Should I just ask him?
I could just ask him.
We’re in our thirties for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be wondering about and analyzing every word he says, and I shouldn’t be having arguments with myself about my feelings.
He pushes the door open and ushers me through. I step onto a stone pathway that runs alongside a deck built onto the back of the house.
Yes, I should just ask him what he means. We should talk about what’s going on. I should tell him that I’m developing feelings and let him decide if that means this is over or if he wants to keep going and see what happens.
He takes my hand and tugs me along the path, past the deck and into the backyard.
That’s a good plan. I’ll tell him how I’m feeling. I’ll say something like ‘David, we should talk. I really like you, I’ve been having a lot of fun, and our kissing has made me realize…’
I forget everything I was just thinking when I step past the deck and see his backyard.
Because…yeah, this isn’t just casual.
David might just be an amazing kisser, and other women might have been kissed the way he’s kissed me, but I do not think he’s done this for a lot of other women.
I look up at him, unsure how to respond.
He gives me a grin. “You said you wanted to camp. It’s way too wet and muddy, but I had to figure out a way to make it happen.”
I swallow hard. Be cool. Do not tell him you’re falling in love with him. I nod. “Not to mention you probably have fewer serial killers and dead bodies here.”
Okay, good. That was good. That was not a sweet, romantic, clingy thing to say to the man who has his pickup parked in his backyard, tailgate down, an air mattress filling the back, and piled with multiple blankets and pillows.
The truck bed is facing the deck, where he has mounted a white sheet between two poles and has a projector sitting on a small table, pointing at the make-shift movie screen.
There are six more poles surrounding the truck with fairy lights strung between them, forming a soft white light canopy over the truck.
The sun has not fully set, so we’re going to be able to see the gorgeous colors of the sunset off to the west, and once darkness falls, I can only imagine how gorgeous the starry sky overhead is going to be.
It looks incredibly cozy and comfortable, and it’s thoughtful and definitely romantic.
But despite my talk of dead bodies, David chuckles. “Yes. Camping can be harrowing at times.”
I snort. Dealing with a serial killer seems a little beyond harrowing, but I love his sense of humor. Not only did he send me that book, but he also finds it amusing that I read it, and we can joke about it.
“Are you trying to tell me that camping isn’t always like this?” I ask him, gesturing toward the truck, fairy lights, and pillows.
I’m still gobsmacked but trying to be cool. And not throw myself at him.
“It is not.”
“So after this, I may never want to camp any other way.” I meet his eyes. “You might ruin me.”
A sentence has never felt truer. In so many ways.
His eyes flare with heat, and his smile has a wicked edge. “Maybe we should just make a rule that you always go camping with me. Whatever you want to try, I’ll make it happen.”
Okay, come on. He had to mean that in a dirty way, right? That can’t be entirely my imagination.
I squeeze my thighs together and swallow hard.
Stop. It.
He’s being sweet right now. But he doesn’t actually mean that if I want to go camping in Yellowstone National Park five years from now, he’ll be up for making that trip with me. ‘Not casual’ and ‘forever’ are two very different things.
