9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

" M arshall…" My boss's voice was an unwelcome distraction. Annoyed, I pulled my headphones off, twisting to offer him what I hoped was a simpering grin—and not the glare I wanted to level him with. "Are you watching…" he read the caption of the video on my computer, his brow furrowed in confusion, "ten hours straight of cat sounds?"

"Yes." I stared at him, hands still on my headphones.

"Can I ask…why?"

I squinted at him, unsure why the hell he cared. "Because I hate them."

"You hate…cats. So you're listening to them for ten hours straight?"

Well if he put it like that it sounded rather idiotic.

"My boyfriend has two felines. I am simply acclimating myself to their horrible chatter, so that they will not startle me when I am at his home." That wouldn't happen today—fuck you Barry (the buffoon). But at some point in the near future, I would be inside Felix's home again. There would be hair. There would be claws. There would be sounds . I was simply planning ahead.

And also, maybe, making myself feel better that our date tonight had been rearranged.

"You have a boyfriend?" My boss blinked at me, because apparently he wanted to bother me all day.

"Why do you look so surprised?" I squinted at him.

"I didn't know you were gay."

"I'm not." My hackles raised as I glared at him.

"Don't look at me like that. I don't care who you sleep with, Marshall. I just…" He cocked his head at me, folding his arms over his rotund belly. "I've worked with you for ten years. And I've never seen you go on a date with anyone. I didn't think you did that."

"If you must know, I am demisexual and demiromantic." Thank you, Google.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, my sexuality is none of your business. Now leave me alone."

"Right," he laughed, eyes crinkling affectionately. Harold was a good boss. He had a tendency to ramble, yes, and he often smelled like Doritos, but he was always fair. Always kind. I didn't like people—but I supposed I didn't hate him. Not as much as I hated most everyone else. "I'll leave you to your cats."

Finally .

Before I could put my headphones back on to torture myself till the end of my shift—and my date with Felix—Winnie texted me. I lamented my life as I pulled my phone out of my pocket, frowning down at it.

Winnie: Don't forget to bring a condom.

A cond—oh. Oh no. We were not having sex tonight. We were going to a carnival . There would be caramel popcorn, cotton candy, dunk tanks—and screaming children . Can you imagine? Sex at a carnival? Too much noise. Popcorn in…crevices that should not be violated with confectionaries. The crowds, the people, the germs.

Absolutely not.

There would be no sex at the carnival.

I would rather die.

Perhaps afterward? But no. No, no. Not then either. There wasn't a lot I felt confident about lately. Seeing as I was now quite committed to someone, despite being sure I would never, ever feel this way about anyone. However, I was quite certain I wasn't ready for sex. Not without at least kissing first. Right? Wasn't there supposed to be some silly sports game that dictated how far you went on each date?

Something about goals.

First date meant first goal.

Not a hole-in-one.

Oh god .

Fuck.

I needed to do more research.

I was not ready for this.

What if Felix asked about the goals? I got the feeling he wouldn't know. I'd never even seen him with a phone out. The man was one of those weird people that barely benefited from modern technology. It was one thing I liked about him—at least…until now.

We could probably kiss—maybe. But if he asked to go further, I'd have to tell him about the dating rules. And if Felix asked me about the goals, I was going to make a fool of myself.

Why had I not thought of this before?! I spent nearly four hours last night Googling sexualities and the gray-sexual spectrum. And yet, it hadn't even crossed my mind to look up sex itself. Jesus Christ.

Distracted now, I texted Winnie back.

Me: No.

Winnie: Marshall. Safe sex is good sex.

Me: No sex is good sex.

Me: At least…not tonight.

Me: I hate you.

Me: Why are you making me talk about this?

Winnie: I was promised details.

Me: I am horrified. You are horrifying. Horrifying, Winnifred.

Winnie: Look

Winnie: I don't want to know the nitty gritty.

Winnie: But I am concerned you don't know how to properly date.

Me: Of course I do.

Winnie: …

Me: Did you just send me an ellipsis? Who does that?

