“Let me cook you something,” Gil says, bending down to plant a kiss on my shoulder. I lean back against his chest, letting out a breath and savoring the feeling of his cool scales on my skin.
“We could do it together,” I muse, not wanting to be alone with my thoughts. If Gil is busy in the kitchen, what am I supposed to do? Relax? I know myself better than to think that’s going to happen.
“What do you like to eat?”
“Oh, I’m not picky… whatever you feel like making,” I say with a shrug.
“Still, if there are any favorites… I’d like to know about them,” he says, and I love the way his scales seem to shine extra bright when he smiles, like it’s something that affects his whole body. I never thought I’d meet someone who wanted to know my favorite foods so he could make them—not just tonight, but tomorrow… forever.
Someone I can be completely honest and myself with.
“If I told you I’m a 22-year-old woman, and nothing gives me greater pleasure than bad TV and dino shaped chicken nuggets, what would you say?”
“Get me an apron and I’ll show you.”
“God, this is perfect,” I exclaim. “I never would have thought to add frozen broccoli to a boxed mac and cheese.”
“You happy?”
I nod, so happy that if I let myself think about it for too long, I’ll be terrified. But the fear doesn’t stop me from swinging my legs over his as we continue to eat this childish comfort food. His gaze is so intent, my heart pounds like it will explode if I don’t look away, and still—I can’t. “I wish this was going to be easier,” I say in a small voice. “But Gil, I can’t leave her— because I know how that goes. No more stopping by her place after work or our Saturday morning coffee dates.” I’ll see Grams every weekend, then every other, then once a month—holidays. I know how it works because I’ve seen what happens to the residents when family moves away.
I don’t want to exist in sometimes-visits, phone calls, and letters. For Grams, I need to be more than a maybe-when-I-have-time. I want to be an every day.
“I know, darlin’.” His voice is sad but no less determined. “I can stay—”
“Gators aren’t covered by many pet deposits—and by many, I mean any.”
“How much money would you need monthly for your grams to keep staying here?” he asks, his persona shifting into work-Gil, and I can practically see the spreadsheets and numbers floating in front of his eyes.
And I’ll admit—it’s pretty hot.
“The check she wrote should cover…” I let out a sigh. “A few months in this place.”
“Months—with all those zeroes?” he says, letting out a low whistle. “Alright—give me a number, and I’ll make it happen.”
But we can’t, he can’t, and that’s too much…
“I don’t know—and I can’t ask you—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he says, “and an offer doesn’t mean you have to say yes… but there’d be no strings. I can promise you that.”
My face warms. One thing I’ve learned is Gil is good at keeping his promises.
I think—IknowI’m in love with him, and the most terrifying thing is he feels the same way. Not only has he told me, but I can feel it in the way he wraps his arms around me so tenderly, the way his webbed fingers reach up to stroke my face, and more than anything the way he listens.
Patient, strong, andso sweet.
I want to tell him but worry the moment the words leave my lips it’ll be over. Each second we spend together, it swells in my chest, but when his yellow eyes blink at me like that, it’s a secret I can’t keep anymore.
“You look so far away,” he says, his voice quiet as his dark claws work through the tangles in my pink hair.
“Oh, thinking about how much I love you—you want ketchup?” I say, wondering if it will feel less weighty when slipped in a casual sentence. I don’t look to see how he reacts, only slip off the couch, walk to the kitchen, and open the fridge.
“You gonna act like you didn’t just say that?” I just know he’s smiling, but I don’t turn around to see it for myself. Gil walks closer to me. He tries to move to get a look at my face, but I continue to dodge.
“Offer you condiments?” I ask, and when his hand captures my waist, a giddy laugh rushes up from my lungs as I face him.
“Say it again,” he orders, and the smooth of his scaley forehead presses down on mine.
