know how many times I had dreamed about something like that happening to me.”

I playfully shove him. His shoulder is strong and hard, and it’s the first time since shaking his hand that I’ve touched him, I quickly realize.

He pretends to be affected by my harmless strike as he shrinks to one side.

“I had hoped that you were weird — like four-cats-with-past-lives weird,” I confess.

“What?” he asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “That’s what I was used to, I guess — people living in their own little worlds while I lived in mine. It makes life pretty easy that way. People like that don’t care if you show up at the door wearing a clown suit or naked, much less pantless.”

His powder blues meet mine.

“What?” I ask, playfully narrowing my eyes.

“I never said I cared either,” he says.

I match him — stare for stare — until a wild grin shoots across his face.

“No, I’m kidding,” he says. “Sort of,” he adds. “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not kidding at all. I don’t care what you show up at my door wearing, as long as you show up.”

I start to laugh, and he does too. We laugh together for several moments, until our laughter fades and Jorgen turns to me.

“You know, there’s something about you, Ada Cross.” He looks at me through hooded eyes. “What are you doing for dinner Monday night?”

I’m quiet for a second, but on the inside, I’m panicking.

“I’m working late,” I say.

His smile starts to fade.

“What about Wednesday?” I offer.

I’ve seriously gone off the deep end. I don’t even know what my mouth is saying anymore.

His broad chest rises and then falls.

“I work until eight, and I wouldn’t have time to make anything.”

“Perfect,” I say. “I’ll make us dinner. You brought dinner last time.”

He looks happy again. “I brought a box of pizza.”

I toss him a sarcastic grin. “I’m not promising much more than that.”

Soft laughter falls from his lips. I like his laugh. There’s something strangely sexy about it.