Chapter 100
Jason stood there and looked at Colby, framed by rain. Colby, who’d dressed up for him and then somehow forgotten or chosen not to wear shoes, which shouldn’t’ve tugged at Jason’s chest but did: those sock-toes, striped in matching color, showed vulnerable and sweet but tough as diamonds under generous blue skies. And Colby had come over here and smiled and talked about liking the weather. Had made a choice.
That choice reached out and reshaped Jason’s heart. It framed each beat in gold like the strokes of a brush.
No. A pen.
He whispered back, “You’re serious,” not because he doubted the conviction but because he wanted to hear it one more time.
“I am.” Colby did that swift lip-lick again. “I understand if you don’t want to, but I do think it’d be good, for all those reasons I mentioned, and—”
“Okay,” Jason said.
“Oh. Really?”
“You’re right. I want you. And you came over here and said you want me. I trust you. So, okay.”
“Oh.”