Page 52 of Experiments in Offline Dating

He nodded, threw one to Finn, then ate some of his own. “Russells. Best fish and chips in County Clare.”

“I believe it.”

I couldn’t keep myself from feeling pleased that he’d gotten food for me to picnic with. The insulated bag had shown remarkable forethought. But I wasn’t sure if he had kept it hidden and quiet because he wanted to surprise me with it, or because he couldn’t be bothered to answer any questions. Either way was fine by me—the result was the same: yummy, greasy, crunchy fish and chips with a view to die for.

We chewed in what felt like companionable silence. Until he broke it—rudely, of course.

“Put your damn jumper on, you’re half frozen.”

“No, I’m all right.”

He dressed me down with a stern look. “You’re fucking shivering.”

“I’m not cold. I’m fine.”

“Look, just because you put your jumper on when you’re cold doesn’t mean that I win, it means you’re an adult.”

“If you must know, I didn’t bring a sweater. It was packed in my bag, and I couldn’t be bothered to dig around for it.” I threw another chip in my mouth.

He took a big, long, purposeful breath. Then, to my astonishment, he grabbed fistfuls of his own sweater and pulled it over his head, exposing, dear God!, a smooth stretch of skin at his side for only an instant that would be forever burned into my long-term memory.

“Here. I guess I have to be adult enough for both of us.”

“No, no. That’s yours. Put it back on. I don’t want it.”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “Why not?”

It felt more like a challenge than a genuine question, but I answered honestly. “Well. What if it’s scratchy or it smells bad?”

He glared.

Whatever he thought, I hadn’t actually said this to insult him. I just had a thing about fabric, and I didn’t really like wearing other people’s clothes, and, well . . . he’d asked and I’d blurted.

His jaw tightened, he narrowed his eyes, and then he threw it at me. “Put it on,” he ground out.

I caught it. It wasn’t all that scratchy. I was particular with my wool, but as this was summer, it wasn’t one of those thick fisher-man’s sweaters with the scratchy boiled yarn but something much softer and thinner. I gave in and pulled it over my head. For one long, blinding second before my head emerged from the collar, I stopped, totally caught off guard. And inhaled. And very nearly passed out.

Whooooooaaaa. Holy crap!

I breathed in again, eyes closed, and felt lightheaded. Then, when I realized that I was being really weird and creepy, my soul rejoined my body, and I finished pulling the sweater down. His face swirled into view. And it was annoyed.

“Well. Thanks,” I said. “If you change your mind or get cold, let me know.”

“I won’t,” he said, possibly just to be contrary. But now that I knew what it smelled like, I wasn’t in any rush to hand it back. Also, it was warm from his body heat, which normally would gross me out. But there was this sense of intimacy that I hadn’t expected, and I was surprised by my reaction to it.

Even if he was a total douche canoe.

We continued eating in silence until a while later, when he interrupted my peace to chastise me again. “Jesus, why are you still shivering?” It sounded like an accusation, as if my shaking was ruining his peripheral view and it was my fault for not being in better control of my involuntary bodily functions.

“Um. Well. It’s not the cold, actually.”

“What?”

“This is just how I respond to fear sometimes. It’s okay. It’ll pass.” He scrunched his face up. I shrugged. “I’m afraid of heights.”

“What? Shit. Why didn’t you say, Maya!” Annnnndddd there we are. Right back to angry.

“It’s fine. I wanted to see this. It’s incredible. I didn’t want to miss out because of a little thing like fear of heights.”