“Do you want a ride?”

It was the same question posed to her every night. Between a prosperous Thursday and the illumination of a Sunday. Four opportunities in a week, eight in a fortnight, sixteen in a month—so on and so forth, tumbling into a well of infinity filled with an eternity’s worth of possibilities. If she rejected his offer enough times, perhaps he would stop asking, and she wasn’t quite sure if that concept relieved or aggrieved her. On a night like tonight, the inclination was toward the latter, if only as a confession to herself.

And Isabella Ulrich would bite her own teeth before ever confessing such a thing to anyone else.

The answer had always been, “No, thanks. I’ll walk.” Isabella, for better or for worse, had always been independent. Many of her decisions in life revolved the encouragement of self-reliance within herself, such as where she lived, what she ate, where she worked, what she wore, where she went to school, and who was close to her—arguably, the most important. 

For her, everything fell into one of two categories: the things she wanted and the things that would be best for her. Sometimes the two coincided, but often, the two were just ships passing in the night.

7-Eleven wasn’t the ideal choice for a part-time job, but it was close to her apartment and accommodated her class schedule. She would’ve preferred a queen-sized bed, but a twin was the most reasonable choice. Isabella had a preference for Modelo, but settled for Coors Light as the more economic option. She fought with her boyfriend nearly everyday, but they had been together for five years and he loved her.

At least, that’s what he told her.

And most days, she believed him, because she simply couldn’t see a benefit to such deceit. What was there to gain in pouring tender words into her heart if he didn’t actually mean them? They had lived in different cities for a good four years now, hundreds of miles apart, and they’d remained obstinately committed to each other. 

Surely, it was love keeping them together.

But there were times where tremors of doubt would shake Isabella’s resolve. Their entire relationship since graduating high school into their respective universities had been maintained via the shitty mobile phone she’d had since she was seventeen, now possessing a single strip of electrical tape to bind the loose battery cover into place. One would think that, under such precarious circumstances, her phone would be the biggest threat to their relationship.

It couldn’t be further from the truth, however.

No, the biggest threat to their relationship was a disillusioning lack of effort. There were times he wouldn’t shoot her a text at all throughout the day, or give her a call in the evening before he went to bed. There were times she would send a text and he wouldn’t respond for two days nor call unless she rang him more than twice. If she was having a bad day, she had stopped expecting to receive comfort when she sought it from him, teaching herself how to draw it from his silence instead. And on the off chance they did speak, it would become an interrogation.

“When are you going to join me in Seattle?”

“When I have the money,” she would answer.

“Okay then, when are you going to get a new job?”

“When I can find one that fits my schedule,” she would answer.

“When are you going to change your schedule?”

“Maybe next semester,” she would answer, “we’ll see how it goes.”

He would call her wishy-washy. Berate her for a lack of consideration to his feelings. His needs. “I miss you,” he would tell her, “and I want you here with me.” 

But when she asked him to come visit her in Los Angeles, he would tell her he couldn’t get the time off, or he couldn’t afford to skip out on overtime pay. When she offered to visit him in Seattle for holiday, he would say work was much too busy for him to give her the attention she deserved.

And today, she’d had just about enough of his contradictions.

“I can’t ever fucking win with you!” Isabella had been on her thirty minute break, pacing the length of the alleyway near the convenience store’s backdoor. “All you do is bitch, and bitch, and bitch! You can’t tell me you miss me when you never even make an effort to fucking call me!”

“What do you mean I never make an effort, Isabella?!” She could hear something sizzle on his end—fresh sausages on a slick pan, most likely—and her stomach growled violently. She’d forgone lunch once again since money would be tight until her next paycheck on Friday. “I was the one who called you tonight, because you wouldn’t answer any of my texts today! You never make the time for me!”

“I never make time for you…?” Though the words had pushed past her trembling lips in the form of a whisper, anger had begun to form into a ravening storm within the pit of her stomach, tumultuous tremors ripping through veins thickened with boiling blood.

“Listen, Isabella, I get it. You go to school, and you have work—seriously, I get it! But don’t think I don’t know that you’re holed up in that apartment, sitting in front of that fucking laptop on your off days, typing up some stupid stories that you’re never gonna publish anyways. You’re always so distant—you never pay any attention to me, and it makes me feel like shit!”

The rage rose into her throat like bile, the bitter bite on her tongue as she shouted, “YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT?!” The dam built specifically for her patience had worn away beyond salvation. 

Pulling her phone back from her face to glare into the flickering screen, she used it as an effigy of him. “Oh my god, you’re delusional! You’re actually so fucking delusional, it might warrant pro-fucking-fessional help! You want to know what makes me feel like shit?! It’s the fact that you never—”

The backdoor she had been pacing past opened suddenly, catching her arm and weakening her grasp on the device in her hand. With a yelp, Isabella watched it impact with the asphalt, the loose battery cover breaking free of its bindings which launched the battery out of its socket. It scattered across the ground toward the opposite end of the alleyway, successfully ending the call before Isabella could finally air out all her grievances. 

“Shit,” she hissed, scrambling for the disassembled phone, “shit, shit, shit!”

After collecting the scattered pieces, a breathless Isabella whipped her head around to look at the backdoor, knowing exactly who she’d find standing within its threshold. “Should you really be cussin’ and screamin’ like that at, mmm—eleven o’clock?” Of course, he flashed her that same smug grin he always did, as if the corners of his sinuous mouth were curving up into the devil horns that hadn’t sprouted from his head.

“Mind the business that pays you,” she warned, attempting to reassemble the device before a thought occurred to her. “Which should be you manning the counter—who the hell is watching the store, Gilbert?!”

“Relax, Bells,” he drawled, pushing his lax hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I got it all under control.” There was always a bounce in his mannerisms, whether intentional or subconscious, that enhanced his easygoing demeanor. If Isabella hadn’t known any better, she would fall for his nigh unshakable confidence like any other sucker on the street and take him at his word.

But if his god complex were even remotely justified, Gilbert Scott would be more of a trickster than holy and benevolent.

Isabella rolled her eyes, marching her way toward the door with the intention of sliding in past him, but he immediately blocked her path with the shift of a single leg. “Whoa, and where are you going?” 

Gilbert was tall—so tall—and it pissed her off when he peered down at her that way, an iridescence in those crystalline blue eyes which blinded her beyond rhyme and reason. She had been reduced to some soft, fragile little thing under his gaze, and her gut instinct was to revile him so she wouldn’t fall to her pitiful knees in capitulation.

“To do your job, apparently,” she spat, brows knitting together. “Now, if you’ll please excuse—”

Gilbert reinforced his blockade by propping an arm up against the doorframe, bringing his forearm level with her face. “Who were you yelling at?”

“What?” Her growing annoyance was making it difficult to process anything aside from her desire to shove his arm out of her way.

“You were yelling at someone,” he said, a dark edge to his tone. “Over the phone. Who. Was. It?” With every emphasized word, Gilbert leaned in closer, crowding the space around her face.

Isabella recoiled, trying to maintain a respectable distance. “That’s none of your business,” she sputtered. “I don’t pry into your personal life, so you have no right to pry into mine!” Though she captured his eyes to pour her resolve into him like a round of tequila shots, Isabella found herself shaken by the dark quality his gaze took.

“Is that so?” The timbre of his voice dipped dangerously low, his mouth unsmiling. His eyes drew a tantalizing trail down her face and neck until it stopped on the phone in her hands. Then, he unceremoniously snatched the device from her to fiddle with it. Before she could even protest, Gilbert bitterly inquired, “Was it your boyfriend?”

Long, testy fingers had nearly pieced her phone back together when Isabella breathed out, “Yes.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been so entranced by his hands until all motion had come to a halt, urging her to look up at his face. She had been anticipating it—the way her lungs would seize up in her chest as they held each other’s gaze, blue sapphires boring into a honey-brown soil.

But the spell was almost immediately broken by the snapping of plastic.

