Page 17 of True for You

“Now I’m picturing Jesus greeting you at the pearly gates but instead of them being pearls they’re just entirely made of garlic.”

I get a moan in response that makes me startle. “I would eat garlic Jesus. Just throwing that out there.”

“I really don’t wanna think about you eating Jesus, Christopher,” I tell him, wrinkling my nose.

Christopher sticks out bottom lip. Part of me wants to lean across the table and kiss his adorably pouty face, but I stop myself. Maybe if we were at home with just the two of us, but I’m worried public displays of affection like that aren’t okay.

But then I remember my conversation with Caleb recently. He didn’t truly think I was too needy. It’s time I put that little voice inside my head to rest. I trust Christopher. He’s incredibly good at communicating with me and as his alpha, I need to trust that he knows when to say no. If he was uncomfortable with anything, he would let me know.

With my mind made up, I reach across the table and run my thumb over the inside of his wrist, careful not to jostle him while he’s painting. I’m rewarded with a soft smile and I count that as a win, my chest lightening, knowing I took a step to shake off a little bit of this baggage I have weighing me down.

“What do you think so far?”

My eyes dart to Christopher’s mug, smiling to myself. “I love it,” I tell him seriously. He’s so neat and careful with his lines, covering his mug with vertical stripes of the ace pride colors.

“I think I’ll cover the inside with dots, just to mix it up, you know?”

“That’ll look so good, baby.” My eyes widen as they meet Christopher’s. “Shit. Umm, is that okay? Can I call you that?”

There’s a pretty flush to Christopher’s cheeks. He runs his fingers through his curls, getting them away from his eyes as he nods. “I don’t mind. I actually kinda like it.”

I clear my throat. “And for full disclosure I’m cool with pet names too. Just in case you were wondering.”

“Noted,” he says with a shy smile, going back to concentrating on his mug.

I pick up a clean brush now that my plate is completely black, dipping it into all of the brightest colors we have here. I splatter pink and blue and lime green onto my plate, making it a speckled masterpiece, if I do say so myself. I look around the room, finding a shelf filled with other painting supplies, spotting the thing I need.

I come back to the table, holding up a little bottle of paint with a tip at the end, perfect for writing words. “How good is your handwriting?”

Christopher raises his brow. “Pretty good.”

I hand the bottle over. “Can you write the words ‘special plate’ across the top? And then ‘celebrating you’ across the bottom?”

“Yeah, that’s easy enough,” he says, pulling the plate over. “What’s the meaning behind this? Is there a story about the special plate?”

“I told you it’s silly,” I say with a shrug. “When I was growing up, one of my friends had this tradition with his family. During birthdays or whenever someone did something worth celebrating like an A on a hard test or getting their driver’s permit or anything like that, the family would break out their special plate. Whoever they were celebrating got to use the special plate that day to make them feel special.”

Christopher pauses, looking up at me with the fondest look I’ve ever seen. “That’s the most precious thing I’ve ever heard. I love it so much and we aresodoing that in the future. Someday we’ll have a couple pups and they’ll get to have their turn with the special plate and we’ll be able to tell them we made it during our first date.”

I lick my lips, ignoring the way my chest surges with affection. “Already thinking that far in the future?”

“It’s hard not to,” he says slowly. “When I think about my future, you’re always there. I hope that’s not too weird. I know we just met--”

I cut him off. “Not weird at all. I picture the same, Christopher.”

“Good,” he whispers, going back to writing on the plate. I’m glad I asked him to do it because his handwriting is gorgeous, all loops and flow to it. When he passes it back, I take it with pride.

“It’s perfect.”

“I’m just about done with mine too,” Christopher says, going back to painting his mug. The colors look so nice together and I love the design he ended up going with. Before I know it, we’re both standing up and walking to the counter, dropping off our creations with promises of picking them up in a week once they’ve gone through the furnace.

“Thank you for today,” I murmur, reaching over and taking Christopher’s hand in my own.

“No, no. Thankyou, Parker. This is the best first date I’ve ever been on. The only thing that would make it better is if there was some sort of garlicky goodness to eat.”

I snort, shaking my head and squeezing his hand. “Lucky for you there’s a little Italian place on the way to your apartment.”

“Yep. Officially best. Date. Ever.”

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