Page 69 of Vipers & Roses

“So, do you swim here often?” Gabe asks, and I’m itching in impatience because this seems to be a warm-up to the crux of the conversation.

“That sounds like a pick-up line,” I chuckle, assuming that it isn’t and that he has a specific purpose for this spontaneous chat. But it’s worth having a playful dig to see how he’ll react.

His eyebrows cock, and I can’t read what his intentions are. “Do you?”

“What?” I’m confused.

“Swim here often,” he repeats, and I feel like an utter dick.

“Um, yes, most mornings unless I’m too hungover,” I confess regretfully, and he frowns disapprovingly at me. “That’s a joke, by the way.” Actually, it’s not a joke at all because there have been times when I drank too much that I was practically comatose. But I’m sure Detective just call me Gabe doesn’t want to hear about this nineteen, almost twenty-year-old’s drinking habits.

He steps up to the kiosk and asks me what I’d like. I suppress a cringe at the gross coffee served here, so I ask for a hot chocolate. He orders a black coffee for himself, and more regret stirs me that I shouldn’t asked for a grownup drink like coffee and realize what an utter lunatic I am when I’m in his presence.

“His mom died when he was eleven,” he says softly, standing close to me. “Has Cormac told you that?”

I exhale as the pieces of the Cormac Bernardi puzzle come together, bit by bit. “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t…we haven’t been dating long.”

He nods in understanding as his arm brushes against mine, and I wonder if he has noticed. Even the lightness of his touch blisters me. “It took him a long time to get over it.” he looks away for a second as a flash of anguish appears on his face, a memory of a dark day, but only for a tiny moment before it’s gone, and he’s back to that chiseled severity again. “Honestly, I don’t think he has gotten over it, but…”

Our drinks are ready, and he takes them from the barista and hands me a paper cup of hot chocolate, which I’m not in the mood for.

“I bet he misses her,” I say, watching him sip his coffee, only for him to cringe at the taste.

“Yeah, it’s terrible coffee here,” I whisper behind my cup.

“I don’t think I can finish this,” he states, holding the cup loosely, searching for a trash can, and spotting one by the kiosk.

I sip my hot chocolate, expecting it to taste equally as bad as their coffee, but I am pleasantly surprised at how nice it is, even though my stomach is too twisted in knots to enjoy it. “Here,” I suggest, handing him my cup, “you can have this.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t have a sweet tooth, especially in the mornings. Anyway,” he starts, sounding final, as if he’s about to end this very short moment before it even started, “I better head to work.”

“Oh?” I’m confused as I thought there was a purpose to this ‘coffee not-a-date.’ Or maybe the purpose was for him to tell me about Cormac’s mom.

He leans forward for a loose hug and lingers as I inhale in his cologne before he presses his lips against my cheek. When Gabe pulls away, he avoids my eye, as my cheek tingles from his unshaven chin.

“Take care, Rae,” he says, against sounding final, and I stand there alone with a cup of hot chocolate that I don’t want.

“You too,” I call after him, watching that backside move in those pants.

He stalls and turns back, looking directly at me. “Dinner?” he states.

“I’m sorry?” I’m unsure if I heard correctly.

“At my place?” he adds.

I nod as excited nerves buzz about in my stomach and chest. “O-kay,” I agree because I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean, look at the quality of that man.

“I’ll get your number off Cormac,” he tells me and walks away, leaving me stunned and flabbergasted at what just happened.

Maybe he doesn’t think I’m forever ruined and marred at the hands of rapists after all. Not that he knows who my rapists are and that one of them is right under his nose.

31

“Dinner could mean anything,” I mutter to myself as I kneel in the dirt, pulling grasses growing under the giant oak. Several bird feeders hang from the boughs, containing germinating seeds, and as a result, we have all these species of grasses growing in the garden from fallen seeds that have no business being here.

“He might mean dinner as a family with Cormac, the three of us. Or even worse, he could mean dinner as a family of four if Gabe brings his girlfriend, whom I’ve decided he must have, because how can a man like him possibly be single after all this time? His wife died when Cormac was eleven, so that’s nine years ago, and I stupidly forgot to give him my condolences for sadly losing a wife. I suspect, however, that the conversation was meant to be about Cormac, his son.”

I sense someone standing over me, and since my instincts are often on edge, I snap my head with the trowel in my hand, prepared to use it as a weapon.

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