“Whoops.” There wasn’t a hint of remorse in Gilbert’s voice as he held up the split battery cover, electrical tape hanging off one of the pieces. “Guess you’re gonna have to buy a new phone.” He dropped all but the broken battery cover into her hand before walking back into the store, tossing the pieces into the break room’s garbage can without sparing her a single glance.

Isabella’s mouth was agape, shocked as she stared at her phone in horror. Through gritted teeth, and with as much vitriol as she could manage without popping a blood vessel, she growled out, “GILBERT!”

For the past six months they had worked together, it had been like this.

Since the day he walked into their store alongside their manager, Gilbert Scott had woven himself into the very fabric of her reality. The static of his existence overwhelmed her, pushing the edge of her nerves further to ruin. He had slipped himself between the gaps of her gritted teeth. He had become the tongue that would never fit comfortably within her mouth. He would pinch the tips of stray tresses between the vexatious pressure of his forefinger and thumb, twisting until he had become her split ends.

And she should’ve known he would become her undoing. From his tousled, movie star hair to those glittering teeth, sitting within his vulpine mouth. His tower-like stature, strong limbs threatening to cage her like a bluebird. Those designer sunglasses perched upon his perfect nose. Some luxury brand she’d never heard of, proud and pretentious slipping off the tip of his cherry-tinted tongue. Sharp jawline in rotation, popping bubblegum as his sumptuous lips twisted into wry curves.

It annoyed her. He annoyed her.

“You will be teaching him the ropes, Ulrich,” her manager had dictated. “He’ll be working the night shift with you from now on. It’s dangerous for a woman to be alone so late at night, you know?” Their manager, of course, had left them shortly after.

Isabella dug through the break room, running through the precursory information as she secured a dark green work shirt for him to wear. From his silence as he shrugged it on, she had foolishly believed her initial impressions were misguided—that things would go smoothly, and she would have pleasant company as the work hours passed. A sense of authority had rushed through her as he followed her around the store, the brunt of his attention bringing a satisfied smile to her face. She enjoyed teaching, even if it was merely training a new hire at the convenience store.

“Any questions?” Isabella had asked. Gilbert leaned against the counter, sunglasses long since removed from his face. Those limpid blue eyes were bearing down upon her, magnetizing to her lips in a way that made her self-conscious stomach flutter. “What’s wrong?”

“You stopped talking,” he pointed out, leaning into her personal space. “I want you to keep talking.”

Isabella blinked up at him, utterly bemused. “I’m sorry…?”

“I like the way your mouth moves,” he told her with a seductive grin. “Keep talking until I tell you to stop.”

“Excuse me?!” A blaze of anger ripped down the length of her sternum, the heat causing her skin to flush. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I would suggest you watch your mouth when you speak to me!”

“Why watch my mouth when I can watch yours?” Gilbert had chuckled. “Give me your number, I’ll take you out somewhere nice after this.”

“I’d rather swallow my own tongue!” Isabella was a patient person, but Gilbert’s unprofessional behavior had been completely unprecedented. Sure, she’d dealt with plenty of jerks, but never like this.

Gilbert waggled his brows, licking his lips. “I’ll swallow it for you, if you let me.”

Instinct—she hadn’t thought about it. As if possessed, her hand struck out across his cheek, his eyes blowing wide open with shock. With the offending hand lingering in the air, she fought for control over her stupefied tongue. A deep shame washed over her as she stared at it, smarting in the wake of her strike. “I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Holy fuck!” Gilbert’s dumbfounded mouth had formed into a grin, palm pressed against his stung cheek. “I think I saw heaven,” he remarked with a breathy laugh, looking at her with a thrilled expression. “Hit me again.”

All shame and embarrassment had evaporated, leaving behind only the smog of her rage. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Isabella stormed past him, but he followed behind her with the desperation of a starving dog.

“Wait! You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

“I do, actually!”

“You should break up with him and date me, instead.”

“No! Now, stop following me!”

“Mm, can’t. You kinda gotta train me.”

“Ugh!”

Of course, she had reported him. It was then that she discovered Gilbert had been hired as a favor to his father—a close friend of their manager. After a severe reprimand and an apology issued to Isabella, the two had started their tentative working relationship, if it could even be classified as such.

Quickly, Isabella realized that Gilbert had no concept of professionalism nor politeness. He said and did whatever he wanted with no regard to social conventions. He had a bad attitude, terrible manners, and an even worse personality. And sometimes, she was convinced he was deliberately trying to sabotage her.

He would use the potato chips she just restocked as hacky sacks. Distract her with incessant chatter as she counted the tills. Spill sticky soda on the floors she had just finished mopping. Talk to customers so rudely, she was forced to deescalate by covering the cost of their purchases.

There had even been an incident where she’d been trapped in the bathroom by heavy boxes of shipment stacked in front of the door. And his excuse for leaving her in there for so long?

“Y’see, Bells, there was this cute blonde at the register…” She couldn’t remember the rest. She had tuned him out. As always, it had just been his annoying, senseless drivel, and it drove her up a wall.

However, while she’d never openly admit it, there were times she found Gilbert charming, and that thoroughly confused her.

Every night, before replenishing their stock, Gilbert set out the last turkey sandwich in the break room for her, pairing it with a bottle of the prune juice she liked. He had made fun of her for liking it at first, sure, but he never neglected to get one for her since the discovery. He always held the edge of the counter above her head when she bent down to access the safe, rescuing her from bumping it a handful of times in the past. And whenever she had to get on the ladder to access the higher shelves in the stockroom, he always offered to do it in her stead, knowing she wasn’t particularly fond of heights.

He was always there at the counter with her later in the evenings, taking his break far earlier than normal to stay physically close when it was the most dangerous for her to be alone. On more than one occasion, Gilbert had taken over interactions where a man decided it was the appropriate time to chat Isabella up, and make an inappropriate comment while he was at it. The frost in those crystal eyes never failed to send shivers down her spine, but they almost always glowed like the sun once the danger had dissipated. 

And sometimes, in her desire to pin him to a science, she attempted to study the duality of Gilbert Scott, mulling him over in her mind late at night in ways unbecoming of a taken woman.

But Isabella policed those thoughts with a firm, precise hand, reminding herself to not waste such energy on someone who likely forgot about her the moment she left his line of sight.

Since that first interaction, Gilbert had kept his flirtatious behavior toward her to a minimum, horrifically opting to spit game with the customers he didn’t insult. Despite his intensity toward her back then, Isabella had fully convinced herself that Gilbert was merely a hornball that would fuck anything that moved, his flirtations reserved for anyone and everyone. 

There was no way he had any genuine attraction toward, nor could develop any feelings for, her. Not that she wanted that—not really, at least. Though, the idea of someone pining for her was certainly an attractive concept…

Isabella shook her head. Enough of that. She returned her focus to the banknotes between her fingers.

Gilbert had taken to lounging on the stool behind the counter, uncharacteristically quiet as he stared off into space. Typically, Isabella would scold him, reminding him of some task he’d yet to complete. 

But much to her surprise, he had completed everything already. 

While he had certainly gotten better about his work ethic over the past six months, she couldn’t recall a single time he had completed his work an entire hour before the end of their shift. Gilbert liked to drag things out, distracting himself with any trivial thing in an attempt to procrastinate.

His elbows were propped up on the counter, tactile fingers pinching the stem of the lollipop in his mouth. Occasionally, he would draw her attention by absentmindedly rattling the hard candy across the ridges of his teeth. 

Isabella, despite her best efforts, would look over, and just in time to catch the sight of his tongue wrap around the hard candy, too. His lips were stained red, and for whatever reason, that caused a deep ache to form in the tremulous, torturous rivers of her core, averting her gaze to quell whatever these inexplicable feelings were.

“Hey, Bells,” he said suddenly. “Can I ask you a question?”

She didn’t look at him. Looking at him felt embarrassing, somehow. “Even if I say no, you’ll ask me anyway.”

