Page 60

“You’re thinking too much.” He pecked my lips. “Go ahead. Keep telling me all the reasons this is a bad idea.” He pecked again, and I couldn’t help but kiss him back. He pulled away, and I chased him for a beat before I could stop myself, earning a devilish little smile.

I took a deep breath and got serious. He was giving me the opportunity to make him understand why I’d cut us off the year before, why I still doubted he meant it when he said I was all he wanted.

God, to be all that he wanted! I had to be sure.

“I did worry last year that maybe you were only with me because you could see that I was lonely. Here by myself, no family, not even Anita sticking around. I mean, I got by that point that you'd had a crush on me or whatever when you were younger, so maybe I thought … I don’t know.” I found my resolve. “I thought maybe it was some combination of you fulfilling some adolescent fantasy while also just being a nice guy and helping out a sad friend.”

I hadn’t expected Dalton to laugh. “You know, for a minute, I thought that fucking me was your way of becoming more connected to the town. Like I was just an extension—of my family, of this community. Kinda similar to what you were thinking. No? Like I could be an extension for you? A connection to Breakwater.”

“I guess so.”

“And what I just said,” he insisted, “does it sound plausible? Is that what you were doing last year?”

“No.”

“Well, there’s your answer. It’s you, Turner. It’s always been you. Not for any of the reasons out there but because of what I felt, what I feel, in here.” He tapped his chest before placing his hand on mine.

“And I thought maybe you felt it too. Or at least, that what we had last year was enough for us to explore our feelings. To move forward, to stay together.”

I had one more major concern. It would be difficult for me to hear about it, but I needed to know that Dalton had had enough time to explore his options where dating was concerned, like he had had with his studies, his work, and his travels.

“Have you … I mean, you must have dated other people over the years, yeah?” I asked.

Dalton sighed and sat down next to me, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. We were back to staring at the horizon instead of at each other. I waited anxiously for his answer.

“I mean, you know about Austin?”

I nodded, and he shrugged.

“And then … there’s you …”

“So you’ve mostly been, what, hooking up while you were at college?”

He played with my fingers. “No, I’ve mostly been …” He continued worrying my fingers with his, and then he turned, sitting on the couch, his knee bent and in my lap, his grip tight on my hand. Those green eyes were nervous but resolved.

“I’m demisexual. Do you know what that is?”

“I, um …”

“It means I’m not much for just fooling around, and I mostly become attracted to a person after I get to know them.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“So, yeah. I know you envisioned me out there sowing my wild oats. But I don’t really have wild oats.”

“But what about you and Austin? You said one time … Well, you said something that led me to believe that maybe your feelings for him were something more than his were for you?”

“I did?” He sounded shocked.

“You told me that part of your relationship was just Austin being Austin. I took it to mean he had maybe hurt you or something. That he didn’t take the relationship as seriously as you had.”

“Oh, um. No. That’s definitely not what happened.” He squeezed my fingers, and his lips turned up slightly.

“So, Aus and I only really dated”—he let go of my hand to use air quotes on the word, then finding it again and grasping tight—“for about a week, and sometimes I think that Austin did it so that we could, um, so that I could have my first time with someone I was close to since I’m demi, and,”—Dalton let out a little, embarrassed laugh—"because he was horny! We really did feel like the only two gay guys in town before you and Preston moved here. If I said ‘Austin was being Austin,’ that was probably some combination of him wanting to help his best friend out while getting his dick sucked in the process.”

His hand may have still been fussy in mine, but his eyes were steady as he looked at me and said, “It’s never been Austin.”

“You’re not pining after your best friend, then?” He shook his head no, the smile creeping back onto his face. “And you’ve not been out there sowing wild oats?”