With a rather juvenile roll of his eyes, he led me across the street to the ice cream parlor. “Maybe I’m in the mood for ice cream.”
“You don’t like desserts,” I said as Gideon opened the door for me. “You’re humoring me.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled. “Perhaps I simply enjoy your happiness.”
And yeah, I swooned. Just a little.
As we came to a stop in front of the counter, I inspected the buckets of different flavors, shivering in delight when he stepped up behind me, warming my back with his body heat. I leaned my head back until it made contact with his torso and smiled up at him.
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll kiss your face off,” I whispered as my cheeks warmed to match my melting heart.
Gideon’s smile grew, showcasing his dimple. “I thought I was too tall for you to manage such a feat.”
Biting my lip to stop my dopey grin, I shrugged. “I’ll use a stepstool.”
At that, Gideon laughed fully, the resonating sound booming through the small parlor. With a snicker, I returned my attention to the ice cream, wishing I could cool my burning cheeks on the glass.
“Now that,” Gideon murmured against my scalp as his thumb and forefinger teased the collar of my shirt, “I’d like to see.”
Oh my God, was he flirting? Were we flirting?
Nerves swarmed my gut as Gideon rubbed circles over the skin right beneath my shirt collar with his thumb. The cool ice cream parlor felt instantly hotter.
“What flavor would you like?” he asked before pecking the top of my head sweetly.
Asking for angel-flavored ice cream was far too scandalous a response, so I settled for, “Whatever you’re getting.”
“Are you sure? I’m getting a scoop of vanilla.”
“Just vanilla? That’s boring,” I teased as the anxious butterflies in my stomach calmed.
He harrumphed in offense. “It’s classic.”
“Sure.”
A few minutes later with our ice cream in hand, we sat on a bench outside the shop and people-watched as we ate. Gideon tasted my pistachio ice cream, then offered me a bite of his vanilla. Halfway through my cone, I wished I’d asked for a bowl. The Utopian sun melted my ice cream faster than I could eat it. I ended up licking milky liquid off the tip of my cone before it could drip onto my jeans.
Sticky-fingered and content, I rested my head on Gideon’s shoulder and looped my arm through his. He kissed the top of my head again. Quick. Light. Somewhat wary. As if he was a thief stealing a moment of someone else’s life. I nuzzled his biceps and didn’t even try to hide my sigh of satisfaction.
“How can angels own and run businesses?” I asked as I watched the busy coffee shop across the street. “Angel factions all have their own responsibilities. So how come these angels can be baristas and club owners and waiters?”
“These angels are either still in their training periods or on their gap,” Gideon said.
“Gap?”
“It’s like a vacation, I guess,” he explained. “After so many years dedicated to our purpose, we’re given a gap period where we can pursue other interests. When a gap period ends, we return to our jobs.”
“What if you like what you do during your gap?”
His brows furrowed. “Then you can resume that activity or work when you receive your next gap period, I suppose. But it’s not your intended purpose, so…”
“And your purpose is determined by what color your wings are?” I scowled when he nodded. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I suppose it isn’t,” he conceded. “But it is how things are.”
“People should be able to choose and follow their dreams.”
“Angels don’t have that luxury,” he said quietly.
As silence stretched between us, I scooched across the bench until our thighs pressed together. If he were Jai or Noel, I would have twined our fingers together, maybe even initiated a kiss, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. Gideon wasn’t prone to PDA, and the last thing I wanted was to make him uncomfortable. Hugging his arm was enough.
The hand on his thigh shifted an inch, and I nearly swallowed my tongue when his pinkie came to rest on my leg. It circled once, tentative and cautious. We sat on the bench, the quiet easing into something comfortable and content as the sun lowered in the sky.
His pinkie never left my thigh.
When the sun disappeared behind the downtown buildings, Gideon stood and offered his hand. I took it, and together, we walked home.
Jai and Noel weren’t home when we arrived, and I helped Gideon get dinner ready. We baked lemon chicken in a bed of seasoned rice with salad and steamed vegetables on the side. We spoke little, simply enjoying each other’s company.
As Gideon mixed homemade dressing, I sat on the counter, my legs dangling. His hip brushed my knee at even intervals, and I traced the swell of his triceps with my fingertips. His dimple appeared as he set the salad dressing aside.
Forcing bravery I didn’t truly feel, I shook his arm gently to get his attention. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” He shifted until he stood between my legs, hands on the counter on either side of my hips.
I swallowed my nerves, my cheeks warming. “Do you like kissing? Or do you only let me because—I don’t want you to do it just because I want to. It’s fine if you don’t—if it’s not something—”
I startled as his thumb and finger pinched my chin. His eyes glittered under the light, and his throat clicked on a swallow. Before I could stop myself, I touched him there, tracing his Adam’s apple.
“I do,” he said softly. “Enjoy kissing. Usually.”
“Good,” I said, my breath escaping in a shaky whoosh. “Could I kiss you now? You said usually. So, it’s cool if you don’t want to right now. Then I’ll just hug you and tell you how much I enjoyed getting ice cream with you and holding your hand and helping with din—”
Cupping my chin in one hand, Gideon cut off my blubberings with his mouth. I slipped my arms around his neck, bringing our chests into contact as I kissed him back. He placed a firm hand on my lower back, and I sighed into his mouth.
“No walking on eggshells, remember?” he whispered against my lips.
“I just”—I kissed him—“don’t want to make you”—another kiss—“uncomfortable.”
He separated us with a stern eyebrow arch. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. You don’t scare me.” Then the sneaky man winked, and an uncharacteristic growl rumbled in my chest.
With a needy whine, I thrust my fingers into his hair and kissed him again. Harder. Like I meant it. He chuckled, his hand on my chin sliding around to grasp the back of my neck.
My tongue darted out, tasting his bottom lip, and he gasped. I took advantage, dipping my tongue into his mouth, and his gasp garbled into a groan. I’d never heard him make that sound before. I freaking loved it.
“You taste like vanilla ice cream.” I panted the words as I tangled my fingers in his hair.
“B-Boring?” he stammered.
I took in his flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and somewhat bowled-over expression. I grinned, rather pleased with myself. “Classic.”