Now that we’d established that we liked each other.
A jittery thrill ran through me every time I remembered him saying that. And as I sat there on my bed, holding that tiny slip of paper, touching the ink, my name, I couldn’t ever remember feeling like this.
“Deacon,” Mom called out. “Dinner’s ready.”
“Okay,” I replied. I went to my bookcase, to the small tray where I kept my special things, my snippets of things I’d collected over the years and wanted to keep forever, and placed Winter’s note right in the center.
Dinner was quiet, though Dad kept smiling at me. He obviously felt no need to distract me or keep the conversation away from certain topics. I always knew when he did that, trying to shield me from the mental gymnastics I often put myself through. But he didn’t do that tonight.
Mom, on the other hand . . .
“The bookstore was lovely,” she said. “I’m grateful Hartbridge now has one. It’ll save me a trip to Mossley every so often.”
“We bought eight books,” Dad said. “I think we’re good for a while.”
“Eight booksanda jigsaw puzzle,” I corrected. The truth was eight books between three avid readers wasn’t a great deal.
“Oh, the puzzles were a nice surprise,” Mom said. “I didn’t know he would have so much fun stuff. I think Christmas will be much easier this year. The store has such a cozy feel. And his aunt Ro seemed so nice.”
“She is,” I said before taking a sip of water. “She’s more a friend or older sister to him than an aunt. He and his mother aren’t close.”
Both Mom and Dad frowned. “Oh, that’s a shame,” Dad said. “Then I’m glad he has her.”
“If you’d like to invite him over for dinner one night,” Mom said, “that’s fine with me. You just let me know, and I’ll make extra.”
Oh.
I wasn’t?—
“Pretty sure they might prefer going to the diner or the pizzeria,” Dad said, patting her hand. “Where the parents aren’t listening in on every word.”
“Uh,” I said, uncertain. “I haven’t thought about that. I don’t know what food he likes to eat. And what if he wants to eat food I don’t like?”
Before I could let that whole new source of worry derail me, Mom gave my hand a quick pat. “You just have to ask him, sweetheart. Asking someone their favorite foods or their most disliked foods is a good way to get to know them. Favorite food, favorite movie, favorite song.”
Dad shook his head. “Nah. You wanna know a guy, ask him what his favorite dinosaur is.”
“Not sure if Winter’s the dinosaur-loving type,” Mom said. “Maybe ask about books.”
“I already have asked about books,” I said. “He has many favorite books, most of which align with mine. Iquoted his favorite poem the day we met. And,” I added, “I think heisa dinosaur-loving type.”
“Most guys have a favorite dinosaur,” Dad said. “Mine’s the Pachycephalosaurus. It was super-fast and had a built-in helmet.”
“Ankylosaurus,” I said. “But also the Kosmoceratops.”
Mom sighed. “Fine, then ask him about dinosaurs. But try and think of some other fun things to ask about. Get to know him. Dating is when you find out if you’re compatible, but it’s also supposed to be fun.”
Dating?
“Dating?” I blinked, and blinked again, my cheeks beginning to burn. “I don’t... I don’t think that’s what we are.”
Was it?
No, definitely not. We’d spent some time together when I was helping at his store, and he’d been to the clinic twice. But those weren’t dates. A date, by definition, was a social or romantic appointment, and while me helping at his store was a planned appointment, as such, it wasn’t a date.
“The word date was never used or agreed upon,” I explained.
“Then,” Dad said, “if it’s what you want, you need to ask him.”
