Atticus and I were cuddling in his bed, totally zoned out to the sounds of the A/C and our own breaths. It was our--let's see, first date we met, second date kissed, third met his friends, fourth date ended at my place, so it was our fifth.
"Hey," he murmured, "you know how you always said you wanted to see Mount Rushmore?"
"Mm-hm." Who knows what you talk about at four a.m. moments like this?
"I was thinking we should go. I'm free the last weekend in August. We could do a roadtrip."
Long pause from me. Long, long long pause.
"Sure, if I can get the time off," I finally said, my thoughts racing. Atticus is leaving Chicago in September. He'll come back in a year, but two scant months don't really add up to long-distance potential, as I've mourned in this space before. Now the man wants to spend--how many days alone with me? Does this mean he might want to stay together? I don't even know how long it takes to drive to Mount Rushmore! Or is he just thinking we'll end our summer together with a bang? Can I even ask him what he's thinking after five freakin' dates?
Aloud I was trying to figure out how many days off I had left, and Atticus laughed at what he thought were my poor math skills.
Oh, I was confused, believe me. But not by my work schedule.
to be continued . . .
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