Chapter 4
STANTON
Ihad to wait a whole week for our next date, which was six days longer than I liked. Sure, I saw Pascal on Wednesday afternoon before and after my time with the kindergartners, but that had been way too brief. Even if I had shown up half an hour early and stayed as long as I could afterward.
We met again on Thursday at Safe Space, where we had another amazing evening with the teens.
I’d practiced their names all week, and they were shocked when I only got one name wrong.
I called Byron Robert. I’d remembered he was named after a famous poet, but I couldn’t remember which one, so I’d gone for Robert Frost. Oops.
He didn’t take offense though. Thank god.
Once the teens were gone and we’d tidied up, we kissed in the parking lot. Well, made out, actually, since I’d all but pressed him against my truck as I covered his lips with mine again and again. The man was addictive.
But now Saturday had finally arrived, and Pascal was coming to my place. When I invited him over, I made sure he knew he could say no if he didn’t feel safe with me, but he immediately accepted. I was excited to show him my house.
I’d already prepared a chicken and lentil stew that would suit his dietary needs.
It just needed to be heated up, and we would be good to go.
The house was tidy—well, as tidy as a renovation project could be—and even though I wasn’t counting on anything, I had changed the sheets and checked I had enough condoms and lube.
When his little Prius pulled up, my heart did a happy skip.
He looked adorable in skinny jeans and a polo shirt in a shade of green that brought out the warmth in his brown eyes.
His hair was meticulously styled in that preppy way I loved, and I wanted to skip dinner and head straight for the bedroom.
But I wouldn’t. If I wanted this to work, and I really, really did, timing was crucial. Pascal needed to set the pace, not me.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” I gestured at the wraparound porch. “Watch your step. I’m replacing some of the boards next week.”
His eyes lit up as he took in the farmhouse. “It’s gorgeous. How old is it?”
“Built in 1912.” I offered him my arm, which he took with a shy smile that made my heart flutter. “Want the grand tour?”
“Please.”
I showed him around, explaining what I’d already done and what still needed work. His genuine interest and enthusiasm were infectious. When we reached the kitchen, he actually gasped.
“Those floors!” He crouched to run his fingers over the restored hardwood. “They’re amazing.”
“Worth the three days it took to strip off all that linoleum.” I couldn’t stop smiling at his excitement. “Ready for dinner?”
“It smells incredible in here.”
I heated up our food, and we settled at the kitchen table, where I’d set out fresh whole-grain bread—bought from Brianna’s Bakery. Brianna had assured me it was suitable for diabetics—and a simple salad to accompany the stew.
“This is perfect.” Pascal spooned up some stew. “The right balance of protein and vegetables, and lentils have a low glycemic index.”
“I did some research.” I didn’t mention my three calls to Heidi to ensure I got it right.
His smile was worth all the effort. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
“My sister-in-law, Heidi, has had type 1 diabetes since she was twelve. She’s taught me a lot.” I took a sip of water. “Like how stress can affect blood sugar levels.”
“Oh yeah.” Pascal adjusted his glasses. “Running Safe Space can be stressful sometimes. Good stress, but still. I always make sure to check my levels before and after.”
“How long have you had it?”
“Since I was eight. My mom noticed the classic signs—constant thirst, frequent bathroom trips. I was lucky she caught it early.” He stirred his stew. “What made you decide to volunteer at the library?”
I was starting to notice how he always directed the conversation away from himself.
Did he do that because he didn’t like talking about himself?
Or did he think he wasn’t interesting? I hated that last idea, especially since I found him endlessly fascinating.
“I wanted to give back to the community. Plus, I missed being around people. Renovating a house is rewarding but solitary work.”
“Do you miss being a reporter?”
“Sometimes. I miss the excitement of breaking a story. But I don’t miss the constant pressure, the deadlines, and living on coffee and takeout. I mean, talk about stress. It’s a constant in that profession.”
Pascal chewed, looking thoughtful. “I can’t even imagine. I love the peace and quiet of the library, even after all these years. It’s still my favorite place. Well, that or a bookstore.”
“What made you become a librarian?”
His whole face lit up. “Books saved my life when I was a lonely gay teen in a small town. The library was my safe haven, my happy place, and I wanted to pay that forward.”
“How did you end up in Forestville? You didn’t grow up here, right?”
He wiggled his hand. “Yes and no. I lived here from when I was four until I was twelve. Then, my father, who’s a pastor, got called to a different church, and we moved to a small town in Montana.
Funny enough, my sister ended up there and I returned to Forestville.
I had wonderful memories of my childhood here, so when I saw they were looking for a full-time librarian, I immediately applied.
It turns out the head librarian who’d been there when I was a kid still worked there, and Mrs. Burby hired me on the spot.
She retired a few years ago, but she’s still a volunteer. Gosh, that woman is amazing.”
“She’s the one with the purple hair, right?” I’d seen her a few times at the library, always wearing something colorful.
“That’s her. She started dyeing it purple after she retired. Says life’s too short for boring hair.” His laugh was musical. “She’s been such a mentor to me.”
We chatted through dinner, and I loved how passionate he got when talking about books or the library programs. His whole face lit up and his hands moved expressively as he spoke.
After dinner, I suggested we watch Under the Tuscan Sun together since I’d finished the book. Pascal’s eyes lit up. “I’d love that.”
We settled on the couch. I kept a bit of distance between us, not wanting to appear to take advantage of the situation, but Pascal tucked himself against my side like he belonged there. His head rested against my shoulder, and I couldn’t resist wrapping my arm around him. He fit perfectly.
The movie was good, though different from the book in many ways.
I found myself more interested in Pascal’s reactions than the story itself.
The way he mouthed certain lines along with the movie, how his eyes lit up at particularly beautiful shots of the Italian countryside, the soft sounds of appreciation he made… Everything about him drew me in.
Halfway through the movie, he caught me staring. A blush colored his cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing. Just enjoying the view.”
His blush deepened, but he snuggled closer. “Smooth talker.”
I kissed his temple, breathing in the citrusy scent of his shampoo. “Only stating facts.”
When the credits rolled, Pascal sat up straighter but didn’t move away. “So, which did you like better? The book or the movie?”
“The book.” I traced patterns on his shoulder with my thumb. “Diane Lane was amazing, but the book had more depth.”
“I agree.” He shifted to face me better. “The descriptions of the food in the book were incredible.”
“Made me want to visit Italy.” I caught his gaze. “Maybe someday.”
His eyes widened slightly behind his glasses, and I realized what I’d implied. But I didn’t take it back. I meant it.
“Maybe someday,” he echoed softly. His smile was brighter than the Tuscan sun.
I couldn’t resist anymore. I leaned in and kissed him slow and deep. He melted against me with a soft sound that made my blood sing. His fingers curled into my shirt as I explored his mouth, tasting and teasing. God, he was addictive.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His pupils were dilated behind his glasses, and his lips were pink and slightly swollen. He looked utterly kissable.
“I should go,” he said reluctantly. “It’s getting late.”
Part of me wanted to ask him to stay, but I didn’t. This was only our second date, and I wanted to do this right. Somehow, it mattered. He mattered. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
At his car, I kissed him again, slower this time, savoring every second. When I pulled back, his eyes were glazed. “Drive safe.”
He nodded, seemingly unable to speak. I watched him drive away, already missing his warmth.