Me: You know what…never mind. I don't even care. Don't bring up condoms again or I'm blocking you. I'm serious. I've done it before, and I'll do it again.

Winnie: Okay but joking aside Marshall

Winnie: Even if you're not planning on having sex tonight

Winnie: It's a good idea to bring condoms with you. Stuff happens and the last thing you want to be is unprepared. You're a planner. So plan ahead.

When I unblocked Winnie, I waited until long after I'd driven home from work. Unfortunately, I spent all the spare time I'd alloted in my tight get-ready-schedule panicking over what to wear while I wore nothing but socks and stood inside my walk-in closet .

Dinner had been chicken breast and rice, as per usual. And my shower had been molten hot. I scrubbed every last inch of my body till I squeaked. Then brushed my teeth three times just to be sure. Then, and only then, did I unblock my sister.

When my doorbell rang, I was annoyed at first, but only until I saw the gift awaiting me.

An apology gift.

Wrapped, practically luminescent, and perfect. The lovely, colorful box sat on my front stoop with a little bow on the top and a note that read: Enjoy.

Now that was more like it.

It felt too light to be anything cake-like. Perhaps it was one of the gourmet chocolate bars I liked? Humming to myself, I took my gift inside, shut the door, and pulled the ribbon free with one hand. With the other, I unblocked Winnie and called her. She picked up immediately.

"I take it you got my gift?"

"Yes." I tore through the wrapping paper, and then the tape, giddy. I'd always loved receiving gifts. Almost as much as I hated giving them. It was something my three sisters had always liked to use against me.

"Are you opening it?" Winnie asked on the other end of the line.

"Yes, of course I'm opening it." The tape was stubborn and hard to pull apart, but I managed—tugging at the cardboard with a grumpy, excited hiss—only for the box to tear open violently, spilling everywhere and —

Oh god.

Oh god .

"Winnifred Nadeen Warden." I stared in horror at the hundreds of colorful little packages that now covered my usually impeccably clean front walkway like porn confetti. " Did you send me a gift wrapped box entirely full of condoms? " Shell-shocked, I didn't even know what to say.

"Fuck you" did not suffice.

Winnie's cackling was so loud I was tempted to mute her so I could make it stop. But…my wits were not about me, so I didn't do that. No. Instead, I continued to stand there, staring at the rainbow of condoms like if I waited long enough—if I prayed hard enough—they'd disappear.

"Videochat me," Winnie commanded between wheezing guffaws. "Oh god. I wanna see your face so bad right now. "

"You are a bad person," I decided, standing in the halo of condoms, my eyes wide. "You are a horrible, bad, no good, awful person."

"I know, I know—" Winnie cackled. "I'm sorry—"

"You're not sorry."

"No." She laughed again. "You're right. I'm not." More cackling. "No glove no love, Marshall!"

I hung up on her then. But it took me a long, painful minute to decide how best to manage the mess that now littered my floor. I didn't want to run late—but my mind was too frazzled right now for me to feel comfortable leaving this…here.

If the date went badly and I came home to a landslide of condoms I would probably combust. So, with an unhappy groan I struggled to my knees—damn you, aging, you dirty bastard—and began to collect the rectangles one by one. All the while, I cursed Winnifred.

"Condom sending, motherfucking shit ass." I shoved handfuls into the box, righteously indignant. If this creased my pants I was going to have an aneurism.

"Goddammit."

By the time I was done, I was running five minutes off schedule—and panicking again. Felix was supposed to meet me at the carnival, as he'd be inside the dunk booth when I arrived. Which meant, he was probably already on his way.

I was going to watch him drive , dammit. I'd put that into my schedule and everything! It wasn't fair. Because of Winnie and her damn prank I had missed out on some valuable stalking time.

She wasn't getting a Christmas present for five years.

No.

Ten.

Fifteen .

Yes.

That seemed fair.

Because of her I had no idea what car Felix drove.

It. Was. A. Travesty .

Oh !

And for her birthday all I'd get her was a gift card to Marshall's. Take that, you latex-sleeve-gifting-hussy. Grinning evilly, the perfect revenge in mind, I pocketed a handful of the condoms—just in case (because Winnie was right, I was a planner)—and headed out the front door.

