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But he grabbed my hand and held on to me. I stared out the window, his gaze piercing the side of my face like a laser.

“Stewart,” he said, full-naming me like my mother once had—something that was very him. He’d never called me anything else. “I like that you feel it too.”

“Feel what?”

He laughed. I had to join in.

“Isn’t it funny that in all this misery and despair, we laugh?”

“There’s been a lot of crying going on lately,” I said gruffly, hoping he got my point.

“Yup,” he said softly, his hand in mine. What was it with this hand-holding we had going on?

“I used to watch you,” I admitted, trying to get back on the honesty train. I wanted it—more of his secrets. All of them, maybe. “Barefoot out there in the grass.”

“It’s a thing my therapist said. Connecting with nature. It’s supposed to soothe your soul.”

“Did it work?”

“No. Not really. But it seems to have made you…” He stopped and waited, like I was supposed to finish his words, understand all of this when I had no clue. Just…

“I like…” He was looking down at our hands rather than at me, sat there like a fool.

“I’ve never had feelings…for anyone like you.” He spoke quietly. “But there is something here, isn’t there?”

“I’m not gay.” It came out of my mouth automatically, and he snatched his hand back, or tried to. I caught it, held on tighter than perhaps necessary, but I was panting.

What was I saying? The thoughts were racing through my head as I tried to compose myself—standing up, then sitting myself back down, and then grabbing both of his hands. I held on for dear life.

“I don’t know anything about bisexuality,” I admitted. “I have no idea what I am doing here, Dylan, but I like you. So much.” I was almost exhaling the words. “I like what we have, the way we function, and everything we’ve built over the past weeks. Months. It’s been almost two months, hasn’t it?”

“Seven weeks,” he said quietly.

He wouldn’t look at me.

“But there’s something here,” I agreed.

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Good,” I said, finally letting myself relax. My shoulders ached with the tension I’d carried…for a while. Too long.

“I don’t know how this will work,” he said. “This is all…very strange.”

Smile. A small one. I liked those. So much.

“I like it when you smile,” I admitted.

“You make me smile,” he said. “I haven’t smiled this much in a very long time.”

Silence. Just the two of us breathing. Him, so incredibly calm. And me?

“Where do we go from here?” I asked, my voice barely there.

“We just keep going,” he said, finally looking up. “Like this. We keep getting to know each other and see where we end up.”

“I keep doubting myself. Doubting everything in my head. How I enjoy spending time with you, and I wake up and hope you’ll be awake. I like it when we sit in the garden.”

Rambling.