Gilbert chuckled. “You know me so well.”

“Against my will, I assure you,” she quipped. “Now, go on. Ask your damn question.”

“So hostile.” Though, he smiled warmly. Gilbert clearly liked it when she was mean. “How long have you been with your boyfriend?”

Odd—he didn’t ever ask questions about her relationship. Sure, maybe a petty comment was made here or there, but never something so direct. “Five years,” she replied dryly. “Give or take a few months.” Isabella wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, piquing both her curiosity and her nerves.

“Hmm.” She could hear the saliva in his cheeks as he popped the lollipop back into his mouth, tongue swishing around the sweet flavor. It made her wonder, briefly, if his kiss would be cherry-flavored. “How come he doesn’t pick you up after work?”

“Uh, he lives in Seattle.” Isabella kept her voice level, sorting the audited banknotes into a deposit bag.

“Long distance?”

“Yeah.”

Isabella jotted down the amount of money she counted on a pink deposit slip, Gilbert asking, “You don’t get lonely?”

“Uh, sometimes,” she answered, schooling her expression. After their argument from earlier, she wasn’t feeling particularly good about her relationship, and it didn’t feel appropriate to answer another man’s questions when her judgement was clouded by such frustrations. Even still, Isabella figured it was best to simply answer them, and without elaboration, lest Gilbert pick up on the discord within her personal life. “It is what it is. I do my best with the circumstances.”

Isabella dipped her head down to pop the deposit into the safe. She felt Gilbert come in closer, and as if to confirm his proximity, she bumped her crown against the back of his hand on her way back up. 

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Isabella looked at him. The white stem of his lollipop sticking out the corner of his mouth, his gaze bearing upon her face, searching for…something.

“Uh, thanks,” she murmured, taking a step back to put distance between them. Her heart was pounding so hard against her sternum, she could feel it pulse in her ears and crowd the base of her throat. I hope he can’t hear it—she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

Once again, he hummed. “Hmm.” Gilbert’s eyes dropped to her mouth, scrutinizing her lips, as if trying to decipher some unspoken code. “When was the last time you kissed him?” His voice was slightly muffled by the lollipop lodged in his cheek, urging him to pop it out of his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate question,” she said slowly, trying to blink away the desire to stare at his cherry-stained lips. It’s been about a year and a half now.

Gilbert nodded, but not before repeating, “Appropriate,” back to her.

His action was cryptic to her, eliciting a puzzled nod in return. “Yes, appropriate,” she quipped, falling back on her tendency toward sarcasm to deal with him. “Need me to define it, or maybe, use it in a sentence?”

A strange expression crossed his features as he continued watching her mouth. “Use it in a sentence.”

“What?” Isabella furrowed her brows. “You can’t be seri—”

“Use it in a sentence,” he interrupted in repetition, “Isabella.”

I don’t understand this guy at all. Regardless, she cleared her throat. “’What you’re wearing isn’t appropriate for the occasion’,” she sampled, an air of exasperation cresting at the tail. She raised her brows at him, as if to ask, ‘Satisfied?’

Gilbert licked his lips. “Another one.”

“Gilbert, seriously? I—”

“Indulge me,” he insisted. “Another one. Please.”

Isabella sighed. “’Now’s not an appropriate time for you to call.’”

“Another one.” He slowly rose to his feet, bringing a deep flush to her cheeks as he towered over her. He had an intense look in his eye, his hands gripped into such tight fists his knuckles were white.

And not once did his gaze stray from her trembling lips.

“’This r-requires appropriate action’,” she stammered, rooted in place as he seemed to inch closer.

In a breathy whisper, his pupils blown wide with some profound, indecipherable emotion, he urged, “Another one.”

“’It isn’t appropriate for a man to pursue a taken woman.’” His shaky hands released themselves, creeping toward her, as if enthralled into action. Anticipation washed over her trembling shoulders as her brain screamed at her to escape, citing lack of propriety. 

But Gilbert Scott was the sun, and she couldn’t resist the gravitational pull into his orbit. Her heart was ablaze with possibility, throbbing with her most clandestine desires. Whatever this was, maybe she wanted it…

Ding-dong—the automatic doors slid open, and the spell was broken. 

Gilbert halted in his tracks, gripping the edge of the counter, while Isabella spun on her heel toward the door. Her best customer service smile had been plastered onto her face as she exclaimed, “Welcome in!”

It had all led to this inevitable moment.

2AM. The end of their shift. The exchange of greetings to their peers who would be taking over until the morning. The silence of the break room as they grabbed their things. The sound of automatic doors rushing for the umpteenth time that night. The jingle of car keys. The rush of a summer breeze—a reminder that July was upon them, regardless of the moon in the sky.

They turned toward each other. Gilbert’s work shirt was draped over his forearm, hands shoved into the pockets of his black slacks. His crisp white t-shirt hung from his bones, tracing the lines of his form as the fabric settled into folds. 

He always wore loose t-shirts, but even still, Isabella knew there were firm, hard lines of chiseled muscle underneath all that fabric. She had felt it from the few times he’d squeezed past her in an aisle, or caught her from falling when he’d neglected the wet floor sign while mopping up. It had annoyed her when, while chastising him, she could only think about the strength of his forearms around her waist, the veins flexing beneath his skin, and the tiny, brown mole near the wrist of his right arm.

She felt inadequate standing in front of him like this. 

Long black hair that’d been marinating for three days, scooped up into a ponytail and secured with a white bow to distract from that fact. Choppy bangs maintained using a pair of kitchen scissors as she couldn’t afford a professional haircut. Her white orthopedic sneakers which did nothing to beat the ‘old lady in a twenty-two year old body’ allegation Gilbert often levied against her. Tan slacks that had become so loose on her in recent months, she’d been forced to pop a new hole into the belt holding them up onto her waist. A baggy windbreaker that used to belong to her dad back in the 80s, disguising the oil-stained tank top she wore underneath. The dark circles under her eyes that she’d given up on covering with makeup—who had the time with a schedule like hers?

There had been a faint voice in Isabella’s head for years now, growing stronger over time as she failed to bury it under the cacophonous weight of her own thoughts. You’re just not that pretty anymore, it would berate her. You’re difficult, and your feelings are overwhelming. You’re too needy. You’re too clingy. You’re boring—terribly uninteresting, even. You pushed the only person who was willing to put up with you away. You’re not the type of girl people fall in love with. There’s a reason you’re always alone, and you will always be alone. You’re unlovable.

She ignored it as best she could, but it crept its way into her skull late in the evenings. It had become a stone in the pit of her stomach. It was the ache between her thighs, weeping and touch-starved. It was chapped lips that couldn’t be moistened by her favorite menthol lip balm. It had become the parasite feasting upon whatever hope remained within her fragile body, lodging itself in the space between her two lungs.

An infestation of solitude.

“Do you want a ride?”

Her focus was redirected toward Gilbert, aglow in the warmth of a streetlamp. From the way his eyes flicked down to the car keys between his fidgeting fingers, she could tell what answer he’d been anticipating, because it was the same answer she had given him for six months. And her logic told her that, “No,” was the correct response as it had always been. Refuse him, walk home, and unwind with a well-deserved beer as she attempted to repair her disassembled mobile phone.

“Sure, I could use a ride,” she replied impulsively. “My phone’s kind of, um, in pieces?” Isabella fished the phone out of her pocket, showing it to him with traitorous pink cheeks. “So i-it wouldn’t be safe for me to walk this late at night, you know?”

Gilbert’s expression had gone from neutral, to shocked, to curious, before finally settling upon a content smile that warmed his eyes into a sunny poolside. “Cool.” His mouth formed around the word slowly, as if withholding a secret. “Makes sense.”

For a moment, Isabella thought she saw his smile stretch significantly as he turned toward the silver sports car parked on the curb, but figured it was her imagination. She trailed after him, trepidation filling her mouth with excess saliva she swallowed down thickly. With all the flare expected of Gilbert Scott, he opened the passenger door for her, watching her closely as she slid into her seat. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Anytime.” And the door was shut.

