I stood there, not even aware I was gently rubbing the baby carrier. Best cat dad ever...
That made me happy.
He made me happy.
“So,” Winter said, snapping me back to here and now. He was at the register. “You said you had questions for me?”
Oh.
Right. My questions.
“Uh, yes,” I said, frowning, giving myself a second to getthe words straight in my head. “Your dinner, at the pizzeria, with your friends. How was that?”
“Oh, it was nice,” he said. “Such a great bunch of guys. I met Braithe. He’s the kindergarten teacher at the school. He got here a couple of years ago, so he was giving me all the hints and tips about being a new local. Hamish was there, and Gunter of course. And his partner, Clay Henderson.”
“From Henderson Sawmills,” I said. “His family has been here for a few generations, I believe.”
“Oh, he’s so nice. And big. The man is huge.” He smiled at me. “He and Gunter are so cute together. And Hamish is a talker. And very funny.”
“Hamish is a client. He has a dog called Chutney.”
Winter laughed. “He told me. He said Chutney loves you.”
That was nice. But... “You were talking about me?”
“Oh, well,” he said, his cheeks going pink. “Gunter, from the youth center, he, uh... How do I say this?” He made a face. “He’s very invested in us.”
“Us?”
“Yeah. You and me and what we have going on.”
What we have going on . . .
“He’s a total romantic,” he added. “And he’s the one who invited us both. I told him you couldn’t make it. He said it was fine. Maybe next time.”
I stared at him, unsure, and confused.
Winter saw this and was quick to clarify. “He saw us talking outside, remember? He was asking if we were dating. If there was romance in the air because he has this crazy notion that there’s some Christmas Cupid thing in Hartbridge. Every year before Christmas, someone moves to town, meets a local, and—” He pulled back an imaginary bow and shot the imaginary arrow. “—bam, Cupid strikes again. Apparently it’s happened a few Christmases in a row.Hamish, Jayden, Gunter, Braithe, Doctor Rob.” He shrugged. “They’re convinced we’re next.”
That was a lot of information and I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it; if he was joking or serious. Rational minds would dismiss it as nonsense, and I considered saying as much, but I was stuck on one thing...
He asked if we were dating? I’d wanted to ask the same thing, but he’d brought it up first, so despite how nervous it made me to ask, now was the perfect opportunity. “What did you tell him?”
“Well, I told him I didn’t think there was any such thing as a Christmas Cupid. I love a good fiction story more than most, but I still have a solid grasp on reality, so...”
I chuckled, because phew... “No, I meant about us dating,” I said. It was so easy to say it like that, almost too easy, and while I had wanted to ask that, the way his gaze shot to mine made me wish I hadn’t asked at all. I tried to get a hold of the panic that bubbled in my tummy. “Oh. I just?—”
“I told him we maybe were,” he said, making a face, his cheeks going red. “I said we hadn’t broached the subject and labels weren’t something I knew you were comfortable with so I couldn’t confirm, but we’d had a few instances of agreeing to meet and there had been lunch or dinner included, and by definition that probably constituted as dating but...” He winced. “I dunno, Deacon. What do you think? Are we...? Is this...?”
I blinked and swallowed, my mouth dry. But his nervousness somehow made me feel better. “Yes, I think. We have had a lunch and dinner date, and by definition, I think you’re correct. I’d like it to be correct.” I shrugged. “If you’d like it to be.”
He grinned. “I would, yes.” He let out a big sigh. “So next time someone asks if we’re dating, I will say yes.”
I laughed because... because I was happy, and laughing let out some of the energy I was buzzing with. “I will say yes, too. Actually, my dad said the word dating and then it was all I could think about, wondering if we were or not.”
His eyes locked with mine and I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. “I’m glad we talked about it,” he whispered.
“Me too.” I swallowed hard, and reminding myself that I had to talk to him about these things, I decided now was the right time. “I was very confused,” I began, “on Wednesday night when I knew you were having dinner with your friends. I wanted to be there. I wanted to be with you. Yet I still couldn’t bring myself to go or even to ask. I want to do those things with you, but even thinking about actually going makes me feel all nervous, and I don’t know which is worse. My mom said I needed to trust myself more, because I can handle more than I give myself credit for and that thinking about things is worse than actually doing the thing. I get myself worked up, and?—”
