Daddy [mxm]

20

"What is this?" I frown dubiously at the gorgeous dahlias in my hands.

"Has no one ever bought you flowers?" Bret cocks his head.

"No, as a matter of fact. What am I supposed to do with them?"

"For starters, keep blushing just like that." Bret grins and I feel my cheeks heat up. I clutch the flowers tightly to my chest. "Then, when you get home, put them in water. Then think of me a lot."

The bookshop date is like something out of a rose-tinted dream. We pass under the rustic awning and step into the little shop, the bouquet of flowers in one hand, Bret's hand in the other, and a tote bag on my shoulder. I survey the array of books crammed into the small, antiquated place with awe. It's an arresting sight, overwhelming in its splendour.

"I want something just like this," I murmur in awe, gazing around the space. "A little place that I can open and close whenever I want. And it'll only have the books I like."

"Well, you have read enough to fill a bookstore." Bret thumbs my cheekbone. "I love listening to your gasps of surprise every time there's a plot twist."

"I do that?"

Bret tucks a curl behind my ear.

"You have an expression for, like, every sort of plot element. I could read a book just by watching you read it."

"Ah, but then you'd be missing out on the incredible power of words." We start strolling down the aisles, looking for nothing in particular. I like words. I can pin down big things, like Bret, into small things with less than ten letters each. Handsome, sweet, caring, sexy... "Look at all this." My fingers trail over the spines of the books. "Thousands and thousands of stories. All in one space. They say a reader lives a thousand lives, you know."

The dark, oak-panelled floor creaks delightfully under our feet.

"Tell me again about metaphors," Bret implores, a tender fondness in his eyes.

I launch into the power of metaphors, similes, and analogies in general. "You are...a delicious piece of cake to a diabetic," Bret surprises me by blurting. This gives me pause for a long moment. I turn around slowly.

"Okay. So you have been paying attention. I'm actually impressed."

I make one purchase, and then we're strolling through the dimly-lit city at night, past restaurant and bars, pinkies loosely entwined.

"What're you going to name your bookshop?"

"I don't know. I still need to think of a good bibliophilic name."

"Any ideas so far?"

"Nope."

The dazzling city lights mingle in a brilliant, bokeh effect. We take selfies and candid shots of each other, and I let myself believe, all the while, that this isn't too good to be true.

Somehow, we wind up lying in his truck bed, stargazing and holding hands.

"I don't understand why it's so easy with you," I murmur.

"It hasn't been easy for me," Bret returns, staring up at the sky.

My heart sinks at the reminder of the way I ghosted and took him for granted. "I wanted to scream, I know. I saw you with my dad. I know you're texting him. Why won't you even look at my messages? I didn't want to seem desperate. But I was. You were giving me breadcrumbs, making me feel like I wasn't worthy of your time but also making sure I could never get over you. I would've waited, stuck in limbo, forever."