For a brief moment, her anxiety lingered in the stagnant air of a parked car in stasis, blanketed by the darkness. In the silence, Isabella let out the breath she’d been holding. Her fingers clawed themselves into the nylon fabric of her handbag, a solid red Marimekko hand-me-down from her mother’s collection. 

It was sensible—affordable—unlike the car she was currently seated in, watching its willowy owner move around the front toward the drivers’ side with long strides, and a solid knock against the gleaming hood. I’m way out of my element here—what the hell was she thinking?

But any thoughts of escape vanished as Gilbert slid into the drivers’ seat with a grunt, going through the motions of getting settled before glancing over at her. “Comfy?”

Isabella sunk further into her seat, buckling her seatbelt in an attempt to distract her anxious fingers. “Yeah. Very.” She cleared her throat, staring at the dashboard to avoid his gaze. “This is a, um, nice car.”

His breathy chuckle was accompanied by the sound of jingling keys, the grate of their ridges sliding into place within the ignition. “Thanks,” he said, the engine roaring to life. “It’s a Honda S2000. Got it last year with my drivers’ license.”

“Oh. Cool.” That meant nothing to her. Isabella knew not a single thing about cars, and never had the opportunity to learn how to drive.

Gilbert chuckled again as he fiddled with the air conditioner, dispelling the stale atmosphere. “You don’t know anything about cars, do you?”

Her attention was drawn back to his mirthful expression. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Eh, about as transparent as frosted glass,” he mused. “You can see the shapes—the outlines—like a smudge, but you’ll never make out what’s really beyond the window.”

Isabella’s stomach did a somersault, an ache forming between her thighs. “Wow, that’s,” she stammered, clearing her throat, “um, pretty poetic of you.” Nobody had ever described her in such a way, and the hopeless romantic living inside her had stirred into consciousness, writing a poem within the chambers of her heart.

“I’m well-read.”

“You read?” Isabella asked facetiously.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Haha, very funny.” The corners of his mouth twitched upward, giving away his amusement. “Now, tell me where you live before I dump you in the middle of the Pacific.”

“A few streets down east,” she told him with a small, coy smile, “across from the student dorms.”

Demonstrating clear skill, Gilbert grasped the gearshift, steering the car with a single hand on the wheel. “Aren’t the student dorms, like, two miles away?”

Isabella nodded. “It’s only a thirty minute walk,” she reasoned. “It used to take me an hour to walk to my high school.”

“Geez. Why so long?”

“I grew up in the outskirts of a small town,” she explained, “and the closest high school was in the town center. I think about five miles away, give or take.”

“Why not bike? Wouldn’t that be more efficient?”

“Hmm, yeah, probably. But the terrain wasn’t exactly accommodating to bikes.”

“Oh, so you’re a country girl, huh?” Gilbert flashed her a wry grin. “Makes sense.”

Isabella narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ah, nothin’ really,” he said with a shrug. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met, that’s all.”

A trill of insecurity gripped her tongue as she cautiously inquired, “Is that a bad thing?”

If he picked up on her sudden bout of self-consciousness, he didn’t let it show. “Nope,” he told her confidently. “Not at all. It’s refreshing, actually.” Gilbert glanced at her briefly while pulling the car to a stop at a red light. “S’not everyday you meet a grandma our age, y’know?”

Naturally, she scowled. “And yet, you still haven’t learned how to respect your elders.”

Gilbert’s teeth scraped his bottom lip as he chuckled, drawing a reverent gaze from Isabella. His mouth soon stretched itself back into a wide grin, every muscle in his face flexing with the motion. 

He had the most expressive features—a novelist in kinesics, writing stories with the flick of a brow. Maybe she would draft his biography between the ministrations of his lungs, sharing oxygen through parted lips, and in exchange, he would impart upon her his deepest secrets. In the dark, when a lacuna formed within poolside eyes, clever brow moistened with the sweat of concupiscence, would she finally comprehend the words written between his lines.

“Hey, Bells,” he said suddenly, nearing her apartment building, “you ever been to the beach at night?” Gilbert didn’t look at her as he asked, eyes focused on the empty night streets ahead of them.

“Um, no, can’t say I have.” Rather than eye him curiously, she trained her gaze on the world passing by her window. “Why?”

He hummed. “That’s a shame to hear. There’s nothing lovelier than the beach at night.” There was a pause. “Well, maybe there’s one, but the beach at night is a close second.”

“I’ve never had the opportunity,” she admitted. “I don’t typically have a lot of spare time to explore the city.” They pulled up in front of her apartment, a hollow feeling in Isabella’s chest. It was over so soon. Isabella moved to unbuckle her seatbelt. “Well, thank you for—”

“Do you wanna go?”

Her head snapped up, brows furrowed. “What?”

Gilbert licked his lips, an indiscernible emotion lingering in the depths of his eyes. “Do you wanna go to the beach,” he asked, “with me?”

“What, right now?” He nodded, and Isabella let out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, I can’t. Tomorrow’s Monday.”

“So?”

“So,” she echoed with irritation, “I need to get enough sleep to attend class.”

Gilbert waved a dismissive hand. “Skip class.”

Mouth agape, she scoffed, “I can’t just skip class, Gilbert!”

“Sure, you can,” he pressed. “You simply don’t show up. It’s no big deal—I do it all the time.”

“You’re unbelievable…”

“And you’re allergic to fun,” he quipped.

Isabella narrowed her eyes at him. “I am not allergic to fun—I have fun!” When he cocked a skeptical brow, her cheeks puffed up instinctively. “I can be fun!” A rush of annoyance flooded her nervous system as Gilbert smirked. Brat!

“Alright then, come to the beach with me,” he goaded. “I’ll bring you back before sunrise, I swear.”

She groaned. “What would we even do at the beach at this hour?”

“I dunno,” he answered with a shrug. “We could sit and talk, or we can sit and be silent. It’s up to you. Either way, there’s a lot of sitting involved, so you can give those orthopedics a well-deserved rest.” Gilbert flicked a humorous brow, glancing down at her shoes.

“Is insulting me really the best way to convince me to hang out with you?”

“Well, it’s working, isn’t it?”

Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, seeking the remnants of her patience. She hated that he was right. The idea of doing something to break the monotony of her daily life appealed to her, especially after the night she’d had thus far. 

“Fine,” she enunciated, shooting him a sharp look. “I’ll go to the beach with you.”

A slack-jawed grin formed on Gilbert’s face, filling her belly with butterflies. “Cool.”

“But I really do need to be back before sunrise,” Isabella stipulated firmly. “I’ve never missed a single class, and I really do not want to start now.”

Gilbert blew a raspberry, digging around his pockets briefly. “Y’know, you’re not exactly convincing me that you know how to have a good time, Bells.” There was the rustle of a plastic wrapper, Gilbert popping another lollipop into his mouth as he grinned around it cheekily.

With a huff, she leaned back into her seat, folding her arms across her chest stubbornly. “Will you shut up and drive before I change my mind?”

Chuckling, Gilbert palmed the gearshift, pulling away from the curb. “All work and no play makes Isabella a dull girl,” he teased.

“Alright, that’s it—turn around!”

The car sped up exponentially, pulling Isabella’s center of gravity into her seat. “Too late!”

“Gilbert, you’re going too fast!” While she shouted it as a complaint, there was something exhilarating about Gilbert speeding through the city streets, navigating the gearshift and manning the steering wheel with unbridled confidence.

After a moment more of wild driving, Gilbert brought the car back down to a reasonable speed. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right,” he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “We’re still in a residential area.” He flashed her a mischievous grin, the white stem of his lollipop sticking out from between his teeth. “I’ll wait until we’re on the highway to rip it.”

Within the deepest reaches of her heart, Isabella wanted him to thrill her. It was her instinct, however, to complain—roll her eyes, shake her head, and disapprove of all his bad behavior.

