“No, no.” Her long, unhurried lick of her ice cream was a taunt, and they both knew it. “Whodoesn’twant to eat a food product that, when chewed, sounds like distressed mice were set loose in your mouth?”
“Goddammit, woman. Don’t insult the jewel in the crown of Wisconsin cuisine.” His attempted glare kept faltering as his lips twitched. “Besides, you’ll like them fried. Especially dipped in ranch. No squeaking, just melty goodness.”
“Whatever you say, Peter.” Popping the remainder of her conein her mouth, she chewed and swallowed. “By the way, you were right. The mockery portion of the eveningisfun.”
When he made an actual growling noise, she laughed, then tugged at his arm and set them back into motion. After muttering for a while about condescending foreigners, he looped his arm around her shoulders again and tugged her close as they walked.
She let the silence play out, content to enjoy the scenery and the man beside her.
After an early, extremely tasty dinner at a Nepalese restaurant located near the university campus, he’d taken her hand and led her to the Memorial Union building for ice cream, then to the shore of Lake Mendota.
The sun was beginning to set, splashing the horizon with pink and orange. Clusters of people sat on steps leading down to the water, earbuds in place, backpacks and purses by their sides. Others sprawled on the countless colorful chairs surrounding tables on a large patio overlooking the lake, chatting and eating and drinking beer.
The faint sound of live music drifted their way whenever someone opened a door to the building, but Peter drew her past the doors, past the crowds, and toward a spot on the steps where the lake lapped the shore only an arm’s length away.
They sat side by side, so close their hips and thighs pressed warmly together.
“I love this place.” Peter’s words were abrupt, his eyes trained on the water rather than her. “Mom and I would take walks here. There’s a path around the lake.”
She kept her voice gentle. “Maybe we could do that before we leave.”
“Yeah.” His fingers played with the ends of her hair, but he stilldidn’t look her way. “We’d come whenever I was upset. She knew I found the water”—he waved a hand—“soothing, I guess. We’d walk until I was tired, and whether I’d told her what was wrong or not, she’d hug me and take me for ice cream on the way home, even in the middle of winter. Either way, I’d feel better afterward. More settled.”
Gods above, she knew so little about his past.
There was the memory he’d just shared, of course. And she knew his mom had died while he was still relatively young. Somehow. He’d reluctantly told her that years ago, and she hadn’t pushed him to tell her more.
Yesterday, his father had essentially forced him to disclose his broken engagement, and Peter’s revelations had explained a lot. Before then, she’d never fully understood his obvious hostility toward her after their one-night stand. Yeah, she probably should have left a note, but why so much anger when he didn’t even know her?
It hadn’t made sense. Now it did.
So she knew a few things. A very few things. Otherwise, his past was a void, dark and featureless, and in deference to his private nature, she hadn’t tried to illuminate it.
But the moment had arrived. She had to know. She had to ask.
And if he wasn’t willing to offer answers after all these years, that would tell her something important too. Namely, that he wasn’t ready for a real relationship and might never be. That she should cut her losses and stop committing ever-larger pieces of her heart to him. That she should probably return to her family.
They’d reached a tipping point. Which way they’d fall—apart or deeper in love—she couldn’t say. But it was time to find out.
She let the silence linger for another minute. Then she broke it.
“What was your mother like?” she asked.
If Maria noticed how Peter immediately stiffened at her question, she didn’t show it.
“Because you and your father are very different from one another,” she added, huddling close to his side.
At sundown, the lakeshore breeze had grown chilly. He should take her back to their hotel, where they could both get warm. Get naked. Fuck away memories of his parents and everything else he did his best not to think about or discuss.
“You don’t say.” His voice was so dry, Lake Mendota should’ve evaporated on the spot.
When she shivered a little at the next gust of wind, he tightened his arm over her shoulders, hauled her even closer, and braced himself.
Talking about his mother felt like swallowing glass. But he loved Maria.Lovedher, and if he didn’t tell her now, when would he?
“Mom was soft.” The words were gruff, forced out syllable by syllable from the depths of his battered heart. “She gave the best hugs in the world.”
Maria took his hand in hers, her hold heartbreakingly gentle.