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Though Gauge and I have connected on an intimate level, we’re still getting to know each other on a personal level—our likes and dislikes. Emotionally, I’ve never felt more linked to another person than I do to Gauge. I already know I’m in love with the biker, and I feel like Gauge is feeling something similar, if not the same. There have been no declarations of love other than Gauge referring to me as his woman. I also don’t expect him to confess his feelings this early in the relationship.
Still, I want to familiarize myself with him as he does me. I need to understand the workings of his mind. Physical touch and acts of kindness are nice, but some words of affirmation would be sweeter. Getting him to talk is vital. Hence why I’m using the time to bombard him with a question-and-answer session.
So far, I’ve learned he likes all music, neither of us has siblings, and he hates peas.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Gauge smirks, finding humor in my quirky question. “Green. Yours?”
“All of them.”
“I should’ve guessed,” he says, tugging on a rainbow lock of my hair. “My turn. Do you want kids?”
Well, that escalated quickly. Not that I’m complaining. I’ve wanted to bridge from the superficial questions but was unsure how to go about it.
I bite my bottom lip, wondering if he’ll freak when I give it to him straight. “Yes.”
His smirk grows into a wide grin. “How many?”
“Two sounds nice.”
“Two sounds perfect.”
Scrounging up my courage, I ask my own serious question. “What do you think about marriage?”
Gauge blows out a low whistle. “Never thought of it before…”
I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.
He turns to look at me, those soft green pools in his eyes stirring with yearning. “Yeah, I want to settle down and get married someday. Maybe build a house and work on filling it with those two kids. Is that something you want, Opal?”
With you.“Yes, I’d love that.”
We finish our tour of the gallery and step outside in the crisp autumn afternoon. He wraps his hand around mine, leading us to a park bench. Side by side, he haphazardly throws an arm around my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. “My turn again. When’s your birthday?”
I shift in my seat. There’s nothing wrong with Gauge’s question. It’s perfectly normal to ask someone you’re involved with about their past or personal questions. Problem is, my past is problematic, and personal details can track a person’s past.
My birthdate is a direct link to my actual identity. I don’t want to lie to Gauge. “I’m a Pisces,” I answer, hoping that will do.
Gauge rolls his eyes, dancing with humor when he focuses them back on me. “And I’m an Aries. But that wasn’t my question.”
I gnaw the inside of my cheek. How in the hell am I going to get out of this one? “Why do you want to know?”
“Look, I might be new in the relationship department, but even I know a man should know his woman’s birthday. Don’t be setting me up for failure. When the day comes, you can damn well believe I’ll spoil you rotten. So, birthday?”
Gathering all my courage, I look into his soulful eyes. “March twentieth.”
Gauge’s eyebrows jump. He nudges my arm. “Get out?! Mine’s March twenty-first. We’re birthday neighbors.”
His lightheartedness washes away my residual apprehension. “Seriously? You’re not teasing me?”
“Well, I’m eight years older than you, but we’re birthday buddies. No knocking our age gap.”
“Never.” I slide closer to him, leaning my head on his shoulder.
Gauge tightens his arm around me, letting me burrow into his side. Here in his embrace, I feel safe. He won’t let anything happen to me.
“Opal,” Gauge whispers, “I know that was hard for you to share. Thank you for trusting me.”
