Page 60 of True Colors

It’s a fold-down bike rack, similar to the one Finn has on his truck.

He catches me looking.

“I, uh…got this yesterday.” He rubs the back of his neck. I’ve noticed and noted that he does that when he’s nervous. “Figured if we’re both working late, maybe you’ll let me drive you home.”

Heat suffuses in my chest so fast it almost hurts.

He mounts my bike onto the rack like it’s made of blown glass, double-checks every strap, then opens the passenger door like we’re in some old-fashioned movie.

He takes me to Outerlands in the Sunset District.

It’s a lovely place. All warm wood and weather-worn charm, soft lighting that gilds everything it touches. The scent of rosemary and freshly-baked sourdough wraps you in a hug.

“They make the best Dutch pancakes in the city,” he announces proudly as we sit. “Savory, sweet, life-changing. Trust me.”

“You seem a bit too confident about that,” I tease.

Finn and I eat out often, but we also cook at home a lot, which means that he cooks, and I eat. I’m a terrible cook, so no one wants me in the kitchen. I’m perfectly onboard with that. Still, it seems like Luther knows more about the restaurant and diner scene of SF than I do, and I live here while he’s only visiting.

“About Dutch pancakes? Unshakably,” he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips.

I push the menu away. “Why don’t you order for me?” I suggest.

He tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He leans forward, and I smell his cologne. “That’s a lot of trust you’re placing in me, Anouk Starling.”

My cheeks heat. This man is making me feel things by just being near me, things I’ve not felt before, things I’ve avoided because I’m afraid of intimacy, of this. But with Luther, despite our rocky first impressions, I’m not scared. In fact, I like it.

I lick my lips. “It’s j-just f-food.”

He studies me, making me even more conscious, but I can’t look away from his blue-blue eyes.

“You stumble over your words when you’re nervous,” he whispers.

I swallow.

“Am I making you nervous?”

“N-n-no.” Yes, yes, you are, but in the best way possible.

He leans back, smug.

He orders savory Dutch pancakes with mushrooms and gruyere for me, and congee with avocado for himself.

We both get the IPA on draft.

I like that he’s a beer person like me. Makes him…I don’t know, more accessible? I mean, if he’d ordered champagne or something, that would be fine, who doesn’t like a good sparkling wine, but beer….

“I have wondered what you do in your free time,” he asks after our drinks arrive.

“You have?” Why?

“Yeah. You’re…so different from anyone I know.”

“B-because of the st-stutter?”