Page 71 of Come Back to Me

“Which are?”

“He’s loyal. Good at keeping secrets. Mean shot. And he’d take a bullet for someone he loved.”

“He didn’t show any of those qualities when we were in school.”

“Why would he? He was on the hockey team.” He crows. “He didn’t need to do anything else to be cool.”

“Ugh, boys suck.”

“Yes, we do.” His arm scoots behind my headrest.

My lips part at the gesture.

That’s a move, right?

“So, you’re gay?”

I pause. The question on its own is one thing, but with the shift of his arm, it’s another.

“No. I’m pansexual.”

He hums.

The sound trips something in my brain, which is used to doing the humming, never mind hearing it.

Especially in C-flat.

What the hell is it about this man?

(And why do I want to climb him like he’s a tree?)

Before I returned to Pigeon Creek, my muse was in a chokehold. Playing for the orchestra, even one as prestigious as mine, seemed to suffocate my creativity, but since that coffee morning with Nonna, I can’t stop it.

“Remind me. Being pansexual’s where you like...?”

“Everything and everyone. You like the person, not the physiology.”

“Like or love?”

“Either or.” I frown. “Why?”

“Just curious. You eaten?”

“I snuck some of Zee’s trail mix. Why?”

“Want to grab some takeout?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?”

“Because you need food? Me too. I skipped dinner.”

“Okay then.”

“You good with junk?”

“Always good with junk. Junk is my fourth BFF.”

“Know what I learned today, aside from the fact you’re pansexual?”

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