“I’m pretty sure I just had a religious experience,” I said, taking another spoonful. “This is . . . Jeremiah, this whole evening is . . .”
I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence.
How did you tell someone that they’d just given you the most perfect date of your life? That the level of thought and care and attention to detail was almost overwhelming in the best possible way?
“Thank you,” I said finally, my voice softer than I’d intended. “For all of this. I don’t know how you managed to plan something so perfect, but . . . thank you.”
Jeremiah simply reached across the table and took my hand, his thumb tracing small circles across my knuckles.
Chapter 22
Jeremiah
After dinner, we spent another hour wandering through the stacks, Theo moving from shelf to shelf like a kid in the world’s most intellectual candy store. I watched him run his fingers along leather spines, his expression shifting between wonder and something that looked suspiciously like longing.
“This is a 1925 first edition ofThe Great Gatsby,” he whispered, his voice reverent as he examined a slim volume behind glass. “And oh . . . my . . . God . . . Jer . . .To Kill a Mockingbird, first printing, 1960.”
I was more interested in watching him than looking at the books, fascinated by the way his face lit up with each new discovery. Twice, I caught him reaching into his pocket and pulling out what appeared to be a small packet of tissues to dab at his eyes.
“You carry tissues?” I asked, grinning.
“They’re my emergency stash. I carry them everywhere.” He flushed slightly. “Books make me emotional, especially the classics. There’s something about knowing how many handshave held them, how many people have found comfort in the same words . . .”
“You carry tissues specifically for book-related crying?”
This was too adorable, even for Theo. My heart felt like it might melt into a puddle, right there in the bookstore.
“Don’t judge. You’ve seen me with Debbie—I’ve learned to be prepared for all kinds of situations.”
That he was practical enough to anticipate his own tears was both endearing and hilarious. This man planned for everything.
Eventually, we left the warmth of the bookstore for the crisp night air. Downtown Atlanta had never been the most pedestrian-friendly area, especially at night, but with Theo’s hand in mine, I barely noticed the uneven sidewalks or the occasional car horn. We walked slowly, neither of us in any hurry to end the evening.
“Tell me more about Debbie,” I said as we paused at a crosswalk. “I mean, I know she’s amazing, and you told me about how she came to live with you, but how does it work? I mean, you’re not her dad, but you are, sort of. Right?”
Theo was quiet for a moment, and I worried I’d overstepped.
“Sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry—”
“No, it’s okay.” He squeezed my hand. “Her parents were my closest friends. Sarah and David. They were like the brother and sister I never had—we did everything together: game nights, vacations, holidays. I was at the hospital when Debbie was born. Aside from Sarah, I was the first person to hold her, even before David.
“God, she was tiny. Newborns aren’t exactly pretty or cute, despite what every parent out there will tell you. They look like they’re half baked and need to be shoved back in the oven for another hour—or month—though I doubt there’s a mother alive who’d be willing to test that theory.”
He chuckled, but it was a distant sound, as though he was truly lost in memory.
“Debbie was so perfect. I can still see her chunky cheeks and itty-bitty sausage fingers. She was the most beautiful thing I’ve never seen. She still is.”
His voice grew softer as we started walking again.
“Sarah and David died in a car accident when she was about to turn one. A drunk driver ran a red light. By some miracle of miracles, Debbie wasn’t hurt. They had her strapped into one of those military-grade child seats in the back. Thank God for that.” He paused, swallowing hard. “Sarah made me promise, back when Debbie was still a newborn, that if anything ever happened to them, I’d take care of her. It was one of those hypothetical conversations you’re sure will matter.”
I squeezed his hand, not sure what to say.
“The thing is,” he continued, “losing them didn’t just change Debbie’s life; it wrecked mine, too. They were my family, you know? My chosen family, at least. And . . . suddenly they were gone, and I had this fragile one-year-old who needed me to be strong when I could barely get out of bed in the morning.”
“That must have been incredibly hard,” I said, choking back my own emotions.
“I mourned them so deeply I thought my world might shatter, but I had to hold it together for her, had to learn about car seats and bedtime stories and why little girls need seventeen different hair ties and none of them can be the wrong shade of pink. I was such an idiot. No one prepared me for any of it. I wasn’t made to be a dad. I’m a single gay man, for Christ’s sake. What do I know about procreating?”