So that’s what she did. 

“So you want to kill us, is that it?”

Gilbert shifted the lollipop into his other cheek, the hard candy rattling against the back of his teeth. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Bells. I’m trying to show you a good time. Like, c’mon, when was the last time you actually had fun?”

She dug her figurative heels in, glowering at him. “I already told you,” she protested, “I have plenty of fun.”

“Sitting on the couch reading trashy romance novels in your comfort panties doesn’t count,” he sassed. “Neither does watching NL re-runs of last week’s game to cope with the Padres going one and seven with the Astros today.”

“They still have a chance to break even tomorrow!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever—point still stands.”

He had her pegged, of course. And while she was annoyed by how accurately he assumed her leisurely activities, she was more annoyed by him implying that those things couldn’t be fun, especially when she looked forward to them at the end of a long day. “Well, why not? Why can’t they count?”

Gilbert cocked a wry brow. “So you do have comfort panties, then?”

“Don’t be creepy.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, though his smirk remained in place. “How about I rephrase my original question then, hmm?”

“Please, do.”

“When was the last time you did something spontaneous?” Gilbert checked his side mirrors, steering the car onto the ramp leading toward the highway. “Y’know, something that reminds you life’s worth living?” When Isabella neglected to answer, he continued, “’Cause, I mean, from where I’m sitting, your life seems really boring.”

As she was wont to do whenever her most self-deprecating thoughts were brought into existence, Isabella reacted defensively. “I’m not boring!”

Gilbert remained totally relaxed, stalwart against her moods. “I never said you were,” he pointed out. “I said your life seems boring. Personally, I think you’re really entertaining and interesting. I think you lack, y’know, spontaneity.”

“I don’t lack spontaneity,” she protested, turning her body toward him. “I’ll have you know, I can be very spontaneous.”

He shifted the lollipop once again, quirking the tips of Isabella’s fingers. “Sure,” he snorted, a goading smile playing on his glossy lips. “Whatever you say, grandma.”

Once again, her body had moved on its own, lunging forward as she wrapped her fingers around the stem of his lollipop. With an inadvertent pop of his lips, Isabella pulled the candy free of his mouth before slipping it into her own. 

She leaned back, partially pressed against the door as she stared at him with a cocked brow. Her tongue wrapped around the lollipop, sampling the sweetness of cherries. Is this what his mouth tastes like…?

A surprise similar to that of the time she slapped him settled across his features. He released a quick breathy chuckle, his jaw twisting in a way that made her thighs ache. 

Gilbert licked his lips, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “You’re lucky I’m driving,” he intoned, eyes darkening as he spared a sideway glance at her mouth. “You’re really, really lucky I’m driving, Isabella.”

While she wanted to ask what he’d meant by that, she didn’t get the chance to. Practically slamming the gas pedal into the floor, Gilbert launched them onto the highway, the gearshift in the vice grip of his hand as they blew through the speed limit. His face was pulled taut with concentration, eyes flicking between all three mirrors, smooth motions as he handled the car with ease. Isabella forced herself to focus on the flavor of the lollipop in her mouth, trying to quell the excitement thickening her veins. A nigh impossible feat between the reckless driving and Gilbert’s very presence.

I need to pull myself together—this is Gilbert we’re thinking about. Isabella twisted herself back into place, properly seated as she pulled the candy out of her mouth with a pop. 

“You know, I don’t actually care much for sweets,” she told him, sparking conversation to distract herself from these embarrassing feelings of hers. “I’m surprised your teeth haven’t rotted from all the candy you eat.”

“Believe it or not, the habit’s recent,” he confessed. “Well, not the chewing gum. I’ve had that habit since high school. The candy, though? Yep, that’s pretty new.”

“Why’s that?” Isabella inquired. “How’d it start?”

“Sweets stimulate the brain. Helps me focus.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, have a pretty obsessive personality. If I find something that interests me, it’s all I think about, really. Need to be a productive member of society somehow, right?”

“So it helps redirect your thoughts?”

“Sorta, yeah,” he said with a noncommittal air about him. “And it satisfies my oral fixation. Keeps my mouth busy.” He glanced at her again, Isabella could see it in her peripheral vision. “How would your boyfriend feel about you sharing an indirect kiss with another guy?”

Perhaps she should have, but Isabella hadn’t thought of her boyfriend even once since getting into Gilbert’s car. And she didn’t want to think about him. 

She rolled her eyes, offering the lollipop back to Gilbert. “An indirect kiss is such a childish notion,” she countered. “It means nothing.”

Gilbert took the lollipop back into his mouth with a grin. “To you, maybe,” he teased. “But some of us gotta take what we can get.”

While Isabella had no idea what he exactly meant by that, she opted to let it go. And so, they sat in relative silence for the rest of the drive. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they arrived at their destination. Gilbert maneuvered them into the car park skirting the edge of the seaside park, scarce of any other vehicles.

By the time Isabella had her seatbelt unbuckled, Gilbert had already hopped out of the car. A few long strides later, her door was being pulled open. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, stepping out of the car tentatively. 

The scent of saltwater and sand hit her nose, and the faint sound of waves lapping at the shore graced her ears. Any uncertainty was soothed, leaving only excitement behind.

Gilbert smiled in return. “You can leave your bag in the car, if you want,” he offered. “Tuck it under the seat. I’ll grab the blanket from the trunk.”

“Blanket?”

Gilbert moved toward the back of the car. From the trunk, true to his word, he pulled a crudely folded blanket with an alternating pattern of white and blue stripes. He patted it, grimacing slightly. “Guess I didn’t do a good job of shaking out the sand last time.”

Isabella gave him a wary look. “Do you do this often?” 

It was silly, but there was something distasteful about the idea that he might have participated in the same activity with other girls. Of course, she should’ve anticipated that as a possibility once he offered it with the implication it was something he’d done a few times before. 

This is stupid, I shouldn’t have come.

As he slammed the trunk closed, Gilbert shrugged. “I mean, yeah, kinda,” he confessed. “But I’m not usually in anyone else’s company. This would be a first—unless my best friend counts. He kinda showed me this spot.”

“Oh.” Despite her desire to be skeptical, Isabella couldn’t deny the subtle sense of satisfaction tickling the base of her skull. 

Even still, this was Gilbert Scott they were talking about. Her annoying, rakish coworker that flirted with every pretty face he laid eyes upon, collecting phone numbers like a tithe. It didn’t seem possible that she was special to him, somehow. 

There had to be some catch here—some deception she wasn’t seeing. “Not any girlfriends?”

Much to her surprise, Gilbert laughed. “I don’t do girlfriends.” Then, locking the car behind him, he walked past her. “C’mon, path’s up this way.”

With knitted brows, Isabella followed after him, staring at his back as he guided them through the park. She knew she should leave it alone, but her curiosity was piqued, and Isabella had a hard time tempering her own thirst for knowledge and understanding. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Hmm?” Gilbert glanced back at her. “What does what mean?”

“You don’t do girlfriends,” she reiterated. “What does that mean?”

He chuckled, facing forward once again which forced her to fall into step beside him. “It means exactly what it means,” he responded cryptically. “I don’t do girlfriends.”

“Yeah, but do you mean, like, you don’t date—or like, have you never had a girlfriend before?”

“I’ve had girlfriends,” he elaborated, “but they weren’t very serious.”

“Well, what was your longest relationship?”

“Mm, three months?” Gilbert grinned, as if he were proud of it.

Isabella balked. “That’s it?!”

“That’s it.” Gilbert lifted a finger, attempting to redirect Isabella’s attention. “The entrance to the beach is there.”

He picked up his pace, Isabella practically running to keep up with his long gait. The sound of waves became louder the closer they came to the sea. Isabella’s sneakers sank into the soft sand as they crossed a metal threshold, separating the park’s sidewalk from the beach itself. It was dark, only residuals of the park’s warm lamps illuminating its pathways available for guidance.

