Tonight I'm sitting between Ben's knees on the second step down, drinking tea with honey and watching Lochlan fire juggling while he keeps up a steady stream of banter. I am in stitches even though I know all the lines, all the openings he will use to slide seamlessly from one conversation to another, to keep our interest, to keep the hopes for tips alive when the show grows long in the heat, in this day and age of fleeting spans of attention.
But no one ever looks away from him, there's just something about Loch that makes you wish he would pay his attention to you in the form of his lopsided confident grins and his messy, curly red-blonde hair. Even Ben is hanging on every word, for I think Ben finds Lochlan far cuter than he will admit most nights, if at all. But I don't know for sure, they talk in low voices and I miss half of what they say. So I just mostly watch and never listen. Never, ever listen.
