Page 42 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Thank you,” I say as she plucks two sprigs of fresh rosemary from a potted plant she keeps near the oven and tosses them inside with the meat. She steps aside to push around some onions she’s toasting up in a stainless steel saucepan.

“I promise I’m just tired. And busy. And that I’m honestly kind of a homebody,” she says, smiling weakly up at me.

“We don’t have to do anything crazy. We can just go back to the bookshop. Hang out with Binx and all those cool folks.”

“Damien,” she says, a warm, but scolding tone to her voice.

“Ice cream,” I say. “We can go get ice cream.”

“So you can buy the whole store out and let it melt all over my house? I don’t think so.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you embarrassed that I spent a bunch of money on you?”

“No,” she says, the word a bit clipped.

“Because we could just go hang out by the beach if you want to. Go for a walk—”

“Damien. I can’t.”

Lillith almost never loses patience. Not that I’ve seen so far. I’ve had women literally throw half-empty wine bottles at me, but somehow this stings worse.

I tuck my hands in my pocket and give her an apologetic cringe. “Yikes,” I say. “I’m being a prick. I’m sorry for pestering you. I really am just... I’m trying to understand things here.”

She worries her lower lip, staring down at the onions in the saucepan as they start to turn a faint golden color. She pushes them around again, and I get the distinctive feeling that she’s purposefully not looking at me.

“Hey,” I say, taking the wooden spoon out of her hand and setting it aside. “C’mere.”

She hesitates momentarily, but eventually obeys, folding into my arms and letting me kiss the top of her head. “I’m not upset with you. But it’s totally okay if I annoyed you into being upset with me.”

“I’m not annoyed, I’m just...” she trails off.

“Just...” I prod, hoping she’ll continue.

She presses her forehead against my chest and all I can see is the top of her hair as she squeezes me closer. “Damien, I’ve never really been like this with a guy before,” she says. “It’s new and a little scary and I just... I wonder if we’re going too fast here.”

My heart sinks, but I force myself to keep my arms just as warm and tight around her. “I see.”

“I mean—you’re—I know you joked about that whole thing with how you’ve been with other women. But I thought this whole thing would be a little more casual, you know?”

I can almost hear the wet splat of my heart falling on the floor.

Casual. Damn. Is that what she thinks this is? Is that what she feels this is? Did I misread this whole situation? I assumed that all the jokes about catching feelings and being left behind after the tour was over meant that she was thinking about me in the long term, too.

“Is... uh... Is that what you want? Casual?”

“I just have no idea what I want yet, Damien,” she says. “We’ve been hanging out for less than two weeks. I’m having so much fun, but I’m not ready for any expectations or rules or... I don’t know. Can you just... can you give me a couple more weeks? Please? Let me feel this out?”

“Should I give you some space?” I ask, bracing for an answer I know I’m not going to want to hear.

“No!” She says, wrapping her arms tighter around me like I might slip away from her right this second. She looks up at me with her big, pewter eyes and nibbles on her lower lip in a way that quiets the fear and frustration I already feel building. “No, Damien,” she continues, “I just. If this whole thing is just for kicks, I don’t want to have to explain it to everyone we come across, you know? Small town shit. It’s just different here than it is in Seattle. Can you try to understand that?”

“Yeah,” I say, kissing her forehead. “I get it. I can wait a couple more weeks. Honestly, probably even a few months for you.”

“Thank you,” she says, stepping up on her tippy toes to kiss me properly. It’s chaste enough that it leaves me wanting so much more from her, but I’m starting to get the feeling that is an experience I’m going to have to get accustomed to. She withdraws from me and I feel her absence like a sharp whip of cold air. I wish I could just hang all over her while she cooks.

I return to my perch, leaning against the counter again. “Well, if you don’t want to go out tonight, then what do you want to do instead?”

“Well,” she says. “I was thinking I would make you a beautiful meal of venison-quesabirria tacos. And then I thought I could do a reading for you. If you want.”