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I shower and get dressed. Brush my teeth and curl my hair.
When I’m ready, we leave Hunter’s apartment hand in hand and walk toward Zucker’s Bagels where he orders my bagel sandwich, exactly how I like it.
“What if I wanted something different today?” I ask. “Like the everything bagel with veggie cream cheese and avocado.”
He smiles down at me, his warm palm rubbing slow circles against my lower back. “Did you want that instead?”
His touch is comforting. Maybe that’s the problem. Our time together is getting too comfortable.
And after our weekend at Lake George, it feels like something has shifted between us.
This week, when I told June about my weekend away, we continued our ‘dating’ debate. She was firmly in the ‘that’s what dating is’camp while I determinedly argued against it.
When I informed her our weekend together was intended to be a two-day sex marathon that got preempted by his parents showing up, she threw up her hands.
You met his parents?!
Accidentally,I’d argued.
She shook her head in disbelief, then sighed.That is the furthest thing from no-strings attached I’ve ever heard. That’s like all the strings.
After that, I didn’t bother to mention the necklace he’d given me.
Now, he’s being sweet and ordering my bagel just how I like it. I should swoon, but my head is a mess of confused thoughts. Not to mention, my tired, achy body just wants food while my emotions are egging on my mouth to start a fight. There’s no sense to it, but I can’t stop myself.
“No, but you didn’t ask.”
He presses a kiss to my temple. It’s become a familiar gesture. His way of comforting me when I’m stressed.
Is that a thing now?
“Okay. I’ll ask next time.”
His response is annoying.
My brain hits the panic button. “Next time?!”
“You love Zucker’s Bagels, I’m sure there will be a next time.”
I don’t know why, but this moment feels unsettling.
“Is this our thing now?” I huff. “Breakfast dates to Zucker’s Bagels?”
Hunter’s brows lift. “It’s just bagels.”
His reaction tells me that maybe I’m overthinking this.
I eat my bagel and immediately feel less grumpy. I must have been hangry.
“What else are we doing on this non-date?” I ask as Hunter leads me down the street. Rockefeller Center comes into view. We’ve already been to Top of the Rock, so I’m curious what he has planned. That’s when I notice a rink below, not made of ice, but a smooth surface that people are roller skating on.
“You’ll see,” he says. Inside the rink entrance, Hunter retrieves a box from a worker there. “You’re going to need these.” He hands the box to me.
Inside the square white box, I find the prettiest pair of lace-up roller skates in sparkly rose gold. They’re the skates of my eight-year-old self’s dreams. And really my twenty-two-year-old self, if we’re being honest. They’re perfect.
“Ahh! These are so pretty!” I gasp holding up a skate to take in all its dazzling shimmer.
Hunter smiles and presses a kiss to my lips. I’m elated to receive the skates and overwhelmed by all the planning he’s done.
