At his car, Patrick opens the passenger side, but pulls me closer before I can sit.
Tucking a loose curl behind my ear, he murmurs, “You look beautiful.”
Heat shoots straight up my neck. God, I missed feeling shy around him. “You look beautiful too.”
He laughs and ushers me into the seat. Then he jogs around the hood… and immediately trips over the curb.
I bite my lip so I don’t laugh as he straightens, pretends nothing happened, and suddenly walks slower. Much slower.
I rub the back of my neck, watching him.
He’s nervous too.
Good.
Patrick
Lore moans when she takes a bite of the pasta and I nearly drop my fork.
“Good, huh?” I choke out, staring at her lips like a starving man.
She nods, still chewing. “I missed your cooking.”
My chest warms. I sit back, trying to look casual. “What else did you miss?”
She sets her fork down and sips her wine, slow enough to torture me.
“Well,” she says, “Idefinitelymissed your height. I hate having to use a step stool.”
“Oh.” My face falls.
She laughs softly. “I’m kidding. Well… notkidding, but I missed a lot more.”
“Really?” I ask, sounding way more hopeful than I care to admit.
“Yeah.” She plays with the stem of her glass. “Even when I was angry, I missed talking to you.”
I smile before I can stop myself. “Don’t get mad, but Gen told me what you said.”
Lore’s eyes widen and she looks away sharply. I know she’s not admiring the view from the gazebo, she feels exposed.
“She didn’t tell me to betray your trust,” I say quietly. “She told me because she knew you’d keep it in to avoid hurting me.”
I stand and offer her my hand. She takes it, and I pull her up onto her feet.
I spent all evening setting this place up. It’s private property, the owner lets people rent it out for basically nothing as long as you clean up afterward. And I will. The space heaters, the string lights, the little air mattress covered in comforters and pillows I grabbed from home… I wanted it to feel romantic. Quiet.
A place where we could talk.
But what Gen told me has sat heavy in my chest all night.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t know,” I say finally.
She looks at me, confused.
“I didn’t know I had a problem,” I clarify. “I didn’t know it was… in me. It didn’t start with binges or DUIs. It was subtle. At first, I couldn’t wait for shift to end so I could relax with you guys, maybe have a beer. Then it became about finishing the drinks I bought before my next shift.”
My thumb drags across my lip, a nervous habit.