Isabella fixed her eyes onto the back of his head. His tousled, blonde hair caught the meager lowlight, acting as a beacon in the night with its faint glow. 

While he moved through the sand with ease, she stumbled about, desperately trying to maintain her footing in such soft terrain. “Why are we going out so far?”

“I like to get up close and personal with the ocean,” he called back above the teetering shore. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” 

Though she rolled her eyes, Isabella decided to take him at his word. Either way, it was only another minute of stumbling she had to endure before Gilbert halted in place, looking out into the black void that was the sea. “Here’s good.”

Gilbert turned to face Isabella, offering one end of the blanket expectantly. Of course, she wordlessly obliged, assisting him in laying it out over the sand. Then they plopped down onto it, a sigh of relief pulled from Isabella instinctively. A wave of exhaustion hit her, her legs tired from trudging through the sand in sneakers. At the very least, her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness, allowing her to see Gilbert as more than just a smudge in the lowlight.

He flourished his hands outward toward the ocean. “Ta-da! We made it, Bells!” He beamed down at her, his thousand watt smile shining a light in the darkness. “What do ya think, hmm?”

Isabella looked around, taking the ocean air into her lungs. The waves lapped upon the shore a few meters away from where they sat, a light breeze teasing the bangs covering her forehead. 

Though they were approaching a full moon, her presence seemed to be almost absent, drawing Isabella’s eyes upward. There, she saw a cloud as it crept along, obstructing the rays of silver light that begged to bear down upon them. A sea of stars twinkled across the endless abyss of the night sky, swallowed by the darkness of the ocean upon their embrace along the horizon.

And in the face of a scene so sublime, Isabella could only smile. “It’s beautiful,” she told him definitively.

Gilbert hummed, leaning back onto his hands. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“You said there was only one other thing lovelier than this, but I can’t fathom the concept.” Isabella glanced over at him, a bit surprised to find his crystalline gaze upon her already. It was odd how she could still make out the blue of his eyes, proving once again that he could shine a light in the darkest of places. “I can see why you come here so often.”

“Yeah, I like coming here to—I dunno—think sometimes.”

“You have thoughts?” Isabella jested. “I’m gobsmacked. Flabbergasted, even.”

“Oh, she’s a writer now, I see,” he retorted, cherry-stained tongue darting out across his lower lip. “When’s the novel coming out?”

Isabella pressed her lips into a firm line. Should I tell him…? She’d never told Gilbert about her interest in writing, nor the story she’d been working on for the past few months. 

“Actually, I, uh,” she stammered, “I’m working on one now, but it’s just a manuscript. I don’t have, like, anything actually lined up.”

Gilbert cocked a curious brow. “You like to write?” He leaned forward onto his knees. “I didn’t know that about you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s just a silly little hobby.” Isabella felt flustered suddenly by the weight of his interest. Her boyfriend had always said she talked too much whenever it came to her stories, and she didn’t feel like scaring Gilbert off with her overzealousness. 

Not once in the past six months had they gotten along this well. There was no way she would chance ruining the moment. She’d never openly admit it to him, but this was the first time in months she’d managed to hold such decent conversation with another person.

But why Gilbert of all people?

“Working on a whole ass manuscript doesn’t seem silly or little to me.” He dug his heels into the sand, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s my opinion, though.”

Isabella blinked through the juxtaposition, skirting the edge of the topic she wanted to broach. It wouldn’t be appropriate to start yapping on about her relationship troubles—though the peace of their surroundings certainly made the concept of baring her naked soul tempting. “What about you? Any hobbies?”

“Eh, not really,” he answered. “Not to brag, but I’m kinda good at everything I do which makes everything boring.” While his statement was certainly arrogant in nature, the tone of his voice didn’t reflect his usual bravado, as if he fully believed what he said had merely been factual.

“Why does it matter if you’re good at something or not?” Isabella inquired. “Isn’t a hobby about the enjoyment of the activity? It’s just a bonus if you’re good at it.”

Gilbert flopped down onto his back with a grunt, tucking his arms behind his head. “I don’t see it that way,” he said. “Maybe it’s because of the way I was raised, but I don’t think anything worth having is easy to come by. I can’t enjoy something that doesn’t challenge me. I can’t find satisfaction in something that I didn’t put my all into. If it isn’t hard-won, I don’t want it.”

Isabella wrapped her arms around her knees, digging the toes of her sneakers into the sand as she asked, “Is that why you don’t do girlfriends?” The sentiments lined up. “They’re too easy for you to come by?”

“Maybe.” A noncommittal answer, of course.

“That, and the obvious commitment issues?”

Gilbert suddenly lifted himself upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I do not have commitment issues,” he clarified. “I’m perfectly capable of committing when I find something worth committing to.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?” Isabella smirked at him, but noticed the way he stared at her intently. What’s his deal? 

Still, she didn’t cower away, reflecting his gaze in challenge.

It felt like an eternity before he finally laid back down, saying, “I’ll let you know.”

“And I rest my case.”

“Oh, and you think you’re an authority on commitment because you’ve been in a dead relationship for five years?” The bitter venom on his tongue had been unexpected, catching her off-guard.

She didn’t waste too much time on her shock, however, snapping her head in his direction as she defensively spat, “My relationship is not dead!”

Gilbert launched himself upright once again, facing her head-on. “Oh, my bad, it’s not?” He was being sarcastic. “Isabella, when was the last time your loser boyfriend fucked you?”

A mixture of rage and shame simmered beneath her skin, causing an intense flush that could surely be seen in the moonlight. “That’s none of your business!” Isabella sputtered. “And my boyfriend is not a loser!”

“No, no! You see, I know he’s a loser,” he insisted, a cruel laugh accompanying his words, “because he has this hot girlfriend he’s been perfectly content to leave in Los Angeles all by herself, wasting precious fucking time arguing with her over the phone, instead of hopping on a plane every other week to fuck the attitude outta her!”

While her choleric expression didn’t let up, Isabella was far too bemused by his words to formulate a proper response. “What?”

Gilbert groaned, slapping his palms against his cheeks. “Y’know, I really try to be a gentleman, Bells,” he said, voice slightly muffled by the rub of his hands. “But you make it so fucking difficult.” 

Then Gilbert laughed, turning away from her entirely, as if attempting to banish her from his current reality. He wrung his hands, expression cycling through several different emotions she couldn’t really decipher.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, her mind obsessively mulling over his words. The answer to his riddle was right on the tip of her tongue, but she was entirely unwilling to come to the most obvious conclusion. Isabella couldn’t be too sure if she was just reading into things with Gilbert—easy-going, libertine Gilbert—because her relationship frustrations and crippling loneliness had come to a head, or if she was an oblivious horse led to water who simply wouldn’t drink.

“It’s been a year and a half,” she answered honestly, staring at the shore to quell her embarrassment. “We haven’t—I haven’t been kissed since then either.” Isabella began to pick at the grains of sand that had gotten onto the blanket. “There’s always some excuse not to come see me, or for me to not go see him. He rarely calls me, and when we talk, it’s him berating me about not having enough money to move to Seattle. I’m twisting myself into knots to close the distance, but he only ever makes things farther to reach.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to police her tumultuous emotions. “And I’m lonely. I’m writing stories about difficult, unlovable women being yearned for and pursued, wishing it could be my turn. But I’m already in a relationship, so why am I craving this type of wish fulfillment?” Isabella rubbed the space between her brows. “It’s so frustrating and humiliating. I’m so embarrassed, honestly.”

There was a pregnant pause, warring thoughts hanging heavy in the air between them. For a moment, she thought Gilbert might laugh it off—make a joke of it all to lighten the mood. He had never come across as the type of person who would feel comfortable having such intense conversations, especially not with his favorite chew toy. 

A part of her wished he would, wanting to move on from truly facing the reality of her situation.

