“Mitch,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. “Stop.”
His hopeful smile drops. “Penny?—”
I let out a shaky breath. Then another. “Thank you for offering. Truly. But I’m just not sure it’s a good idea.”
“Why not? We’ve been friends for years. And we’ve been dating for six months. It’s not like we’re strangers.”
“I know. But… it just seems soon.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t expect you to share a bed with me. I mean, if you wanted… But I wouldn’t expect it. At all.”
“We’d be living together, though.”
“And?” He draws out the word. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not. But… it just seems soon. Living together is something couples decide to do after dating for months. Years, even.”
“But wehavebeen dating for months.”
“It’s not the same. We’re not really together.”
Mitch winces.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. “Mitch. I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
Mitch pulls his hand away from mine. Hurt shadows his gaze. “We’re not together? Is that really how you feel?”
“We go out on dates. But it’s not the same thing.”
He leans back, putting more distance between us. “What are we, then, Penny? I get that you wanted to take things slow. And I’ve been fine with that. But it’s been half a year?—”
I pull my hands into my lap and twist them together. “Moving in together is a big deal, Mitch.”
“Fine. So you don’t move in. No problem.”
The tension banded around my chest releases. “Okay. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you asking. I really do.”
“Penny.” Mitch leans over the table again. His voice lowers. “It’s okay if you don’t want to move in. But I have to ask. Where are we going?”
My tiramisu churns in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“Us. Our relationship. Slow is one thing, but… I’m starting to think we’re never going to move past once-a-week dates. That this is all you want, indefinitely.”
I cast a furtive glance around the restaurant, somehow certain everyone’s staring at me. But they’re all enjoying their meals, chatting happily with their dinner partners, completely oblivious to the panic blossoming inside me.
“It’s not that,” I reply quietly. “I’m just not sure I’m ready for more.”
Mitch pins me with his gaze. “But whenwillyou be? Another six months? A year?” He pauses. “Or never?”
“I don’t know.” Defensively, I toss back, “You said you didn’t mind waiting.”
“Waiting is one thing,” he retorts. “But every time I’ve asked you to do anything that even hints at commitment, you say no. My sister’s wedding. A weekend trip upstate. You won’t even agree to more than one date a week, Pen.”
“We play trivia?—”
“With four other people. That doesn’t count.”
“Mitch.” Threatening tears sting my eyes. “Can’t we just keep things as they are?”
