“Aren’t you sweet.” He smiled wryly and slipped his hand into mine.
I grinned and threaded our fingers together.
Next stop, Olive Garden. Dylan’s request. He was meeting up with us there.
It was a short walk back to the thick of Times Square, probably the last place on earth I wanted to spend my December, and within minutes, we were seated at the Olive Garden there. Nice table, a tad secluded, with no view of the hustle and bustlehappening one story below. We opted to sit next to each other so Dylan could sit across.
“What’re you in the mood for, darlin’?” I eyed my menu.
“You.”
Well, hey. I glanced over at him and smiled. “You’ve gotten so good at saying the right things.”
He chuckled and leaned in, and I kissed him.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” I kissed him once more.
We ended up holding our order but got the drinks and salad out of the way, so I had my mouth full of bread when Dylan showed up ten minutes later. Cheeks flushed, parka wet from the rain.
“Nothing makes me appreciate the Metro back home like the subway in New York,” he huffed and sat down. “Damn circus.”
I soaked that up. I could admit I’d initially been a little nervous about him possibly falling for New York and staying once he had his degree. But yesterday, he’d mentioned wanting to look into getting his master’s closer to home.
“Did you hand in your project?” Max wondered.
“Yeah, at long fucking last,” Dylan replied. “I have one more exam next week, and then I’m coming home for the holidays.”
Music to my ears.
When the server came back, we placed our orders for a week’s supply of pasta, and Max asked for more bread sticks too.
Maybe I’d eaten his.
“By the way, can we talk about somethin’ that’s weighing on me?” Dylan asked, filling his plate with salad. “It’s about you two being together now.”
I lifted my brows. Should I be worried?
“Of course. Is something wrong?” Max asked.
“That depends,” Dylan said. “Are you gonna buy Christmas presents and birthday gifts separately or together? Because asa poor college student, I’m kinda banking on the sweet deal we already have, where Dad tries to fix everything that’s broken in my apartment, and Uncle Max spoils me rotten with gift cards.”
Jesus fucking Christ, he had me nervous there for a while. “You absolute punk. I thought you were gonna have an actual issue with us.”
Max exhaled a chuckle. “Me too.”
Dylan knitted his brows together and stuffed his face with salad. “No issues, just hunger and poverty, Dad.”
I laughed and shook my head. “We can do something about that, don’t you worry.”
I’d already seen the collection of gift cards Max had picked for him.
“Thank you.” Dylan looked genuinely relieved, so I made a mental note to check in on him up here more often. I was the one who’d asked him not to find a second job, because I knew he struggled with concentration at times. He picked up shifts as a bike messenger here and there. That was enough. “I gotta take a leak. Don’t eat my bread stick, Dad.”
What the fuck? They were free. We could order more.
He was gone before I could respond, still busy chewing on salad and bread, and I got the feeling he planned on filling up on that so he could bring most of his pasta home.
