“We are, but it would depend on the alternative.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I’d do whatever you wanted.”

Smiling, I tell him that I know that. I can feel that.

As the opening previews begin to play, he entwines his hand in mine and asks, “What type of date would you want to go on? One of those over the top movie types?” His eyes meet mine and I can tell he’s hoping that I say no.

Laughing, I shake my head. “No. I would actually just like to experience a real city date. You wouldn’t have to drive. We could just take the subway or the bus everywhere, and we could just spend the whole night talking, trying food in every diner we pass, and maybe, if I have a high tolerance for alcohol, drinking until we can’t take anymore. You think we could do that one day?”

“I do.”

“You promise?”

“Definitely.” He kisses my forehead before the movie starts. “I promise.”

“This is our stop,” Dean says, shaking me back into the present. He pays our fare and leads me off of the bus, and then he puts his hands on my shoulders. “If we’re going to do this, which we are, we need to establish a few ground rules first.”

“Why do we need rules?”

“To ensure that we don’t end this night by going at each other’s throats.”

“What are the rules?”

“First rule,” he says, trailing his finger against my lips. “No smart ass comments.”

I open my mouth to say something smart, but he quickly shuts me down. “I mean it, Mia. No smart ass comments, from either of us.”

“What else?”

“No sexual innuendos.”

“That’s your specialty, not mine.”

“Mia...” He waits for me to agree.

“Fine.”

“Good. And last rule: If you’re uncomfortable at any point, let me know.”

“Do you have something planned that would make me uncomfortable?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer. He just grabs my hand and leads me down the block, letting the cool night air bite at our skin with every step.

Shivering, I lean against him and he holds me closer, as he tells me about some of the places that we stroll by. There’s the bar where he almost fought Eric, the only guitar shop he trusts, and a row of coffee shops he used to go to every day until he, apparently, “got tired of drinking it.”

We walk past a small stretch of trees and he admits that he often runs there to clear his mind when he’s angry or frustrated after work. When I ask him how many times he ran there when I first arrived in Portland, he stops walking altogether and looks at me. Then he says, “Every goddamn day.”

“Have you done it out of anger or frustration recently?” I ask, not expecting his previous answer at all.

“No, not recently.” He looks genuine. “I haven’t had a reason to. Are you hungry?”

“Very much so.”

“Good.” He leads me back past the park and toward another stretch of downtown.

As we cross the street, he presses his hand against the small of my back, and with that small intimate contact, my heart begins to race. I almost give in and break our rule about sexual innuendos, but I hold back.

Dean stops walking as we approach a street that’s lined with white food trucks. “I think we should try something here.”

He must notice my hesitation, because he rubs my back and whispers into my ear. “I come here at least once a week on my lunch break. They have the best food in the city.” He even answers the exact question on my mind. “Yes, I really trust getting my food from a truck.”

“Okay,” I say, following him over to the first truck that’s parked at the curb.

“What do you like best, chicken, beef or lamb?”

“Chicken or beef.”

“Because you’ve never had lamb?”

“Because everyone knows you’re not supposed to try new food when you’re hungry.”

“Then we’ll get lamb, but we’ll get chicken, too, just in case you hate it.”

I laugh as he orders for the both of us. I try a Cajun chicken taco, something I refuse to attempt to pronounce, and after much hesitation, a lamb gyro. I attempt to hide the fact that it tastes absolutely amazing, that I’m silently kicking myself for not trying it sooner, but I’m sure the fact that I ask him to order another one, is a dead giveaway.

After we devour a few more gyros (okay, five more) we stroll down the block a little farther and buy a couple of sodas from a vendor, and then he makes me sit on a park bench to rest. Although there are tons of people around us, it feels like it’s only the two of us.

“What’s on your mind, Mia?” he asks, looking into my eyes.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying. You’re fidgeting, and you only do that when you’re thinking about something.”

“What if I’m itching?” I smile.

“Then you would’ve told me about it long before now and asked me to take you home. Tell me the truth. What are you thinking about?”

“I’m just curious, that’s all.”

“Curious about what?”

“What happened to your dad? Do the two of you still talk?”

He looks completely taken aback, but he doesn’t get angry. “When he found out I’d confirmed to go to Western Peak, he lost his shit. He put me out.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and he...” He stops, clearly affected by the memory. “He lost our house and had to move into an apartment, and he blamed me for it for a very long time, so I stopped talking to him for years. We spoke again for the first time this past Christmas ...” His voice trails off.

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you to stop apologizing for other people years ago.” He puts his arm around my shoulder. “Are you and your mom on better terms?”

“Barely. I’ve just learned to tolerate her more. That’s all.”

He nods, looking off into the distance, and the two of us sit like that for a while. We just let our minds drive us to different spaces.

“Are you ready to do something else?” he asks as more people crowd the park.

I say yes and he helps me up, leading me down a few more streets and into a place he considers his favorite bar. He takes me right to a booth that’s tucked in the back, and instead of letting me sit across from him, he pulls me onto his lap.

When the waitress walks up to our table, she doesn’t ask for our order. She simply sets down a tray of shots, and shoots us a grin before walking away.

Holding me still, Dean grabs one of the shot glasses and positions it against my lips. “I know you have no idea how to properly get buzzed, so I need you to trust me on this and let me show you.”

My cheeks redden as he slowly pours the cold liquor down my throat, as it burns all the way down.

He signals for the waitress and orders limes and lemons, and a few soft drinks, since I’m “a lightweight” and then he literally coaxes me through each shot.

After he tilts the last one against my mouth, his eyes hold my gaze. The way he’s looking at me now, sends a chill up my body. I can’t explain it, one look from him, and I lose my nerve and focus. It takes me back to the past, making me wish we ended up in a different present.

“You okay?” He eases me out of his lap and helps me to stand.

“Yeah, just tipsy.”

He starts to ask me something else, but I fall into him as soon as he stands up.

“Okay,” he says, laughing. “Maybe you just don’t need to drink at all.” He pulls me close and slowly walks me outside. He doesn’t even attempt to walk me to the bus stop, he quickly hails a cab.

Helping me into the car, he holds me against his chest and tells the driver to take us to “The Paramount.”

I look out the window as the car coasts through the sparse downtown traffic, as every street light seems to turn green the second we approach. I try not to focus on the fact that he’s caressing my back and kissing me every few minutes, but it’s hard to do with the liquor coursing through my system, with my body appreciating each and every touch.

When the car comes to an abrupt stop, I look out the window and see what type of place “The Paramount” is. The last place I would expect.