“Not that often,” I tell him. “Only the once, actually. I probably won’t again.”
“Probably?” Silas asks. Gideon looks over at me with a thunderous frown.
“I like to keep my options open,” I say, and Gideon frowns harder, and Silas looks from my face to his and looks like he’s trying not to laugh, then jerks his head back at the Prius.
“C’mon,” he says. “I borrowed Kat’s car. Seemed like it would be more comfortable than my truck.”
* * *
Forty-five minutes later,we turn into the driveway of Lucia’s house. I spent the first five minutes of the drive making polite conversation with Silas, and then the next five minutes listening to the occasional murmur of their voices while watching the night slide past the car windows and trying not to think too hard about what was going to happen next, and then thirty-five minutes zoning out completely in a half-awake fog because holy shit, I’m tired.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, as Silas turns the car off, politeness on autopilot.
“Of course,” he says as I unbuckle. “Happy to be of use.”
“I’ll walk you up,” Gideon says, and Silas gives him some kind of look as he opens his car door.
Gideon’s already gotten my pack from the back by the time I’m standing, and he’s looking up at the sky—cloudy and starry in alternating patches—and then we stand in Lucia’s driveway for a moment and look at each other. Suddenly, I’ve got no idea what to say because nothing that happened in that cabin seemsreal, right now, and I feel back to square one with this virtual stranger.
Then Gideon clears his throat and shifts the strap on his shoulder and looks at Lucia’s front door, and there he is, again, and he’s looking back at me and it’s impossible to see in the dark, but I think he might be blushing.
“So,” he starts. “I’ve never really done this before.”
I glance over at Silas’s car, then back at Gideon, unclear on what it is he’s never done.
“Dropped someone off?”
He huffs a laugh and puts one hand to his face, and I think he’s blushing harder. I want to frame him and hang him above my fireplace.
“I haven’t dated very much,” he says. “I’ve never actually had a girlfriend before.”
I do not say the first thing I think, which is:what?
I do say, “Oh.”
“And I know that most people figured all this out when they were teenagers and got over it then, but I just—I never was all that interested in it,” he goes on, in an awkward way that feels oddly familiar, and—holy shit, am I getting dumped? I’m not upset, not quite yet, but it’s close.
“So, you’re not… interested?” I ask, mind suddenly swirling.
“No! Fuck, no,” he says, wide-eyed, pushing a hand through his dark hair. “I’m saying I don’t… know what to do. Because I’ve never really done this. I’m pretty sure that usually taking someone to dinner comes before, you know. Other things.”
“Like eating me out while wearing a headlamp,” I say, and now he’sdefinitelyblushing as hard as I’ve ever seen him blush.
“Right,” he manages, bravely. “That sort of thing. We got it all out of order.”
“And that’s bad?” The evening after a ten-mile hike, it turns out, is not my best time to have this sort of talk.
“Ah, Jesus,” he mutters, and rubs his face in his hands again. “It’s not bad, I’m just—I wanted to warn you. About me. That I might do everything wrong.”
He’s not doing great so far, but I don’t tell him that.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to ask me out or trying to break things—”
“Ask you out,” he blurts, wide-eyed. “No, not—God no. I like this.”
Gideon clears his throat.
“Would you like to go to dinner sometime?” he asks, suddenly so formal I feel like I’m being asked to prom. “On a date,” he clarifies unnecessarily.