I dodged the pothole at the end of the cul-de-sac, grateful when I passed Barry's awful yellow house and realized his car was still there. I hoped that would mean I wouldn't have any run-ins with him on my date with Felix today—as he'd already ruined enough of our plans.

The sun had sunk below the horizon—the lavender sky peeping between tree trunks and white picket fences as I headed toward the fairgrounds right behind Main Street.

Beach Town was small but cluttered. We had every shop we needed, and then some. The streets were lined with cheery street lamps. And ivy dripped down houses and the lovely mom-and-pop shops that lined the streets.

As I drove, I passed by the building where The Club often met. Allen was outside, and he waved at me as I passed. For a moment I worried I'd missed a meeting—but I hadn't gotten the group text about it, so I was certain he must be there on other important business.

Beach Town was exactly the kind of town you wouldn't expect to be filled with serial killers. It was picture perfect from the outside, all sunny smiles, shiny buildings, and community.

I'd done my best to fit in here—as was the purpose of a chameleon .

And I thought I'd done a rather good job.

I didn't hate my work. I didn't hate my boss. I hated my neighbors—but they really only bothered me during the summer. Everyone knew me as Marshall the grump, and I was fine with that. I understood them and their need to gossip. I understood how the world worked here, and the social hierarchy inside it—all suburban moms who jogged in the morning, and PTA dads.

What I didn't understand was Felix.

Why he'd moved here when he so clearly didn't fit in.

He was not trying to fly under the radar like I was—unless of course…he was.

More confusing than Felix's decision to live in bum-fuck-nowhere, was the fact that he was so determined to help me.

Perhaps he felt he owed me? After I'd helped him.

Or maybe he…liked me.

That thought made me giddy.

Either way, I was just genuinely excited to spend time with him. Which was not a feeling I had ever felt about someone else before.

I didn't understand, but…I supposed I didn't have to.

At the end of the day, why he did what he did was none of my business unless he wanted to share it with me. Until then, I was going to brave the crowds, and do my best to woo him off his pretty—because every part of him was obviously pretty— feet.

Maybe if we went on enough dates he'd be willing to share some of his secrets with me?

A man could dream.

It took me quite some time to find the dunk booth. Not because it was very well hidden or because Beach Town's annual summer carnival was very big (it wasn't), but because I had stepped on a piece of gum on my way through the front gate.

I tried to ignore it for a while, determined to find Felix before he valiantly braved icy water for me—but with every step I took, I could imagine the gum sinking deeper and deeper into the grooves at the bottom of my loafers. I barely managed a few yards before I gave up and bolted back to my car where I kept my wet wipes in the trunk.

When I returned back through the gates of the carnival, ashamed, the teller who had sold me my ticket was laughing at me.

I growled at her, and she balked. Her laughter stopped entirely as I marched my way past the ticket selling booth and headed deeper into the crowd. Served her right. The fair was so loud. It had too many people. Too many sounds. Too many smells. Too many lights.

Why had I agreed to this?

Because he's doing it for you, my mind helpfully supplied.

Because he saved you.

Because cotton candy, Marshall.

Perhaps…Felix deserved a little loyalty in return. My small inner bitch reminded me that I'd disposed of two bodies for him—and maybe that was enough loyalty, but I quickly squashed that voice down.

The truth was…I liked Felix. I had come to terms with liking Felix. I wanted to spend more time with him, and if—my head swiveled, watching a gaggle of teens perform what looked like an odd, jerky mating dance in front of a selfie stick—dealing with idiots was the price I had to pay, I would do it.

Grudgingly.

But I'd do it.

When I found the dunk booth I was more than a little shocked to see just how many people had gathered around it. There were at least fifty. Which may not seem like that many—but when your town has a population of five hundred, that's a pretty decent chunk.

Ten percent of the entire population was crowded around the small see-through glass booth that currently housed Felix Finley, a tiny, masculine madman. They were loud, and smelly. Colorful. Distracting.

Fifty whole entire people.

