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“Just so you know, I don’t even kiss on the first date,” I said, finishing my scratcher. I won two dollars and held the card up to show him with a smirk.

“And here I am, getting the upgraded car wash for nothing.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t believe what a good time I was having. I always figured my first date after Brandon would be a painful milestone. A Band-Aid to tear off. But it wasn’t. Jason made it easy.

Jason made it a lot of things.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

I smiled. “You want to see me again?”

“I don’t even want to drop you off at home tonight.”

I blushed. Again.

But then I remembered what day tomorrow was. It was the two-year anniversary of Brandon’s death. The day we’d taken him off life support. I had an agenda for tomorrow, a list of positive things I’d decided to do in his memory.

“I can’t. I have plans tomorrow. How about the day after?”

He looked slightly disappointed, but he nodded. “Okay, the day after, then. It’s a date.”

I didn’t object to him calling it a date, and he looked triumphantly back at the scratchers in his lap. He won five dollars.

“So what do we do with the money?” he asked.

I bit my lip, thinking. His eyes moved to my mouth again, and I smiled. “With seven dollars? How about we buy a chew toy for Tucker?”

“Great idea. We could take him to PetSmart on our next date.” He put the scratchers into the drink holder.

A guitar intro I recognized came through the speakers. “Oh, I love this song,” I said. “‘Name’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, right?”

He picked up my raspberry sorbet. “Yup. Can I try this?” he asked.

I nodded at his carton. “Give me yours.”

We sat listening to the music and eating each other’s ice cream. His was mint chocolate chip. We used each other’s spoons. Something about knowing that the little plastic utensil had been in his mouth made my heart pound.

I couldn’t believe this day.

We stared at each other unapologetically as we sat there. My eyes traveled from his sharp blue irises to his lips. I wondered if his beard would tickle if he kissed me. I’d never kissed anyone with a beard before. I moved down to his throat and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. I saw the pulse of his neck and the dip of his collarbone, the way his chest strained against his shirt, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.

By the time I looked back up, neither of us was moving. I sat with my spoon upside down on my tongue, all the ice cream in my mouth long gone. He held his carton in his lap and just stared at me.

Jason had this way of looking at me. It reminded me of how people used to look at my paintings, back before the astronaut cats. A focused fascination that leaned in and searched the brushstrokes. He didn’t even blink. It made me feel self-conscious, except I was pretty sure it meant he liked what he saw, which was good. Because I liked what I saw too. A lot.

And then suddenly he was moving.

Without breaking eye contact, he put his sorbet onto the dash. He took my spoon and my ice cream out of my hands and his fingers brushed mine in a split second of electricity before he set the carton down somewhere. Then he slid across the seat and slipped my cheeks into his warm palms, his fingers raked through the back of my hair, and he kissed me.

He barely touched me. Just a light brushing of his lips against mine, the slightest feel of his breath on my face.

It shot through me in milliseconds. The static crackling between us ignited, and I did exactly what Kristen said I should.

I climbed him like a tree.