Page 83 of The Fix-Up

“I asked.” He paused and then, “So, the pirates are supposed to teach you about romance?”

“To remind me romance exists. I don’t believe in all that stuff. Or maybe I did once upon a time but not anymore. Sometimes I wish it were true. I’d love the grand gesture and the flowers and chocolates and hand-holding and asking my dad to marry me, a meet-cute.”

Gil’s brow wrinkled. “What is a meet-cute?”

“It’s the first time you meet The One. Like you’re both hailing the same cab or she bumps into you and spills her coffee all over you and you’re on your way to the biggest meeting of your life. The story you’ll tell your grandkids one day.”

“Ah.” He turned on his side. We were facing each other, which felt strangely intimate despite the three feet between us. This was an absurdly large bed for a guy who’d been as compact as Ollie has been.

“I’ve always thought maybe one day I’d be in a bookstore, looking at?—”

“Pirate romances.” His grin was quick and lethal. Boy, oh, boy, when he smiled, it made my stomach flutter in the most delicious way.

I laughed. “A good book about a serial killer.”

“How romantic.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe if I ever get a happily ever after, I’ll become a romantic.” I shook my head. “You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“You got information out of me, and I still know so little about you.”

He shifted onto his back. “Not much about me to tell.”

“Really?” I tapped my chin with a finger as though I was thinking about what to ask him when, in fact, I had a list of questions so long, it riveled a CVS receipt. “Because I have a huge list of questions. Do you iron your underwear? Why did you break up with your last girlfriend? Have you ever been arrested? What are your hopes and dreams? What’s your brother like?”

He didn’t answer right away, and I thought maybe he wouldn’t at all. I could all but see the gears working overtime in his head.

“No, I do not iron my underwear. Who does that?”

“Not even one time?”

“No.”

I hummed in disbelief.

He closed his eyes. “Once, but I recognized the final product was not worth the effort.”

“I knew it.”

“Okay, and what about you? Do you ever fold your clothes?”

“Hey, now, Oliver’s clothes are always folded and put away.”

Principal Gil raised a brow in reply. A piece of dark hair fell across his forehead in rebellion. I itched to push it back in place, so I shoved my hands under my cheek to stop myself.

“I have a very advanced clothing system,” I said. “A clean pile, a dirty pile, and a I-wore-this-once-and-I-can-wear-it-again pile. It works out pretty well for me.”

He laughed softly. “Question number two. My last girlfriend and I broke up because I moved back home with my stepdad and brother. It was a very mature, adult break-up. We discussed it over coffee and then parted ways.”

“Whoa. I can feel the passion. Did you break up or change phone carriers?”

“She was great, really.” He paused, searching for his words. His glasses were a little crooked from laying on his side. It was adorable. “I think I was the problem. Life got complicated. What about you? Last break-up?”

“Oophf.” I sat up and curled my legs under me. Better to put distance between us. “That would have been back in LA. Oliver was about two? He broke up with me because he thought the universe was telling him it was time. Turns out the universe was also telling him to get back with his ex-girlfriend.”

“Ouch.” He sat up and scooted a little closer. “Sounds like an idiot.”

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