“It’s not a big deal,” he says as he pours the amber liquor into both cups. “Nerves get the best of everyone.”
“Not you. What is this anyway?” I ask when he slides a cup to me.
“Whisky. That okay?”
I nod even though it’s been at least a solid year since I’ve downed a shot of whisky.
I hold up my cup, he holds up his, and we toast. I down the shot and instantly wince at the burn. “God.”
Gage barely blinks as he knocks back his drink. “Not a whisky fan?”
I shake my head. “It’s just been a while.”
“I get nervous too,” he says after a second.
“Not while you film your videos.”
“Of course not. What’s there to be nervous about when my audience is my refrigerator?”
I laugh, already feeling the effects of the whisky. My limbs are loose, and there’s a hint of warmth coursing through my chest.
“I’m an odd duck, Gage,” I say after a quiet moment. “I’ll be bold one second, then lose my nerve the next. It’s like my bravery is fleeting. I use all my energy to accomplish one thing that terrifies me, then I don’t have the stamina to keep going. I have to build myself up all over again.”
I glance up from my empty cup to meet his soft stare.
“You talk like that’s a bad thing,” he says.
I shrug.
“Thunderstorms freak me out.”
I’m taken aback by his sudden admission. But then I realize: he’s admitting this so that I don’t feel as alone. He’s telling me this to comfort me.
That warmth inside my chest spreads.
“They’re legitimately scary,” I say. “Thunderstorms are loud and dangerous and destructive. They lead to tornadoes sometimes. They make plenty of people nervous.”
“It’s different for me though. Ever since I was little, I get pretty bad stomachaches whenever there’s a bad storm. I was hiking last year at Rocky Mountain National Park with my brother, and a thunderstorm moved into the area without warning. My stomach was cramping so bad, even walking was painful. By the time we made it to the car, I threw up.”
“Oh gosh.”
“You should have seen the way the other hikers looked at me while I was retching in the parking lot. Completely disgusted,” he says. “That day freaked me out so much. Since then I refuse to hike if it’s even a little bit cloudy.”
He pours himself another shot of whisky and downs it. My chest squeezes as I watch him. His expression and body language are relaxed, but still. It means so much that he’d tell me something so personal, just to make me feel better.
He offers a small smile. “At least you’re not letting your nerves stop you. You’re still going through with the plan to film today.”
His encouraging words send a jolt of determination through me. I motion for another shot. He looks surprised as he pours another. I down it and barely even wince this time. Screw my nerves.
I stand up. “Let’s do this.”
He stands up too, amusement tugging at his smile this time. “So what are we filming today?”
I take a breath. “Licking. Lots and lots of licking.”
He bites his bottom lip as he grins. “Let’s do it.”
Ten minutes later, I’m holding a waffle cone with three scoops of ice cream between our faces.
