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Conner is driving Darren’s dusty red truck and Darren does not know how to feel about it. The sun is bright and warm overhead, and Conner’s hands are tanned and relaxed against the steering wheel. The windows of the truck are rolled up so they can talk without shouting, but Darren swears he can still smell the fresh sea salt air of the coast.
It’s a beautiful sight, the vast Pacific Ocean glittering just beyond the winding road, and something Darren has never grown weary of. The rest of the truck smells like dust and window cleaner and bark for his rockery, but under it all, just faintly, is the deeper scent of Conner’s cologne. Darren thinks he could stay there forever, if allowed.
“Why do you look so uncomfortable?” Conner asks, glancing over at him. They’ve been driving south down the PHC, away from the city, for almost an hour, though Darren’s lost track of where exactly they are. He never really knew where they were going anyway.
“I’m not uncomfortable,” Darren responds automatically and he can taste the half-truth. He’s just unsure.
“You are,” Conner counters. “You haven’t stopped fidgeting since you handed over the keys to this bucket of rust.”
Darren stops the restless bouncing of his knee. “I’m not fidgeting. And she’s not a bucket of rust. How dare you? You keep insulting my truck like that and I’ll never let you see the other one.”
Conner lifts one hand in surrender. “Won’t speak another word of it. And I’ll have you know I’ve never gotten in a car accident. Not even a fender bender. Haven’t even dinged someone’s door in a parking lot. Grade A safety record over here.”
Darren shakes his head. “It’s not that. I wouldn’t have let you take the keys if I thought you were going to text and drive and spin us out on the PCH and send us flying to our doom in the ocean.”
“Okay, so what is it? Because you’re kind of making me feel like I’ve kidnapped you.”
Darren shoves his hands between his thighs to keep from picking his fingernails. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to put the right words together in the right order. Clarity has always been one of his weaknesses. He likes Conner; that much he knows, that part is easy. He likes this man next to him, with his midnight hair and his bright green eyes. Wanting him was inevitable as the slow coming winter.
But wanting him is also the problem. Darren’s old life is not so far behind him. Months are not so long to heal soul-deep wounds, many of them cut by his own hands. He came to San Francisco to escape, not to pick up with someone new. His heart is still in pieces from this coast to the other, broken shards of himself scattered across different cities. It will take more than a half a dozen weeks out of Los Angeles to put himself to rights. And a new entanglement doesn’t feel the way the do it. It feels like an easy way to break himself apart all over again.
Conner is unlike anything he ever had in his old life, or at least Darren thinks he is. He doesn’t yet know enough about this man to make those kinds of judgments, hasn’t known him long enough. What he does know is that Conner is kind, and smart, and calm, and funny. Uncomplicated. But a collection of qualities does not a man make. All Darren really knows is how he feels when he’s around Conner – centered, grounded. He didn’t choose how he felt before, with Chris, and he did not choose how he feels now.
The words gather in Darren’s throat until he finally blurts out: “Is this a date?”
There is a moment’s pause before Conner responds. “What?”
“I know we’ve been like, hanging out, for a couple of weeks now. Which is great, don’t get me wrong. It’s awesome. You’re…yeah. I’m glad you were among the throngs of shoppers who witnessed my mortifying grocery store incident, and that you let me check out your choice vegetables.”
Conner snorts. “Charming.”
“Your automotive safety record isn’t the only Grade A thing about you, is what I’m saying.”
“You haven’t even seen my rutabaga yet,” Conner adds, as suggestively as a man can say a sentence like that, and Darren laughs. Some of the tension in his chest eases.
“So…is this a date?” He asks again, because it matters. He wishes it didn’t, but it does. If it’s a date, the last few weeks of hanging out mean something different than if it was just Conner being a friendly new neighbor helping him out. If it’s a date, then Darren needs to figure out just where his head, and his heart, is at.
Conner flashes a look over at him. “We’re going to a relatively secluded beach on a Sunday afternoon. I brought an actual picnic basket with actual sandwiches made from actual homemade bread and stuff from my own garden. I brought wine, nice wine. And cups. And if you’d like, I can read to you from some 19th century German literature I’ve got downloaded on my phone. Does all that seem like a date to you?”
Darren swallows. He wishes they were out of this truck so he could finally kiss Conner the way he’s been thinking about doing ever since he first saw him in that grocery store. The way he’s stopped himself from doing a few times over coffees or dinners at Conner’s place. Darren is not going to have their first kiss across the uncomfortable console of his truck while flying down the highway. Though he is more than happy to entertain the thought of later kisses in these seats.
Instead, he leans over and quickly kisses Conner on his cheek, just a fleeting press of lips against smooth skin. It’s not enough, but it will do until they get wherever it is they’re going and he can have more.
Conner’s smile is radiant, even as he struggles to keep his eyes on the road. “Well, I’m glad you agree it’s a date.”
Darren settles back in the passenger seat, muscles relaxing in a way they hadn’t before. He knows some days are gone forever, lost to the things he couldn’t change or control, and that it’s time to let them go. However hard that is and however long it takes.
But there is a road ahead of him, and a warm sun above, and, Darren realizes with a sharp inhale, Conner reaching over to take his hand.
“Yes,” Darren says finally. “It’s a fucking date.”
“Glad you finally caught on.”
Darren squeezes Conner’s hand. “This is nice, but you better keep both hands on 10 and 2 if you’re going to even dream about driving the Tesla.”
Conner laughs and Darren breathes easily.