“Yeah. A proper one. Dinner, walking around, all that romantic bullshit you deserve and haven't gotten nearly enough of.” He said it casually, but I could see the hint of nervousness in the way his hands gripped the steering wheel.
“Rook Kincaid, are you asking me on a date?”
“I'm telling you we're going on a date. There's a difference.”
I laughed and reached over to lace my fingers through his. “Okay. Take me on a date, Captain.”
He droveus into the city and parked near a neighborhood I didn't recognize—tree-lined streets, small restaurants with outdoor seating, the kind of area that felt lived-in instead of touristy. We walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, and Rook steered us toward a Italian place with string lights and checkered tablecloths visible through the windows.
The hostess seated us at a corner table, and I realized with a jolt that this was the first time we'd done this. Gone out to dinner like a normal couple, sat across from each other in a public restaurant, ordered wine and pasta like we had all the time in the world.
“This is nice,” I said, looking around at the warm lighting and the other couples scattered throughout the space. “Really fucking nice.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am, a little. We haven't done this normal date stuff.”
Rook reached across the table and took my hand. “We're doing it now.”
Dinner was easy in ways I hadn't expected. We talked about everything and nothing—the upcoming semifinals, the band'snext gig, whether Poppy was going to survive her senior year without getting expelled for mouthing off to a teacher. Rook ordered wine and I stole sips from his glass because I was trying to be better about drinking, and he let me without comment.
The food was incredible. Homemade pasta, sauce that tasted like someone's Italian grandmother had been cooking it all day, bread warm enough to melt the butter. I ate until I was uncomfortably full and Rook watched me with an expression that was pure fondness.
“What?” I asked around a mouthful of garlic bread.
“Nothing.” Rook shook his head and flagged down the waiter for the check. “Come on. We're not done yet.”
After dinner we walked through the neighborhood, and Rook kept finding excuses to touch me. A hand at the small of my back when we crossed the street, fingers laced through mine, stealing a kiss when we stopped to look in the window of a bookstore. It was all so casually affectionate, so openly claiming, and I realized this was what it looked like when Rook Kincaid decided he was done hiding.
We grabbed gelato from a place that was still open despite the late hour, and I got pistachio while Rook got something chocolate and obscene. We ate while walking, trading bites and arguing about whether my choice or his was better, and the whole thing felt light in a way I wasn't used to.
“You're really good at this,” I said eventually.
“At what?”
“The normal stuff. Dating. Being sweet. I didn't know if you'd be good at it or if it would all be intensity and brooding captain energy.”
He grinned. “I can do both. Depends on what you need.”
“What if I need both?”
“Then you get both.” He finished his gelato and tossed the cup in a trash bin. “Come on. One more stop.”
He drove us out of the city and I didn't say anything when the roads started narrowing and the trees crowded in, because I knew where we were going before we got there. I'd have known that turn in the dark. Some things don't leave you.
Rook killed the engine and we sat there in silence for a minute, both of us just looking.
We got out of the car and walked to the edge of the clearing where the view opened up. The grass was overgrown and the old log we used to sit on was half-rotted, but the place still felt like it had all those years ago. Sacred in a quiet way that had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with memory.
I sat down on the log despite its questionable structural integrity, and Rook settled next to me. Our shoulders pressed together, and I tilted my head back to look at the stars.
“We used to talk about running away,” I said quietly. “You remember that? We'd sit here and plan these elaborate escapes where we'd just leave everything behind and start over somewhere new.”
“I remember. You wanted to go to Vancouver. I wanted literally anywhere that wasn't here.”
“We were so fucking young.”
“We were.” He reached over and took my hand. “And we didn't know shit about what was coming.”
