Page 90 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Gideon’s back!” she yells. “Let’s go say hello, Mom!”
“Let’s wait until he’s settled.”
An appalled expression sweeps across her features. “But that could take forever! I want to see him now.”
“We’ll wait,” I tell her firmly.
But the little troublemaker scrambles onto the back of the couch, cranks open the window and yells, “Gideon!” in a voice so loud I’m sure the echo of it reverberates through the neighborhood.
Gideon is busy helping Uno out of the car. He looks up immediately and spots Lisset waving energetically to him out of the window. An easy smile splits his face. With no hesitation, he crosses the street with Uno and walks straight toward our house.
My heart gives a hard and heavy thump in my chest.
Lisset hops down from the couch and races to the door. I marvel at the fact there’s no pretense with her. She’s excited to see Gideon and making no attempt to hide her excitement. Unlike me. How ironic that as we become older, we shedour childlike openness and it becomes more about games and pretending. A mating dance with rules so confusing and complicated no one knows where they stand anymore.
I feel too jaded for games, but I also know I can’t show my eagerness as freely as Lisset.
I watch from the window while Lisset updates Gideon on everything that’s happened in the two weeks he’s been away. I let her have her time and then I wander out to greet him.
“You’re back.”
He focuses on me with that distinctive intensity that thrums through my blood. “I am.”
“How was your trip?”
“Good. Relaxing. How about you? How are you?”
“Fine.”
We stare at one another.
Lisset, bored by the exchange, asks Gideon if she can walk Uno up and down the street to stretch his legs.
“Sure, as long as it’s okay with your mom.” I nod my assent, and he hands her the leash. “Make sure you walk where we can see you.”
Exactly what I would have instructed her.
When Lisset is out of earshot, he asks softly, “Did you miss me?”
I don’t quite meet his gaze. “No.”
“Liar,” he murmurs, a trace of a smile in his voice.
“I might have missed you a little,” I admit.
Gideon tips my chin up with one finger. “Did you miss me enough that when I ask you out again on a date you’ll say yes?”
The silence lasts perhaps ten seconds before I give in.
“I don’t know,” I say in a near whisper. “Are you asking me?”
“I do believe I am.” There’s a streak of vulnerability in his face I haven’t seen before.
I smooth my hands nervously over my denim-clad thighs. I’m hovering on the brink of saying yes, but the word seems to be stuck in my throat.
“How about we take it one step at a time?” he proposes, his deep voice low and even. “We start off with one date.”
“One date,” I echo.
