Page 9 of Hushed

And it’s really, really easy to excuse that. Levi is absolutely gorgeous. Short blond hair, bright blue eyes, an easy smile, a natural athlete’s grace. Next to him, I feel a bit like I’m robbing the cradle.

I flush with embarrassment and reach for my wallet. “I can’t believe this. It feels like we just sat down. Let’s at least settle the bill.”

“I already paid.”

“What? When?”

“You went to the bathroom, and we were the waitress’s last table. She couldn’t leave until we paid, so I settled up. I’m sorry. I should have asked you.”

“No. You did the right thing. Let me pay you back, then. I insist. How much do I owe you?”

Levi puts his hand on my forearm. I look down. This is not the first time he’s touched me. A tap here, a grazing, almost-accidental stroke on my hand there. But this time it doesn’t feel incidental or unplanned. My whole arm tingles and my breath catches. “If you want to, yes. But you don’t have to.”

I take out my wallet. “It’ll make me feel better. I’ve always paid my own way, okay?”

He sighs and takes the receipt out of his pocket. “I was kind of hoping you’d blush and let me be a gentleman about it.”

I glance at the amount and take out two twenties, passing them over. “So, you’re a secret romantic!”

I expect that he’s going to bridle at the charge, but instead, he tilts his head, considering. “I am,” he says with a sheepish grin. “I want to have the big love.”

I pull my arm away and cross my arms, leaning on my elbows. “Someday you are going to have that, and I’m not sure whether to pity the poor bastard you get in your sights or be a little jealous of him.” I shake my head. “You’re a lot, Levi. You strike me as the type who’d be sussing out whether a man would be a good father and locking him down before the end of the first date.”

He taps his chest in mock outrage. “That is one hundred percent untrue. I’m a gentleman. I’d wait until at least the third date before I really locked it down. That way he still gets to feel like there’s free will involved.” He pauses. “I mean, I’d have made up my mind way earlier. But I’m patient.”

“Well, there’s a hell of a bullet dodged.”

“…sure.”

I laugh. “Come on. You’re holding back. You’re at what? Estimate it. Eighty percent wattage right now?”

He tilts his head back and forth equivocally. “I don’t know. Maybe forty? I just haven’t had to consciously try with you.”

“Forty! Jesus Christ! Wow.” I stop and consider it. I think back. I know that he has strong opinions about baseball, is a good cook, has a younger sister and a best friend in Chevy Chase. Like me, he’s between lives: he came to DC for work, which is over now, and he’s spending his last few days in town seeing the sights. Meanwhile, he’s listened to my stories of driving across the Trans-Canada from Québec to Vancouver without once checking his phone. My cheeks ache from laughing.

“You’re easy to talk to,” he says. He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Can I be honest with you? The last few weeks have been a lot, and this is the first time in a while that I don’t feel caught up in it.”

“I was just thinking the same thing about you. I guess it’s the lack of expectations, right? It’s relieving. I feel like you don’t have to know any of my backstory or bullshit. I can just forget all the things I’ve been worried about and be present and enjoy making you laugh.”

His smile makes him look like a kid. It’s spooky. With his hair cut that short, all he needs is a set of dog tags and he’s the carbon copy of every young man who sat across from me. I eye his neck for the telltale metal beads, and, when I don’t see them, breathe a mild sigh of relief.

“What?” he asks.

I scramble to find some gracious way of saying, I was just making sure you don’t have a name, rank, and serial number tattooed onto your soul. So, I reach for the next best thing that pops into my mind. “I was just thinking that this is the part where you either remind me that you’re above the age of consent or I probably should be on my way.”

Oh, merde. I don’t understand how, in a list of things to fill that awkward gap, I just hit on one that’s even worse than the one I was just dancing around.

He grins at me. “And what exactly were you thinking of doing with me that’s kept behind that specific gate?”

“Well, prom season isn’t for a while now,” I answer.

“You watched them card me for this mimosa.”

“Which you didn’t drink, so you might have gotten a virgin one just to save face.”

He takes a sip, turns the glass, and slides it onto the table. “Go on, then. You tell me.”

I take a sip just because I’m embarrassed.