"She must be important in your life."
He smiled. "Ten months apart. We ended up in the same grade at school."
"Older or younger?"
"She's older."
Made sense. There was at least five years' difference between Ros and her brothers. She wouldn't say they were close, at least, not like Everett and his sister. "What's her name?"
"Haneul. But she goes by Hannah." He dropped his gaze and clenched his hands. "I've been told I talk about her too much."
The beers arrived. Everett's hands closed eagerly about his glass. He lifted it to his lips. Ros watched him and followed suit. Maybe once they got some beer in them, they'd both loosen up.
Noise happened on the stage, giving Ros a grateful moment of distraction. "Look, the band's warming up."
A bass player had appeared, as had a guitarist, who plugged into the amp. A piano player seated herself and looked over her shoulder until a sax player arrived. They continued making small noise while the tapas arrived at Everett and Ros's table.
The band announced themselves and slid into some rather classic jazz. It wasn't too loud, much to Ros's satisfaction.
She leaned over and placed a hand on Everett's sleeve, drawing his attention away from the food. "Look. I like you. Don't worry that you're talking too much about your sister. If it gets weird, I will let you know. I don't like awkwardness, and I will say something."
He nodded. He folded his hands before him and studied them. "Thanks. I..." He swallowed. "My last girlfriend thought it was weird, but she never said anything until we broke up." He pressed his lips together. "I think she thought three was a crowd."
His last girlfriend. Interesting. Did that mean he was thinking about his next girlfriend? "I don't mind taking things slow."
This earned her a look from his dark, expressive eyes. "Better than 'one-date-and-done'."
Did she just commit herself to a second date?
He interlaced his fingers before him and asked, "What do you consider as 'taking things slow'?"
She looked up at him. The live jazz music washed over them, filling in what could have been an awkward silence. Nobody had ever asked that question before. Usually, she'd mention she'd like to take things slow, sometimes after they'd tried to kiss her on the first date, and then they'd disappear after that. Not even friend-zoned.
Ros drew a breath. "I'm demisexual."
Everett blinked at her. She could see the wheels turning in his head but had no idea what powered so much thought. "I don't even know what that means," he admitted eventually.
The waiter arrived with a tray of small loaded plates. Couldn't his timing have been five seconds earlier? Without setting down the tray, he dropped the plates on the table one at a time with a quick explanation of what each one was. As soon as he'd unburdened himself, he took off, leaving awkwardness and bluesy jazz in his wake.
The music was nice, and the food smelled delicious. Shame Ros couldn't turn her attention to either one without looking like avoiding an uncomfortable subject.
Everett wasn't shying away. "Demi means half. How is one 'half-sexual'?" He did not touch the food.
Her finger traced the edge of one of the small plates. She had once worked out an excellent definition of what it meant for her to be demisexual. Had even written it down. Alas, those words deserted her now. "I'm... not sexually active."
"Oh. So, celibate?" He hooked a finger over the edge of the plate that she traced and slid it away from her touch.
"No, no. Well--yes, but... I don't know how to explain it."
"Do you want to be celibate?"
Ros shook her head.
"So, you do want to have sex?"
She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She shut it. What did she want? "I want to want to have sex. But I don't feel like having sex."
"Sex with me?"
Again, she had no words. Her face flushed.
He watched her and she couldn't meet his gaze. She slid the plate back that he had captured. "The waiter said this was chorizo."
"I'll trust his word," Everett said. The plate had two slices of toasted baguette with some kind of chunky salsa and a few slices of sausage. He lifted one and held it to her lips.
Ros leaned over and took the bite he offered. The richness of paprika spread across her tongue, the fattiness of the chorizo balanced by the fresh tomato in the salsa.
Everett popped the other half of the tapas into his own mouth.
Ros sipped her beer.
He swallowed. "You're a romantic."
"Am I?"
