Page 12 of Penn

“Girls?” she inquires.

“Never before. But…I like to think that I could. For the right girl. I want to be married someday, have a family. Lots of land and maybe some animals.”

“Those are big ambitions.” Hearth looks at me, giving an earnest smile. “I like it.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” I finish up the last few bites, feeling warm and satiated. “Not to commandeer our entire dinner conversation, but, I’ve also been wanting to tell you that I’m sorry if my visiting you was an invasion of privacy.”

She shakes her head. “No apology needed. I think it was sweet.” A beat later, she asks, “So…you…read my stories?”

“Your mom gave me some of them. I didn’t read them.”

“She said you liked them?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Little fib.”

Hearth gasps, clutching the necklace she’s wearing as if it were pearls. “The good firefighter—is aliar?”

“Ouch.” I wince. “Is that kinda harsh?”

“Well, you did lie to her.”

“I didn’t know what else to say,” I admit. “I would love to read them. Butyoudidn’t give them to me to read. They’re yours. And it made her so happy to hear that I liked them.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Do or say things that aren’t true just because it might make someone else happy. That’s not real.”

I see what she’s saying, deep down, and it hits me right in the gut. I set down my beer and look in her eyes. “That’s not what this is, Hearth. That’s not what I’m doing with you. I’m fall—” I clamp my mouth shut before I finish that sentence and potential ruin the rest of the night before it even really gets started.

“What?” she asks softly.

“This is real, Hearth. You said you could read everyone’s faces, except mine and your mom’s. Did you ever think maybe that’s because you just don’t believe what you’re seeing? We’re two people who both lo— care about you. What I feel for you is real.”

Why do I keep wanting to tell her I love her? That would be insane, we barely know each other. But somehow, I know that I do. Iknow it. I’m not an impulsive person but the compulsion to tell her is almost overwhelming.

“Another beer?” she asks, pushing back from the table. She starts to gather the dishes and I stop her.

“You cooked—andshopped. I got these. Want some more wine?”

“Sure, I’ll have a little more. Thanks.”

~ * ~

“If there’s a sauvignon blanc, is there a sauvignon red?” I muse aloud as I refill Hearth’s glass. “Or how do you say red in French?”

“I think it’srouge, but probably not for wine. There’s a pinot noir. Maybe there’s a sauvignon noir?”

“No idea. Maybe.” I meet her on the sofa with her refilled wine and my beer. She cozies up to me, as if it’s our third or fourth date and not our first. My arm falls around her.

“This is so nice. Thank you for the date. Is it a date?”

“I hope it’s a date.” I smile. “Thank you for being here.”

Her head tips back and her eyes gently close. I lean in toward her. My heart flips faster the closer I get. Hearth’s cheeks turn rosy the moment before our lips meet, just a featherlight connection that sends my pulse into hypoxia.

We break apart, and my eyes fall to the jewelry resting at the base of her neck. I reach down to her hand, holding it up to inspect the matching bracelet. “Did you make those?”

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