Fifty .

And yet…my eyes were Felix's and Felix's alone .

He looked lovely up there. Which I know is a ridiculous thing to say about someone when they're dressed in a baggy t-shirt with a charity logo that says "Dunk for Fun-k" on it—but it was true. He was lovely. So incredibly lovely, even with his damn hat and sunglasses on.

He looked like a douchebag wearing sunglasses at night, but somehow that only made him lovelier.

The stars hung in the sky overhead. They were half blocked by the glittering lights of the ferris wheel that climbed toward heaven, framing him through the glass. It lit his pale hair gold, casting refracting, flickering lights on the icy water that sat at the bottom of the small booth. Above the water, with his short legs dangling, Felix sat on what looked to be a repurposed diving board. Said diving board was connected to a mechanism that ran along the outside of the booth where a rather large—too large, if you asked me—target sat mockingly.

There was a line of people already waiting ten or so feet away from the target. The first in line already had his hands inside the large basket that housed the balls that would be thrown at the target—to inevitably send Felix falling into the icy water below.

I'd appreciated his sacrifice before, of course I had.

But I clearly hadn't appreciated it enough.

Because as I stood there—tall enough I didn't have to crane my neck to see despite being at the back of the crowd—and stared at him sitting prim and proper on his little rickety red diving board, I was struck with an overwhelming rush of relief .

The idea of this had been hellish.

The execution was worse.

The fact he'd spared me from it was— god .

My heart was racing, my palms slick with nervous sweat. One of my hands gripped tightly to the bouquet of flowers that I'd brought Felix—because I refused to be shown up by a dead man. The thorns from the roses pricked my palm, not hard enough to draw blood—but certainly hard enough that they centered me in the present.

My head was in the stars.

My heart was in that tank with Felix.

The black trousers he wore clung to his muscular, supple thighs like a second skin. He was wearing sneakers that looked far too big for him, and I could only assume they were loaned to him by the booth itself so that he wouldn't have to ruin his own shoes. I hoped there wasn't something dangerous inside the water when he fell—like rusty nails at the bottom—or unfinished edges.

If he got hurt I wasn't sure what I'd do.

Send a very strongly worded email to the city council maybe?

Or cut Barry's head off with a hacksaw.

Both.

Both were good.

When Felix saw me his face lit up. I was so attuned to him now that I could see it, even with his horribly, shoddy disguise in place. A smile flitted across his lips, rapidly growing by the minute—like the clouds that had obstructed it from view were clearing.

He raised a hand just as the first kid in line raised his own. The ball went sailing as Felix waved, the lovely span of his fingers delectable, even from a distance. Behind him, a cheer went up as a roller coaster's passengers took a dive, the rattle of the tracks echoing through the crowded space. I raised my hand in return, high enough he could see—despite the fact I felt like an idiot doing so.

Felix had waved at me once before, that night last winter. I'd ignored him then. And I'd come to regret that choice. Now there was no ignoring him. I waved back, more enthusiastically than I'd waved to anyone before.

I looked like an idiot.

Just as idiotic as the teens I'd run into on my way here.

But I didn't regret the enthusiasm. How could I, when Felix's eyes widened with delight? Thud, thump. The first ball missed the target, falling to the grass beneath it.

My heart lurched, and all too soon our little, precious moment was over. A chime rang over the crowd, the thunk of a second ball hitting the target square-on, causing a riot of chatter to explode around me. There was a creaking sound, a snap, and suddenly Felix was in the water.

When he popped back out, I wasn't certain what I expected.

But once again, it wasn't what I received .

Apparently, I wasn't very good at predicting things today, because rather than looking contrite, irritated, or ready to murder—as I would—Felix looked… god —he looked happy .

Brighter than the stars that flickered in the sky above. His smile was riveting, all wide angles and sharp edges—pointy, crooked teeth glistening. When he stood, water cascaded down his lithe form. The t-shirt he wore left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It stuck to his nipples, creasing at his shoulders and chest, highlighting the swell of his pecs and the curve of his supple biceps.