He nodded. "I saw your eyes light up when I brought over more hearts." He pushed away the half-empty chorizo plate and drew the prawn something-or-other over. "Plus, you didn't shy away when I offered to feed you." He offered her the king prawn in some sort of pastry cup to her lips. She took it. "It's not sex with me you object to, but sex in general?"
Unfair! How could he ask her a question when her mouth was full, and she couldn't answer? At least she could nod.
She swallowed so she could speak. "I've never been interested in sex before." Until now. Until him.
He held another prawn between his fingers. "And now?"
"I don't know."
He popped the prawn into his mouth and waited.
This flustered Ros even more. "Really, I don't. I have no idea, and that confuses me.
"I've never been interested in anyone before. I used to think I was ace, but I actually want to have a sexuality, so I got upgraded to demi. I just don't know how to trigger it.
"I mean, other people have lust and they seem to have no problems getting into each other's pants, but I don't really get that. I don't know how this whole sex thing works. I've never understood it before, but maybe I do now. I don't know." She waved that thought away.
Everett only sipped his beer. Ros continued. "I'd love to have a relationship. I want to love someone. But what happens if we go to bed and nothing happens? I mean, what happens if we fall in love, but I don't feel anything? You know, in the sex department?
"I know how important sex is to other people and I'm afraid it might not be as important to me. I don't want to disappoint someone I love. That's not something I want to do. I don't want that to be either a deal-breaker on behalf of the other person or a continual disappointment in my own life. Do I then put up with it in favour of keeping an otherwise great relationship?"
She let her head drop into her hands. "I'm afraid of that."
A cool, gentle hand patted hers. "You're putting too much emphasis on the important of sex in a relationship," Everett said. "The foundation rocks you build a relationship on are not the same rocks you get off sexually."
Ros risked a peek between her fingers. She'd just ran her mouth off and said some rather personal things, the kind of things she'd never expected to say to anyone. And here he was consoling her.
Everett pushed a plate her way. There was one more prawn cup thingie on there. She accepted the offer. He continued, "You said you wanted to take things slow. Most relationships do. Let us have a simple date tonight. We'll hold hands and feed each other teeny bites of fancy millennial food and listen to some good jazz. We're not going to have sex tonight. It was never my plan." He dropped his gaze. "But you're sounding like you are interested in taking our relationship to the point where the question of sex will come up, at least, in your expectation."
Ros wanted to kick herself. She wanted to take herself out the back and slap some sense into herself. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was carrying so much baggage."
He shrugged. "It's not like I don't have my own. At the risk of sounding needy, I'm currently asking myself what Hannah would say. I'm trying to solicit advice from my sister and she's not even here."
Ros wished she had someone she could ask. Soli's opinion was that all Ros needed was to have sex, and it'd all come to her magically.
Experience said otherwise.
"What is Hannah-in-your-head advising?"
"She
thinks you're either some psycho-bitch who's planned out the rest of our lives, including the names and career paths of our sixteen children, or you've never been in love... until now."
A lump appeared in her throat. She took a gulp of beer to wash it down, no, two. Okay, maybe three gulps.
"It's love," he finished before she could refute the charges.
She sputtered on her fourth swallow. "How can you say that?"
"No one admits to being a psycho-bitch. But a psycho-bitch would lay a claim to love. You fear either choice. Also, you don't play games. I've seen people play games."
Darn. Out of beer. Was he going to drink the rest of his? "Am I so transparent?"
He shrugged. "I think that's a good sign." He gathered her hands from her empty glass. "It's okay to like me. I'm flattered that I'm the first guy you've ever liked. We don't have to rush things. If you want to try sex sometime, we can, but we'll take things at your pace. Sex can be daunting, especially if you've never had it before--"
"I've had sex before," she blurted out.
His hands stilled. "You have?"
"It wasn't terribly exciting."
Was that a flash of pity on his face? "No wonder you've got hang-ups." He glanced to the table. "I promise, no sex. But we really must eat these tapas before they get lonely."
