“Bingo,” he says cutely.
I run my finger over my lips, thinking. “Is that why you called your town ‘quicksand’? Feels like you get sucked in every time you go? Like you can’t get out?”
“And the more I try, the more I’m sucked in. It’s part of why I don’t think I can ever tell my parents I’m gay. I’m their only hope for grandkids. Dad wants to hand off the family business to me. Mom’s been molding me into their perfect heir my whole life.”
“And … they wouldn’t be okay with you being gay?”
“Of course they would be. That makes it worse. It’s more like they don’t evenseewho I am. Like their idea of TJ is … this person I’ve never met. They talk to me like they’re talking tohim. When my mom hugs me, she’s actually hugginghim.”
I think about the days I used to greet a crowd of fans by some side door of an auditorium, and how when they looked at me with their adoring eyes, it was like they were seeing someone else. An idea of Chase Holt. What Chase Holt represented to them. Their perfect idol. Their dream guy. Their own wounded heart.
Never just …me.
Is that why I cracked the moment I met Timothy?
Becauseallhe saw was me?
“Okay, fine. Chatty Cat Coffee.”
I flinch from my thoughts. “Huh?”
“It’s right on the edge of town. Quiet on the weekdays. No big crowds. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. Maybe 3 or so. Deal?”
Twelve hours from now. I smile. “I’ll be there.”
“Okay. Goodnight.” And just as abruptly as that, he hangs up, and I’m left staring up at the sky in wonder, my mouth agape, all the beautiful stars spread out before my eyes.
They seem so much closer suddenly.
Chapter 7.
Timothy
It’s been a minute since I’ve sat by myself anxiously awaiting someone in a coffee shop with a cup of hot chocolate.
A guy, specifically.
Who may or may not be responsible for my fluttering heart.
And bouncing-in-place foot.
Why did I get a hot chocolate? It’s warm and humid outside. This isnothot chocolate weather. And besides, the sweet smell of it digs up memories of first dates on campus. Stiff conversation. Sneaking nervous looks and slurping with mounting anxiety.
Wait, this isn’t a first date, is it?
No. We’re just meeting up. Casually. Because we had a couple of interesting conversations, we now find each other interesting, and we’re both interested in the interesting things we’ve shared.
And whatever we might share today.
Haven’t taken a sip of it, yet. I haven’t had hot chocolate from Chatty Cat Coffee since I was fourteen. It’s probably justchocolate by now, all the “hot” evaporated and floating around my head like bad, dizzying, invasive thoughts.
Next to my hot chocolate is a hat. Austin’s hat.
It got knocked off his head when he walked into the lamppost. In the scuffle, I forgot to grab it, and I guess when he left, he didn’t pick it up, because when I went back outside to retrieve my broom (which I’d also up and abandoned) I found the hat halfway across the road, probably carried there by the wind.
It sat by my bedside last night.
I think it’s the real reason I gave in and called him. Well, other than genuinely being unable to sleep. Just when I’d talk myself out of picking up my phone, I’d turn over in bed and my eyes would land on that hat, staring at me like a threat.