His trousers were no better. They clung to the curve of his cock, wrinkling around it, and making its presence rather obvious. When he pulled the hem of the shirt up—flashing the crowd his flat, pale belly, I nearly shoved my way through them to cover him up.

But I was far too riveted.

There was a dark trail of delicious that led from the hem of his pants upward toward his belly button, and it taunted me as Felix wrung water out of his borrowed shirt, then let it drop back into place. Water droplets tickled down his sculpted forearms into the small pool he stood in.

The water came all the way to his knees, practically drowning him.

Somehow, Felix had lost the hat and the sunglasses.

They floated and sunk, respectively, as he tipped his head back and laughed .

I'd never truly believed in God, despite living in a home that went to church every Sunday. My mother had sworn by his grace, and all my life I'd prayed, despite never truly feeling any faith myself.

But in that moment, I believed .

Because Felix Finley was so damn beautiful, only a god could've made him.

His eyes found mine, and my stomach squirmed as that gorgeous grin was directed my way. There was something familiar about his smile. Like I'd seen it before. Like this wasn't the first time it had caught my attention—but that thought quickly passed.

When Felix's eyes met mine the crowd melted away like they'd never been there at all. It was just us, just the stars, just the long, lovely line of his neck, his dimples, and the water that glistened like jewels on his pale skin.

As quickly as it had come, our moment was broken.

Felix moved out of the way and the diving board snapped back into place. And then he climbed back on top of it, his ass flexing in his wet pants, to start the process all over again.

Over the course of the next hour, up and down, over and over, Felix fell and fell and fell.

And every time he did, he found me in the crowd, he smiled, and he laughed.

Like we were sharing a private joke.

A private moment.

Like we were the only two people here .

I wasn't sure my heart had ever really worked properly, not till that night, with Felix's joy directed at me. For a man that was taking my punishment, he sure didn't seem all that upset. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to know why he hid behind his hats, why he covered up a face so pretty even the angels would be jealous.

I wanted to know why he killed.

Why he didn't often cry.

Why he cared about me when all I'd ever done was complain about his lawn and accidentally steal his packages.

I wanted to know why he kept cats.

Why he had no repeat visitors.

Why his house was a time capsule.

I wanted to know every last, intimate detail about him.

In my life, I'd often lost interest in things. People were boring, their stories repetitive, their emotions confusing and uninteresting. I learned skills because I needed them and not because I cared. I observed, because to stop was to risk revealing myself.

There was no losing interest in Felix Finley.

Every time I saw him, I only wanted to know more.

The only other thing I'd ever cared this much about was killing—and that was saying something.

When it was finally time for Felix's shift to be over, I began making my way through the crowd to meet him. A couple, dressed in matching couple shirts—horrendous—blocked my way. Irritated, I tapped my foot at them, waiting for them to move—only to catch the tail-end of their conversation.

"He looks familiar, don't you think?" One of the men asked, clinging like a horny koala to his partner's arm. "Super familiar."

"Huh," the other agreed, a thoughtful frown on his face.

It was odd. I'd had the very same thought. That was the only reason I paused to listen at all—to see if they would have any more relevant, somewhat helpful information. They didn't. Instead, they started talking about clocks—or apps—or some other drivel I cared very little about. So I moved on.

Once again, someone got in my way.

"Christ," I muttered, more than a little annoyed. Could they not see the flowers? Had they not seen the looks Felix and I had been sharing? It was very obvious where I was trying to go—and yet everyone was determined to get in my way.

"Who is that?" one horribly dressed, brunette woman asked, right as Felix moved out of the little changing booth that was parked next to the dunk tank itself. My eyes were immediately drawn to his damp hair—pushed back and away from his face, and the way the light played across his rather perfect cheekbones.

"My god, it's Felix Finley." The other woman—who wore a pair of khaki overalls and a smart watch she couldn't afford—cackled, clearly delighted. "You know it's odd to see him out like this."

"I've never even seen him before. "

"I only recognize him because of Barry's party last summer—"

Jesus god, could I not go a day without someone mentioning the damn party? It was like the general population was determined to punish me.

