“Bear Grylls is a national treasure,” I said. “Well. I mean, not ofthisnation. Pretty sure he’s from the UK. But still. A fuckingdelight.”
“Okay. Is he on that British Baking Show you keep wanting me to watch? Because I’m not watchingthat.”
“Your loss.” I took off my backpack and settled my ass down on a fallen log just off the path. “But no, he’s a survivalist. A gorgeous one, with the best accent. He has a show where he gets dropped out in the wild with no food or water and has to figure out how to survive. It’shardcore.”
Daniel dropped his backpack, too, and straddled the log maybe a foot away. “I bet I could doit.”
I looked him up and down dubiously. “Maybe. There’s a lot of urineinvolved.”
A little laugh burst out of him, like he couldn’t believe I’d said that. I kind of couldn’t either. But I was a different kind of Julian when I was with Daniel. One who worried less over every syllable that came out of my mouth and how it might be perceived. It was a little like being with Con and Theo, except my feelings for Daniel were one hundred percentnotbrotherly.
I wasn’t sure why things were different with him. Maybe it was because he hadn’t known me my whole life, so he wasn’t surprised and horrified when I actuallyspokethe snarky remarks I usually just kept in my head, or rambled on and on (and on) about animal trivia or pop culture. Maybe he just hadn’t been around me long enough to get fedup.
Fresh meat, so tospeak.
Whatever the reason, Daniel Michaelson, the man my mother referred to as “that wackadoodle loner who lives in the woods,” had somehow chosenmeas the only person in town he wanted to be friends with three weeks ago, and it was hard to not feel like I’d won the friendship HungerGames.
I opened my pack and took out my water bottle along with a granola bar. “Wanthalf?”
“Sure.”
We chewed in silence for a minute, just enjoying the air and thesolitude.
Then my stomach grumbled, and Daniel laughed. “Granola not cuttingit?”
“Not really. Pizza delivery sucks out herethough.”
“Do they even have pizza delivery in O’Leary?” Daniel stretched out his longlegs.
“Of course. Papa Giordino’s in Rushton. Delivers Fridays and Saturdays only, and last order’s at seven because they close ateight.”
“Oh myGod.”
“Not what you’re used to, from before?” I asked, carefully not looking at him. I’d been hoping for a while now that he’d open up and tell me about himself. I mean, we talked about the most random shit, and I felt like Iknewhim, but basic facts were thin on theground.
“Not what most people in the western world are used to,” he said. “What kind of toppings do you like on yourpizza?”
Daniel Michaelson, master of deflection. But okay, I couldplay.
“Broccoli, cheese, and tomatosauce.”
He grimaced. “Are you… is that a joke? Are you making a joke rightnow?”
“No!” I laughed. “Who the fuck jokes about pizza toppings,Daniel?”
“But… that’s like, a salad. Not apizza.”
“The addition of a green vegetable to a thing does not make it a salad. Sorry to burst your bubble. Why, what do you like? All the manly meats to make sure everyone knows you’re the testosteroniest?Rawr!” I gave my most convincinggrowl.
“No! I mean, yes. But not because I’m the… whatever the fuck you just said. Because they’re tasty.” He closed his eyes and smacked his lips together in a way that should have been criminal. “Mmm.Meat.”
“Just to be clear, you’re saying you like manly meat.M’kay.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m comfortable enough in my sexuality to tell you that I like hard salamiandspicy sausage, but only on my pizza. Sothere.”
“Ah, well,” I said easily. “Too bad for me. First Shawn Mendes is definitely straight, now you are. Somehow, I’ll learn tocope.”
He snorted. “Yes, I’m sure you cry yourself to sleep at night over the loss. Sobrave.”