For a date that went so well, that had to have been the most awkward night Ros had had in a long time.
Everett had declared that they'd make that night sex-free, including no talk about sex, but anything else was fair game.
Ros had relaxed as much as she could, considering the soul-baring confession that began their evening. The beer was excellent, the tapas pretty good, if a little too salty, and the jazz music was a very pleasant surprise. No wonder Soli had recommended a jazz club for a first date. But would Ros dare come back?
At least she didn't leave her work shoes under the table.
True to his word Everett held her hand throughout the evening, even on the train ride home. He walked her home for her safety and bade her goodnight on the porch. "I trust you want to go out again?" he asked while he waited for his Uber.
She agreed. "What do you want to do?"
"Your choice. Otherwise, picnic in the park on Friday?"
Friday? Then she remembered she'd told him it was her RDO. "Honestly, I can't think of anything better than a picnic in the park." It wasn't like she had any other plans for the day other than laundry.
He smiled. "A picnic it is. Your basket or mine?"
His ride arrived.
"I'll make something," Ros offered.
He clasped her hand warmly. After all, that was their agreement.
Their date played in her head over and over and over, disturbing her sleep. Only a good, long application of the Sydney Tower to her shoulder blades got her to relax enough to get some sleep.
Maybe he was right. Maybe what she was feeling was love, and she didn't know what to do with it.
Not true, came her penultimate thought before sleep claimed her. She knew exactly what to do.
If only she could be so bold.
Late Friday morning saw Everett on her porch with an insulated bag of drinks. He'd texted her earlier to ask her preferences (Passito and Kole Beer) and told her to keep the contents of the picnic basket a surprise.
Okay, but it wasn't as if she had it packed with truffle oil and caviar. Triple-smoked ham, chicken loaf, three kinds of cheeses and a few heirloom tomatoes were more her style.
Select parks in East Fremantle could be downright lovely, especially on a November morning, when the grass was still Kambarang green, and the Freo Doctor had just rolled in, bringing the tang of the ocean over warm pavement.
Under a gum tree Everett spread the picnic rug while Ros pulled out the contents of her picnic basket.
The basket had been a gift from her parents several years ago, but she'd never had an opportunity to use it until now. It was a nice set, complete with plates and cutlery, but really, what were her parents thinking when they gave it to her?
Maybe they were thinking of a moment like this. Optimistic of them, really.
Yet here she was, opposite a rather handsome, educated man, hoping for... what?
Everett had ditched the three-piece suit and had adopted a loose pair of jeans and a T-shirt snug enough to leave nothing on his torso to imagination. Ros found she didn't mind. She herself had chosen linen pedal pushers and a vee-neck tee of a different shade of blue.
She might not have been experienced when it came to picnics, but she knew her sandwiches. If the sandwich had to travel for more than an hour, it was best it travelled separately, to be assembled just before eating. Otherwise, the ham went slimy, the tomato bled into the bread and whatever spread one had chosen would have protested its placement long ago.
Besides, what if Everett didn't like tomatoes?
To avoid further food protests, she'd packed a few cans of potato chips, as bags didn't like the tight confines. Strawberries were also in season. She'd raided Soli's latest pallet of Thomas Road jam berries in hopes that they would be considered romantic enough without being overly suggestive. For dessert, Tim-Tams would do. At least she knew he liked chocolate.
While he poured drinks, she pulled out the contents, laying them neatly upon the rug.
As she removed the last can of potato chips, Everett upturned the basket and gave it a shake.
How odd. Ros blinked at him. "Find what you're looking for?"
As he inspected the upside-down basket, a smile spread across his face. "Yes," he replied, quite satisfied.
"What? Didn't I bring enough food?"
He returned the basket to upright. "What you brought is just right."
Oh-kay...?
He didn't leave her time for awkwardness. "So, I crunch numbers by day and carve boxes by night, when I'm not avoiding my sister's questions. I know what you do for work, but what do you do when you're not earning a paycheque?"
