Oh, God, she was someone’s mother. What the hell was she doing?
Having the best time of her whole life, pretty much.
“Eden...”
She loved the way his voice emerged from the silence; she loved the way her own name practically caressed her eardrums. In that instant she didn’t want to leave this truck ever again.
“Yeah?”
“I like you. A lot.”
She turned to him and her breath actually hitched, such was the impact when she looked at him after even a short period of not looking at him. Even sweaty, with his hair rumpled from her rifling hands.
“I like you, too.”
Honestly. This was the kind of conversation first graders might have while they toed the ground. She felt shy as a first grader. There was some comfort in the fact that he didn’t look much more certain about things than she felt. Simple words, jokey ones, were safer. They buffered the danger of bigger, more adult feelings. The wordlikewas a disguise, a button-down L.L. Bean shirt pulled over the pulsing, secret, sweet terror of that other “L” word.
“I really want to spend more time with you. And that’s not a euphemism for I want to do you again. Though, you know, that stands to reason.”
She flashed a smile. “Natch.”
But then he said nothing else. He was waiting.
She took a breath. “That would be nice. I would like that. More time, that is. I can... I can make that work.”
Funny how halting and inarticulate two intelligent, glib, wildly capable people could suddenly get when it came to asking for things that could get them hurt if it didn’t turn out the way they’d wanted.
“It’s... you know... scheduling...”
They both turned to the clock on his dash. And as per their conditioned response, the sex-blurred thoughts sprang to their feet crisped up again, and they began to disperse, to take up their usual burdens of worrying and planning.
“I’d like to take you to dinner. Dinner at, you know, a restaurant with white tablecloths.”
She furrowed her brow. “A restaurant... with white tablecloths?” she repeated slowly, with faux wonderment, like someone just discovering fire.
“Oh, the most amazing thing, Eden. We dress up in clothes we don’t wear every day, and sit across from each other in a restaurant that not only has white tablecloths and lit candles and prix fixe menus and sometimes unpronounceable yet delicious food... but... here’s the best part... someone else cooks the food and brings ittoyou. Someone you’re not evenrelatedto.”
“No! You can’t be serious!”
“Scout’s honor. And if you can believe it, they don’t even have akid’smenu.”
She clapped a hand to her heart. “I swan!” Which was what her great-grandma used to say.
“And... you might want to brace yourself... they serve really... good... wine.”
She tipped her head and eyed him with great, great skepticism. “Are you sure you aren’t making this up?”
“I would never lie to you.”
It was funny, but that last bit emerged sounding a little less like a joke and more like a vow.
And Eden knew at once it was true. Guilt pinpricked her. Even though she hadn’t precisely ever lied to him about Annelise’s dad, she was more and more certain Gabe might not see it that way.
There was a little silence.
“You know... maybe we could go on a picnic?” she suggested, almost shyly.
Suddenly it seemed like a way to give the arc of their relationship a more gradual rise. Though on the line graph of dating, sex was usually pretty close to the top.