"You know there's rumors about him—"

"Oh, I know."

"They say he never leaves his house."

"I heard he's on the run," The second woman laughed, and I was officially annoyed. Well, I mean, I'd been annoyed before that moment too. I lived in a constant state of annoyance. It was my comfort zone, and I liked it there.

"Excuse me," I said, aiming for pleasant and landing somewheeeere close to murderous. "But I am trying to get through, and if both of you don't shut up I am going to scream."

"Hi, Marshall," both women swiveled to face me, clearly not cowed.

"Goodbye, Marshall, you mean." I waited, foot tapping, flowers still clutched in my hand. Their eyes widened and they both laughed again, glancing at me, then the flowers, then me again.

"Are you here on a date, Marshall Warden?" Khaki woman asked. Was I supposed to remember her? Because I definitely didn't.

"I am trying to be," I countered, foot still tapping. Arching a brow, I waited for them to get the hint. Was I being subtle? I didn't think so. I thought the whole goodbye-Marshall bit was rather obvious—especially when paired with me very clearly stating that I was trying to get through.

"With who?" Brunette's eyes were wide. She glanced over me, her gaze falling to my chest and the muscle there. She bit her lip, staring rather offensively. "Do I know them?"

"No, but apparently you know of him," I was quick to respond, "as you are gossiping about him like a couple of nosy hens."

They laughed, once again not cowed.

Was I not scary anymore?

Was it the sweater vest?

I didn't like this one bit.

"Felix Finley is your date?" Khaki asked in disbelief. "Oh my."

I didn't know what to do. Why weren't they moving? I'd been clear, hadn't I? How much clearer could I be? Steam was practically coming out of my ears as my brain stuttered to an awful, screeching halt.

Once again, I was saved by Felix, because of course I was.

He was my night with a shiny smile, after all.

A chilly hand met my elbow, tucking inside it. It gave me a tight squeeze as Felix easily inserted himself between me and the loud, terrifyingly brave women.

"Is he bothering you?" he teased, voice light, eyes sparkling. I melted, tucking into him immediately—flowers forgotten. I dipped my head down and tried to surreptitiously sniff his lemon-y hair. I knew first-hand just how soft it was—and despite being wet, Felix still smelled like I remembered.

Inhaling greedily, I gave up on being subtle and instead crowded greedily against his side. It felt second-nature to curl over him protectively with my bulk—despite the fact that at the moment, he was the one doing the protecting.

I knew what he was doing.

He was deflecting, working the crowd in a way that I had always known people could do—but never managed myself. Like a politician, or a celebrity. He seemed to know exactly what to say to get what he wanted.

People-wrangling was not a skill I possessed.

I hadn't known he did either.

Till now.

The women laughed, delighted . "Oh, that's just Marshall for you," one of them grinned. "Always grumpy."

The other snorted out in delight.

Who in the hell were these people? And how did they know me?

"Do you mind if I steal him?" Felix asked, giving my elbow another squeeze. Like a gentleman, he did not point out the fact that I was sniffing his hair and practically purring. Felix's body felt comforting and cool in my arms—not overstimulating, loud, and smelly like the rest of this place.

"Go ahead," the women grinned, ice broken, before turning away from us and finally— finally —leaving us alone.

Felix directed me out of the cluster of people who were beginning to disperse—almost like they'd been there to watch him, and him alone—and not the other volunteers at the booth. That in itself was odd. Was the population of Beach Town really that nosy?

Yes.

Yes it was.

Leading me through the crowd, Felix only paused when we found a less populated alleyway between vendor tents. At the end it led to what looked like a giant sheet suspended high in the sky, a movie playing on it. There was a crowd of people lying on blankets clustered beneath it, watching it, enraptured.

When I saw a square-headed grumpy old cartoon man yell at a child to get off his lawn, I recognized the movie immediately.

Without prompting, Felix laughed. Apparently he'd seen what I had. I was so startled by the sound, I jerked a little in his grip. Twisting to get a better look at him, my heart thudded unsteadily as a sunny smile split across his face. I hadn't noticed when—but he'd put his wet hat back on. The sunglasses, however, remained blissfully in his pocket—or missing, wherever they'd ended up.