He followed her lead and assembled a sandwich.
Good question. What did she do when she got home? Kick off her shoes, collapse on a couch, complain about something, get over it, and... cook dinner? Maybe? Give her mum a call? Wonder what kind of trouble Rascal, their latest, had gotten into? "Soli and I foster cats."
He paused in the buttering of his bread. "Cats?"
Ros nodded. "The shelters don't have sufficient room to keep all the animals they take in. Since our local shelter is working towards a No-Kill status, the more people who can foster, the more cats we can save." Though Rascal was earning his way to an early grave if he didn't stop his Houdini-ish ways.
"Doesn't it bother you when you have to give them back?"
Ros shook her head. She sliced her tomato thin. "We keep them just long enough to get them settled and adoptable, then they are off to their forever homes. Our work ensures over twenty cats a year find forever homes, as opposed to us permanently housing only one or two. Love 'em and let 'em move on."
"It's like a new pet every couple of weeks."
"Pretty much." Ros looked up as she put the top slice of bread on her sandwich. "You have any pets? Or is the dog Tyler’s?"
Everett shook his head. "It’s Hannah’s. I watch him sometimes.”
He said nothing more of his sister but turned his attention to the sandwich. "Not bad. I see why you like them freshly-made."
Ros left her sandwich untouched. "Maybe we should have sex."
Everett paused in chewing to absorb her suggestion.
At first, she thought her abrupt change of subject had offended him.
He swallowed his bite. "But it's only the second date."
Ros blinked. "What?"
He took another bite, making her wait until he swallowed again. "It's tradition to wait until after the third date, supposedly. Unless you're taking it slow, then you wait even longer."
Heat suffused her face. "That's not what I meant."
Everett looked about the park. A pair of mums and prams jogged al
ong the far path. Cockies squabbled up in the gum trees. Otherwise, they were alone. "It is a rather public place for a first time. You should have brought a second blanket."
Ros's jaw dropped. Then she saw the amused look on his face as he shoved the last bite of sandwich in his mouth. "You are teasing me."
"Guilty." He dusted his hands. "Don't let your preoccupation with society's expectations lead you to do something you don't need to."
Her hand tightened, squishing her sandwich. "But I don't want to be preoccupied. I think I'd feel much better if I, you know, gave it a go..."
"You mean get it over with?" He raised an eyebrow.
"No, that's not what I meant."
He leaned back on the blanket, propping himself up on an elbow. "What do you want? Do you want it?"
Ros inspected her ruined sandwich. "I want to want it."
Everett tilted his head sideways. "But why do you want to want it? Societal pressure?"
Ros sighed. How could she explain the unexplainable? "I think I want it. But I don't know. That's why I want to try it, to see if what I'm feeling is..." What? Her cheeks burned again. Where was her drink? She wanted to lay its iciness against her face.
Everett didn't move. "You think you might be in lust and you want to see if it's an itch you can scratch?"
An itch. That's how Soli had described it. Ros nodded.
"You sure it's the right itch?"
She shook her head. "That's why I think I should scratch it."
"Ah, the scientific approach." He sat up. "I can appreciate a good method." He popped open a can of potato chips and helped himself to a stack. "I'm all ears. What's your scratch plan?"
"My what?" She gave up completely on her sandwich, wiping her hand on a serviette.
"Your plan for scratching the itch. What did you have in mind?"
Ros didn't know where to look. She couldn't look at him. "Well, sex."
"Yes, but how? What did you have in mind?"
If her face was burning before, it must be sufficient to power a small town by now. "Do we have to talk about this now?"
Everett popped a few chips in his mouth and crunched away. "If you can't say it, how are you going to do it? You told me you were disappointed in your sexual experiences to date. Have you stopped to analyse them, to see where things went wrong?"
Be Mine: Valentine Novellas to Warm The Heart Page 55