“Why are you embarrassed, Bells?” Gilbert asked suddenly. “He’s the one fucking up the pull of the century. If anything, he should be crawling here on his hands and knees from Seattle to beg for your forgiveness. Not that you should give it to him—but I’m biased.” He paused. “And what the fuck are you on about with this whole ‘difficult, unlovable women’ thing? Pure psychobabble!”

“You really don’t have to try make me feel better, you know?”

“I’m not,” he protested. “I’m defending my tastes which you’ve so rudely called into question. I’m into difficult, hysterical women, y’know?”

“I don’t recall ever using the word ‘hysterical’, Gilbert.”

“Same difference.”

She giggled, turning to look at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” But Gilbert wouldn’t look at her, smoothing his hands together nervously.

“When was the last time you had sex?” Isabella asked. She figured, if she had to answer such an insanely personal question, he had to as well.

Unfortunately for her, Gilbert barely squirmed, all too willing to share. “About six months ago.”

Huh? Well, she hadn’t been anticipating that answer. “Wait, what?”

“What do you mean what, Bells?”

“Six months ago?” Isabella reiterated, not bothering to disguise her skepticism.

Gilbert knitted his brows together. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Well, I mean—w-well, Gilbert, there’s no easy way to say this, but,” she stammered, “um, aren’t you, like, a manwhore?”

“A what?” Gilbert snorted. “What’d you call me?”

The weight of his confounded gaze made her squirm. She should’ve backed down, but Isabella was nothing if not persistent, and a bit too prideful to accept mortification so easily. Sheepishly, she queried, “Do you not, like, fuck around a lot?”

“No! I’m a flirt, not some sorta nympho!” Despite how offended he sounded, Gilbert laughed. A bright, cheery laugh that broke all remaining threads of tension. “Geez, Bells, what sorta thoughts are you havin’ about me, huh?”

Isabella’s cheeks puffed up, the flush of her face deepening. “I’m not having any, except about what an annoying jerk you are!” As if to irk her further, Gilbert laughed again. “Anyway, why six months? I’ve seen you collect at least, like, ten phone numbers since then.”

Gilbert picked at his slacks, fixing his eyes onto the action. “I wasn’t interested in any of them,” he explained. “I get bored easily, and none of them could entertain me enough to maintain my interest.”

So carefree—it was embittering. Gilbert made it clear he had a slew of options to choose from. Meanwhile, Isabella could hardly guarantee she’d find someone else to love her if she were to end her current relationship. It wasn’t a matter of being able to find someone that wanted to have sex with her, but rather, someone she could build a life with. 

And though it was illogical, defying Isabella’s judicious tendencies, she couldn’t shake the fear from clinging to her bones. It slipped in between her joints like synovial fluid. Replaced the lipids in her body, becoming the only thing that kept her going. Her only motivation.

An ever-pervading fear of loneliness, and the subsequent threat of oblivion, eager to push her further into the endless chasm of uncertainty.

“I find it hard to believe not a single person has maintained your interest in six months with such a large sample size.” Isabella chewed on her words, vinegar on her tongue. 

While she would’ve preferred to not allow her negativity to seep into her tone, she just couldn’t help it. Something about Gilbert’s presence made her want to be honest, even to a detriment. It wasn’t often she could be so unpleasant without consequence—in fact, Gilbert seemed to reward her when she was most disagreeable. Weirdo.

Gilbert lifted his eyes to meet hers, his expression unreadable. “I never said that.”

“Hmm?”

“I never said that there hasn’t been anyone to maintain my interest since then,” he clarified. “I said none of the people you’ve referred to managed to do so.”

Isabella furrowed her wary brows. “Oh.” So he has someone he likes. She rubbed at her sternum absentmindedly, a dull ache beginning to form. Did Gilbert having feelings for someone else really bother her so much?

After a lapse of silence, Isabella managed to recollect herself, wryly commenting, “And yet, they’re not here with you on the beach?” She anticipated a chuckle from Gilbert, followed by a longwinded explanation as to why she was here with him instead of his alleged crush. 

The only way to dispel this thrum of envy was to take it on the chin, and allow Gilbert the space to gush about whoever this mystery person could be. If we’re going to be friends, I have to learn how to be supportive.

So she waited, and waited, and waited—only to be met with no response.

Isabella peered at him curiously, hoping to find his gaze, but she was only met with his distracted expression as it focused on the shoreline. “Gilbert?”

The fabric of silence pilled in prolepsis—dramatic irony, perhaps, as unspoken words preceded his deflective response. “I take girls out to fancy restaurants when I’d like some company,” he said, lips wrapped around an uncharacteristic prudence. “It’s different when I’m lonely.”

Okay, cryptic. “So you prefer your own company on the beach,” she surmised. “In that case, I’m sorry to disrupt your peace.” It annoyed her when the most outspoken person she had the incredible displeasure to know couldn’t just say what he meant when she wanted him to.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Isabella scoffed. “What other conclusion can I draw when you speak in code?”

“I’m not speaking in code,” he countered, wringing out a distracting grin onto his face. “I thought you liked poetry, Bells.”

She rolled her eyes. “What about anything you just said was poetic?”

“It wasn’t,” he teased. “But if you liked poetry so much, you’d read between the lines.”

Oh, she hated him, and that smug fucking look on his dumb, beautiful face. “The day I quit seven-eleven can’t come soon enough,” she groaned.

Gilbert chuckled. “Y’know, Bells, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but—”

“Oh, please!”

“—if you think quitting will get rid of me,” he continued, as if the interjection never occurred, “you’re sorely mistaken.” Gilbert jabbed his finger into her bicep, earning a swat from her. “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Isabella took his words as a threat in jest. “Not if I go somewhere you can’t follow,” she retorted, childlike enmity highlighting her tone.

“You won’t.” His voice was so soft, it brought her significant pause.

Though, she was too stubborn to let it show. “I won’t?”

Confidently, he shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I wouldn’t let you.” He leaned in dangerously close—so close, she could feel his warm breath ghost across her cheek. “See, I’m not a loser, Isabella. I might lose battles, but I’ll always win the war. And if I find something worth keeping…” Gilbert trailed off, his limpid eyes searching her face.

Tentatively, he brought a hand up to her brow, using his fingers to brush away a long strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. His fingertips were trembling against her flushed, tingling skin. The brief silence between them stretched into what felt like an eternity. Ribbons upon ribbons of time, infinitely unwound. The longer she held his gaze, the deeper the oceans she would wade through, seeking purchase on the shores of his limitless mind.

What a lawless place to find herself, upon the islands of Gilbert Scott’s inner world.

Gilbert pulled his hand away, putting a little more distance between them with the clearing of his throat. “Well, I’m the type to fight for it,” he concluded.

“How romantic of you.” Isabella had said it with sarcastic intent, not realizing the implications of her words within the context. That was really presumptuous. I should apologize.

She opened her mouth to correct herself, only to be shocked into silence as Gilbert uttered, “Hopelessly.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. For the rest of their time sitting upon the night beach, her heart pounded so hard within her chest, it threatened to shatter her ribs through impact alone. Blood pulsed in her ears, drowning out the cacophonous crash of waves against the shoreline. 

From one blink of an eye to the next, the moonlight had paled in comparison to the iridescence of Gilbert’s gaze, flashing like a lighthouse in the darkness. On that striped blanket, an interval between two absences. In their exchange, a box of knives that felt like affection. And throughout the quiet, an atmosphere thickened with reticence, slathering them in propriety.

Gilbert smothered Isabella in a way she’d always yearned for. 

If only he would stretch her hands, she might finally come down to the aching blue, and lay herself at the bottom of his swimming pool in search of solace. She would drown herself in the face of a martyr, find the angels hiding behind his eyes as he pulled, and pulled, and pulled at her. And with every benevolent stretch of each benign finger, he would remind her what religion truly looked like as she broke the surface.

