“Oh.”Somebody slap me.I swallowed. “Sorry, I’m having some trouble finding words.”
“It’s okay if you want to say no. Or if you want to think about it.”
“No! That’s not it. I’m just… Forgive me for being blunt, but are you asking me out? Or am I misunderstanding things and you’re offering friendship?”
He smiled at me, and my belly swooped. “I am asking you out. On a date.”
The word “date” hung between us, charged and buzzing like a live wire. My mind stalled, gears ground to a halt, thoughts stopped. What had he just said? Howell Moorhouse, wildernessguide extraordinaire, with his easy smile, effortless masculinity, and the body of a god, wanted to go on a date? With me?
“Are you…are you serious?” The words tumbled out, each syllable tinged with incredulity. “I thought you were straight, sorry.”
“First, why would you say sorry for that? And second, well, in all fairness, so did I. I messed around with a few guys back in college, but not since then. I never had the urge either, so yeah, I did think of myself as straight. I figured that was a phase since I’d never been attracted to another guy again, not even since my divorce.”
His eyes were earnest, a testament to the truth of his statement.
“But you are now?”
He scratched his beard. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you yesterday and couldn’t stop thinking about you afterward, so yeah, I’d say that counts as attraction.”
“Oh.”
“So I figured I’d give it a shot and see if you felt a spark too.”
“Oh.” I was back to one-syllable answers. Stupid brain.
He chuckled. “Brain not cooperating?”
I shook myself out of the strange stupor. “No. I mean, yes. Maybe? I don’t know.” I inhaled sharply. “Let me start again. Thank you. For asking me out, I mean. I’m more than a little flattered.”
And while my feet hurt, it was nothing compared to the yearning ache inside me—a longing for connection, for the chance to feel wanted, for someone to care about me. I couldn’t believe Howell was offering that.
Howell’s face fell. “But you’re saying no?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because usually, when people say they’re flattered, they follow it with a rejection.”
Really? “Maybe I’m not expressing myself well. English isn’t my first language.”
“Okay. So you aren’t turning me down?”
“No, I’m trying to find the words to ask…” I sighed. “I don’t understand, is all. I’m a hot mess, as evidenced by my mishaps on the two trips with you, and I’m still hurting and trying to get over what my ex did. Why, for the love of god, would you want to go out with me?”
Howell’s eyes grew soft. “I hate that you see yourself that way. You’re not a hot mess. You’re smart and funny and not afraid to try new things. That takes courage, especially in another country, talking to people in another language. I admire that.”
“Oh.”
Jesus Christ, if I said “oh” one more time, I’d slap myself.
“Thank you. I don’t see myself like that at all.”
“I know, but I do. So why don’t you let me be the judge of who I’m interested in and why?”
He had a point. “Yes, sorry. I need to work on my self-confidence, I guess.”
“After what you told me, I understand where it’s coming from, but don’t put yourself down. But the ball’s in your court, Onno. I know you’re still hurting and getting over your ex, so maybe you’re not ready. That’s fine. But if you are, well, I guess I wanted you to know I’m interested. Anyway, put the camera a little closer to your feet so I can have a better look. Maybe I can recommend some treatments that could help them heal faster.”
4
