“The markets? No. I do not miss getting up at four and hauling dairy products all the way into town just to stand around for five hours so my neighbors can buy cheese.”
“No, you dork.” Booker elbows me playfully. “I meant your family.”
“Oh, yeah. I definitely miss them. My brothers are a pain in my ass, but I love them. My mom has a heart of gold, and my dad’s one of the best people I know. It’s strange. I don’t miss the farm at all, and yet, I miss them a lot. The funny thing is, they’re farmers through and through. They love that land. I guess that gene skipped me somehow. But it’s just as well. I’m glad to be miles away from my hometown. I just wish I could be closer to them, if that makes any sense.”
“From my experience, family dynamics make no sense. But I’m kind of the wrong person to ask,” he tells me as we stand in line at a truck boasting gourmet burgers and salads. “I get what you’re saying, though. The place wasn’t right for you, but you love the people who live there.”
“That’s it exactly,” I say. “I have no love for Laramie, Pennsylvania, but I have all the love for my family.”
“What’s so bad about your hometown?”
I step up to the window to order, momentarily saving me from trauma dumping. But as we stand off to the side and wait for our food, I come clean. “It’s a scenic little tourist trap. It’s postcard-perfect, really. And I’m sure it’s a great place to grow up, if you’re not gay.”
Booker’s face blanches. “Were they mean to you?”
“The kids at school? Yeah. Their parents? Also yes. The principal of my high school? Yep. It was rough, I can’t lie. And the worst part was the way my family had to constantly stand up for me. We lost business one summer because some of our best customers saw me kiss my boyfriend at the lake one afternoon. Did my mom tell me to be more discreet? Hell, no. She told Louise Perry to stop being a small-minded bitch.”
“Your mom sounds awesome, just saying,” Booker tells me.
“She is,” I agree, grabbing our food and looking around for a vacant picnic table. We find a spot and settle in. “But we needed that business. Louise’s husband owns one of the biggest restaurants in town, and I’m sure losing that account hurt us financially. Honestly, if my parents’ business had been at all portable, I have no doubt they’d have up and moved us to a more progressive city. But they’re tied to the land. I’m not, so I left the first chance I got.”
“I’m sorry you went through that,” Booker tells me honestly, and his words mean a lot. I know what he’s facing, and it’s not always pretty.
“It’s all part of my hero origin story,” I joke. “Hey, look over there,” I tell him, pointing toward the edge of the park.
“If I turn around, you’re not going to eat all my kale, are you?”
“Hell no,” I laugh. “Just look. They have games.” Sure enough, there’s some high school club setting up a ring toss and a duck pond and some cornhole boards. “It’s not Skee-Ball, but I’m in if you are.”
“Deal. Loser has to drive home.”
“How does that make sense? Your car is awesome.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be in a food coma after I eat a funnel cake, so I won’t feel like driving.”
I nod. “In that case, you better hope you win.”
We throw away our trash, and Booker proceeds to school me in all the kiddie games. He even wins me a stuffed narwhal before we gorge ourselves on the deep-fried goodness that is funnel cake.
All too soon, our date is over. We head back to The Chapel in silence, and I exit the car and stand next to Shelly, my beat up Civic. “Thanks for coming out with me—” I start.
“Oh, no.” Booker rounds his car and pulls me close. “No way. I played along. I went on your date. Which, by the way, was awesome. But I’ve been patient and I deserve a reward.”
I like this flirty side of Booker. “And just what kind of reward are you looking for?”
“A goodnight kiss,” he tells me.
“I think I can manage that.”
“Uh-huh. A wise man once said, ‘If we’re doing this, we’re doing it the right way,’” he teases, throwing my earlier words back at me.
“And what’s the right way?” I ask, reaching for his hand.
“I don’t have a clue,” he answers, laughing. “But I think it involves you and me and my couch and where we left off this afternoon.”
“Booker—”
“Please?” His whispered request is my undoing. “I’m sure, Ian. So sure. I’ve been sure for a while now. I just haven’t been brave. Don’t make me—”
