“Okay, I—”
I startle, sucking in a breath. “Adam.”
He chuckles. “Sorry, I thought you heard me.” He lowers beside me on the step, scrubbed clean. His hair drips lightly on his heather-gray T-shirt, but it’s combed away from his face in a way that makes my breath catch. He drapes his arms over his knees. “Well?”
I might be tongue-tied from sensory overload. “What?”
“Are we going to finish our hypothetical anniversary date?” A lock of wet hair falls onto his forehead, and he combs it away with his fingers. “Because I had some ideas while I was in the shower—”
“My, my.” I make a show of fanning myself. “Adam Sandoval, what would Ruth say?”
“She'd be all over this.” He gestures back and forth between the two of us with his index finger. “Ruth’s always pressuring me to be more ... social.”
I pick another strawberry and pop it in my mouth. “And you don't like being social?”
Adam finds a ripe strawberry, plucking it and dropping it into my palm like we've done this a hundred times. “I'm more comfortable by myself.”
“Do you ever get lonely, though?” I ask, tossing the berry into my mouth.
Oh, this one is extra sweet. I close my eyes to taste it better, tipping my face to the sky. This flavor is exactly what God intended when he created the strawberry. It’s perfect.
Adam makes a sound like he's stifling a groan. “Uh, no. I'm not lonely.” I sense movement and feel his warmth closer at my side. “Not lately.”
When I open my eyes, Adam is watching me.
It's dusky now, and a cricket has started chirping somewhere near the edge of the woods. While I listen, Adam sits quietly, which seems to be his default mode.
I've never been around anyone who was so fully present. Everyone's attention is divided in a dozen different ways—multitasking on screens in a variety of sizes, each feeding information to us in thirty-second snippets. I'm so guilty of this.
But Adam is different. His focus is long and steady. When he's engaged, the man isengaged. When he listens, he hears every word. Maybe there's something to be said for a person acclimating to solitude.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, just to fill the silence. I'm not fully acclimated, I guess.
His dark gaze doesn't shift. “I'm thinking about something I should be ashamed of,” he says quietly.
Warmth spreads from my chest to my cheeks, and I snicker. “You have my full attention.” I swipe the last of the strawberry juice from the corner of my mouth.
Adam tracks it. “The first time I saw you, you were hiking, and I spotted you from across a deep ravine. Your red hair stands out in the forest—I don’t know if you know that.” He smiles at my raised eyebrows. “I gave you a nickname.” He lifts a hand, fingering the ends of a lock of curls. “Is this okay?”
I nod, wrapping a hand around his forearm while he slides my hair through his fingers. Not many people stun me to silence, but this is Adam's gift. I'm holding onto him for dear life.
He clears his throat, and his gaze moves from my hair to my mouth, finally settling on my eyes. Then he murmurs so softly I'm not sure the words are for me, “I can’t believe I'm allowed to touch you.”
I can’t believe any of this is real. “What’s the nickname?”
My heart trips at his shy, crooked smile. “Carrot Cake.” His hand moves to the side of my neck, and he buries his fingers in the back of my hair. His thumb slides down my cheek.
Oh.
So, this is what it feels like to be swept off my feet. I’ve never understood the saying before, but I get it now. It feels like falling, flying, and screaming on the inside, all while sitting motionless and silent. I stare up into Adam’s eyes, begging him for relief. “That’s a terrible nickname.”
He tilts his head to the side, examining me. “Can I tell you something else?”
I pull in a ragged breath, tightening my hold on his arm. “Okay.”
There’s a wicked spark in his dark eyes now. “I’m glad your date ended early.” He moves closer.
“Why is that?”