“I mean, kind of, yeah. Balloons are at celebrations because they make people happy. They’re joyous. Which is a good feeling for people to have when you want their money.” I turn my computer toward him when his face still doesn’t change. “See? We can have a big backdrop by the entrance where people can take pictures. Some of the balloons will have your logo on them, so it will be just like a step and repeat, except better. Then, inside”—I walk around the table to stand next to him and point to the arrangement I want—“they can snake up the wall and cover the ceiling. It will be so much more fun than flowers. This isn’t a wedding and we don’t want it to read that way.”

“These are pretty dope. I didn’t know they did shit like that with balloons.”

“Balloons are super dope and shit.” I repeat his words back to him, but the words that sounded so natural coming out of his mouth sound so ridiculous coming from me that we both start laughing.

Besides the very first time we met, this is the only other time that I’ve heard him laugh. I mean, the man barely smiles. I guess he has transformed from quarterback extraordinaire to one of the most controversial figures in sports in the matter of three games, so I can see where the stress would come from. But I have a feeling there may be more to it than that. And even though we’re cordial with one another, I don’t feel comfortable asking. Even so, an annoying sense of happiness floats through me for being the person who finally wiped that serious expression from his face.

Once his laughter has faded away, he looks me straight in the eyes and if I hadn’t witnessed it, I’d think I’d imagined him laughing. Not one trace of humor lingers in the hard edges of his face. “Don’t ever say that again.”

My spine straightens. “What?”

Then it happens.

He winks at me.

WINKS!

“Wait? Are you teasing me?” I’ve been shocked by quite a few things during our time together, like how much he seems to genuinely care about the causes he’s choosing to support, how smart he is when the mask he always seems to be wearing accidentally slips, the Diet Coke I found in his fridge that he let me drink. I mean, I would never give up the last Diet Coke. But this, a hidden sense of humor, might be the biggest shock of all.

“You aren’t the only funny one here.”

Well, that’s a stretch. I’m definitely funnier than he is.

I don’t say that, though.

“You’re not funnier than me,” he says.

But apparently my face said it loud and clear. I really need to learn to check my facial expressions.