Chapter 16

Feeling guilty. “Guess I’m thirsty.”

He got back down on the floor with me, grunting against the pain in his knees. He raised his glass, smiled, and downed his drink. “So, tell me. What are your expectations for us?” He spooned a heaping serving of ice cream into my mouth.

The ice cream felt good going down my throat. “I’d like to take it slowly.”

He nodded, eating a generous amount of Gelato and smiling. His blue eyes gleamed.

“I know that doesn’t answer your question,” I said.

“I’m fine with us taking time to figure things out.”

“I like you, Devon.”

“I like you too.” He handed me the pint of ice cream. I declined.

We sat in his living room listening to a spectrum of oldies music: Blondie and Fleetwood Mac to Pat Benatar and Tom Petty.

He touched my bottle with his glass. His subtle glance made me feel shy. “What’s up?” he asked. “You look deep in thought all of a sudden.”

“I’m thinking about my mother.”

“Losing a parent is a tough thing to experience.”