He was in a dry t-shirt now, the same kind they'd had him in the booth. It was odd seeing him in something so casual and modern. But I liked it. Maybe a bit too much.

"What are you laughing at?" I asked, more than a little curious.

"That's you ."

"What's me? "

"That old man," Felix pointed at the screen—exactly where I'd just been looking. Flabbergasted , I stared at him, then the screen, then him again. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, clearly delighted as he teased.

"That—what—" I'd seen that movie. Of course I had. I was unfortunate enough to have nieces and nephews—and this was not the first time I'd been compared to the cranky old man on screen. However, this was the first time it made me blush.

My cheeks flushed, and my heart thundered—an odd feeling—but not…unpleasant.

"If you're trying to insult me you've failed. All I see up there is a man who knows how to protect his property." My chest puffed up, pride bursting inside it. "He's a good man," I added, in case Felix hadn't seen the full movie and needed the cliff notes. Felix cocked his head at me. I answered his unspoken question eagerly, "loyal, even after death."

I didn't really understand the look Felix was giving me, but I liked it. In an odd way it felt like…crepes. Complicated. Buttery soft, delicate but hardy enough to hold fruit. Sweet, doughy. Powdered and covered in sugar.

"You're old-fashioned," Felix said.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No. Not at all." Felix's small, secret smile as he turned back to the movie, felt like a prize I'd won. Bigger even, than the stuffed creatures that hung above the game booths we'd walked past. When he gave my elbow another squeeze, and my heart soared. "Quite the opposite. "

So he liked old-fashioned.

That was nice, right?

Yes.

Yes, it was.

I licked my lips, cheeks still burning as I imagined what that might be like. A traditional life with my non-traditional hermit husband. Our children could be his cats. I would resent them, quietly, but buy them Pedigree cat food. On the weekends I'd mow our lawn and prune our garden. At night we'd dance beneath the stars beside the grill that sat on our back deck.

I'd feed him, anything to make him happy.

He'd crochet gifts for my sisters for Christmas, and they'd laugh and giggle when they saw what delightful things he'd come up with. We'd share stories beneath his telescope—look up at the stars, and wonder what was beyond them.

I'd go to work. My coworkers would ask me what I'd done for the weekend—and I'd tell them "nothing" but secretly I'd know that "nothing" with Felix was better than "everything" with anyone else.

Perhaps a little less traditional, I thought about my… hobby . About what that might be like to share with him. I could tell him about Alberta, maybe. Could take him to my hunting grounds. We could write the world's wrongs together. Perhaps he had compulsions of his own—compulsions I was still curious about, but was patient enough not to ask about.

We could go together, stalk our prey together.

The night would be our cloak .

We'd revel in it. The hunt. The victory. The relief, when that itch was finally scratched once again. I'd watch the blood splatter his lovely alabaster skin, and I'd want him. I'd want him so badly I wouldn't know what to do with myself.

Felix and I watched the rest of the cartoon movie. We sat on the grass on a blanket I bought. The vendor had been stationed at the back of the group of people that populated the grass. I bought us popcorn—popcorn that Felix pretended to eat, though I didn't understand why he felt the need to lie. Did he think I wouldn't notice the fact he was throwing the pieces behind him instead of eating them?

I gave him the flowers, and he flushed—a shy, nervous little thank you, the sweetest reward I could've ever received. You'd think he'd never received flowers from a date before, but I knew that wasn't true. Still though, his reaction made me happy.

The movie was enjoyable, the popcorn too.

As we finished the film, Felix stroked the petals of the flowers I gave him.

When I bought him a new hat—one less horrifying , and less wet than the last one—he smiled at me again.

For the first time in my life I knew why people spent all their time fantasizing about relationships, about love, about partners and families. I understood why they'd struggle through dating, through the awful Google searches, and the existential crises. Why they'd learn the social cues, the order of the bases—not goals. Because if this was at the end of that —I could suffer through more dates like this.

And we all know I wasn't suffering.