"You're not. Creepy older guys don't bring you vending machine coffee every morning and leave book recommendations on your library chair at 6 AM." He pauses. "Besides, I've always liked older guys. They actually read real books."
"Devastating criteria."
"I have standards." He shivers harder. The wind is picking up and he's in nothing but that blue shirt.
"Come here." I move back to the bike, lean against it, and open my jacket. After a moment's hesitation, he steps into the space I've made and I wrap the jacket around both of us as much as I can. His back against my chest. His head tipping back against my shoulder.
"Better?"
"Yeah." He fits. Perfectly, impossibly, he fits. "Silas?"
"Hmm?"
"This week. The books, the notes, the mornings. That wasn't just about books. Right?"
"No. It wasn't just about books."
"Okay. Good." A beat. "Because if you'd said it was just about books I was going to be really embarrassed about how many times I reread your notes before bed."
"How many times?"
"Not telling you that."
"More than five?"
"Not answering."
"More than ten?"
"This conversation is over."
I laugh. He shivers against me, not from cold this time. I can feel his heartbeat through his back, fast and steady.
"Friday," I say. "After your shift. Would you want to get dinner? Real dinner, not dive bar peanuts."
"Like a date?"
"Exactly like a date."
"Yes." Then, softer: "I've never actually been on one. A real date."
"Neither have I."
"Really?"
"I've been on first dates. But none of them felt real. None of them started with a note in a pastry box."
He turns in my arms so he's facing me. Close enough that I can see the reflection of city lights in his eyes. Close enough to count the freckles on his nose that I've been pretending not to catalog all week.
"Happy birthday, Devin."
"Best one I've ever had." He means it. The weight of that, the twenty other birthdays in foster homes and on couches and in shelters that weren't this, weren't standing on a hill with someone who reads his favorite books and brings him coffee, settles over both of us.
He stretches up and kisses me. Quick, soft, barely there before he pulls back, blushing furiously even in the dark.
"Sorry, I —"
I cup his face gently, thumb stroking his cheek. "Can I kiss you properly?"