A young god with the tongue of a demon. A vicious saint who would pour sickness into her mouth, and turn her inside out with the curl of a finger. Her mind was alight with possibility, weaving ecstatic words into poetry. The silken fissure between her thighs felt cavernous suddenly, aching for something to occupy it. It made her feel dirty—blasphemous—and cloyed with these boundless feelings. What the hell was she supposed to do with them?

Soon, it was time for them to leave.

Together, they shook out the beach blanket of excess sand, folding it into a neat little square that Gilbert tucked underneath his arm. “Still an hour ‘til sunrise,” he informed with a smirk. “Should only take us, maybe, twenty minutes to get you home?”

Isabella rolled her eyes, falling into step beside him as they trudged their way out of the sand. “What, do you want a gold star or something?”

“Oh, Miss Ulrich, do I?!” Gilbert exclaimed in a shrill tone.

Instinctively, Isabella shoved Gilbert with her shoulder, taking pleasure in the way he stumbled. “Don’t make fun of me,” she said, holding back a giggle. “I’d actually like to be a teacher someday.”

“Funny, because I would too.”

Isabella peered up at him curiously, trying to detect any hint of insincerity in his features. “Wait, seriously?”

And with no hint of mirth in his tone, Gilbert confessed, “Yeah, very serious, actually.” He shrugged. “I dunno how I’m gonna do it when my dad expects me to take over the company, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Why do you want to teach?”

“Same reasons you do, probably,” he explained. “I like kids, and I think this world is absolute dogshit. If the next generation is gonna inherit the earth, they need proper guidance, don’t they?”

“You like kids?”

“Okay, Bells, your skepticism is really harshin’ my vibe right now.” Isabella giggled, drawing his gaze. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just,” she chortled, “I can’t imagine you as a teacher!”

“Well, that’s rude.”

Isabella couldn’t help the laughter bubbling into her throat, envisioning an older version of him standing in front of a blackboard. In this mental image of hers, he was still handsome, but broader with more defined features. The hot teacher. She smirked, picturing herself as a high school girl walking into Mr. Scott’s classroom. 

In jest, Isabella moved ahead of Gilbert, walking backwards as she smiled up at him demurely. “Oh, Mister Scott,” she whined dramatically, “my dog ate my homework! Whatever will I do?!”

“Bells, what are you doing?” Gilbert eyed her intently, hands buried in the pockets of his slacks.

She waved him off. “I’m giving you practice! Now, shh!” She cleared her throat, slipping back into character. “Oh, Mister Scott, is there anything I can do for extra credit? I just can’t fail this class!”

“Isabella,” he warned, “stop.”

But she wouldn’t listen, she would enjoy this rare moment where she could get a rise out of him instead. “Mister Scott, do you think I could get some extra tutoring?” Catching herself amidst a casual stumble, Isabella failed to notice how the distance between them shrank. “Finals are coming up, and I—”

A soft thud disturbed the sand at their feet. Unceremoniously silenced, her cheeks were grasped between two large hands. Her thrashing heart had found purchase within her throat, beating in time with the shallow breaths ghosting over her trembling lips. His mouth, still cherry-stained, was at the distance of a hair’s breadth, allowing her to taste him by the skin of her teeth. As he pushed the pad of his thumb into the pulse point at the corner of her mouth, Isabella knew what this was, and she wanted it—badly.

Instinctively, she wrapped her palms around his wrists, strong forearms flexing as he held her so close yet, not close enough. Her fingertips sought the pulse on each wrist, a wave of ecstasy washing over her as she noted the quickened pace of which his heart pumped blood through his body. His eyes were ravenous, feasting on her expression, his lip pulling into a desperate snarl.

“Isabella,” he growled under his breath, the sound making her core ache. “Why don’t you ever listen to me…?” Gilbert pressed his forehead against hers, trying to put distance between their mouths as they were both dissatisfied with merely ghosting over each other.

And as she realized how desperately she wanted him to capture her lips, Isabella froze with anxiety. “Gilbert, we can’t…I-I can’t…” She trailed off, a cocktail of shame and the torturous sting of pining pouring itself into her sternum. A rush of blood to the head, and a flood of regret to the heart. 

What am I doing here? This is so wrong—but it felt so right.

“I know, I know, I know,” he chanted, voice strained with unadulterated agony. “Damnit, Bells, I fucking know, alright?” 

Gilbert’s face hovered over hers, the tip of his nose grazing the skin of her cheeks. “I’m really…I really do try to be a gentleman for you, Isabella.” His breathy whispers made her weak in the knees, threatening to buckle under his worship. “But when you talk to me the way you do, when you make those faces, when you smell like this…” She gasped as he so shamelessly breathed her in, her thighs quivering with desire. “It’s so…so, so, so fucking difficult.”

If he held her in his ardent hands any longer, Isabella would break. I can’t do this. I’m still involved with someone else. It would be wrong, and it wouldn’t be fair to Gilbert if she were to indulge his desires when she wasn’t sure if this was even real or not. 

Regardless of how much he annoyed her, or the doubts she might have of his character, it wasn’t in her nature to use another person for comfort. “Gilbert, I—”

“I know.” He cut her off, pressing his lips to her forehead instead. They were surprisingly soft, melting her in the heat of their reverence. “Trust me, I know.” The whisper stuck her bangs to her forehead where his kiss still lingered, simmering like freshly branded skin. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Releasing his grip on her, Gilbert picked up the blanket that had fallen into the sand, then marched past her. While silence had fallen between them, it wasn’t particularly uncomfortable nor frigid. For once in her life, Isabella felt content in her mere existence alongside someone else. There was no pressure to force conversation; no need to find common ground. 

They were simply two people existing at the same time in the same universe, choosing each other’s company to fit into their lives for just a moment, even if that moment ended up being short-lived.

When they were settled, Gilbert lowered the tonneau cover on his car, smirking at Isabella’s stunned expression. “I’ll drive you home with the windows down.”

And that he did.

There was nothing quite like the atmosphere of a summer night. An invigorating wind blew through the loose tresses of Isabella’s ponytail, stirring the edges of her white ribbon. The zephyr fluttered at the folds of Gilbert’s t-shirt, tousling his blonde hair further. And when she flickered under the streetlights as they sped over the highway, Gilbert flickered back. A smile reflected the glimmer in his eyes, and her cheeks ached with the pressure of a reflexive grin. Without a light to guide them, caught between the interval of dusk and dawn, they found themselves a new horizon.

A part of her wanted to beg Gilbert to keep driving—to steal her away from this reality she called life. They could chase the horizon until they found a twilight to tuck themselves into. They could chase storms until they were in the eye of a hurricane. They could chase the endless undulation of the sea until they buried themselves in its depths. 

Eternally, they could chase, and chase, and chase—until the day I can call you mine.

But then, they exited the highway. Her apartment building came into view, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her shoulders. She looked at the dashboard, neon lines spelling out, 4:44AM. Isabella blinked, her lids heavy with a desire to sleep. I have to be up by 7AM for my first class.

They came to a halt on the curb, Gilbert putting the car in park. “So we’re back before sunrise.”

She turned her gaze toward her apartment building, the sky above it beginning to slowly tint into the orange of a tangerine. “With minutes to spare,” she muttered bitterly, “if the sky’s anything to go by.”

Gilbert chuckled, a softness in his gaze which juxtaposed his smirk. “It’s okay to admit you enjoyed yourself,” he teased, pinching his thumb and forefinger together, “even just a teensy bit, Bells.”

Isabella rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile forming on her lips. “Maybe a teensy bit,” she relented. “But that’s it.”

“Hmm.” Gilbert grinned to himself, staring down at his lap where his thumbs twiddled together. “Wanna do this again sometime?”

Yes. Despite her thoughts, Isabella shrugged. “Maybe,” she replied, “but only after I sort some stuff out first.”

“Ah. Right.” The way Gilbert enunciated his words drew Isabella’s eyes to his mouth, just in time to catch him worrying his lower lip. “Well, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” she said, scrunching her nose up at him. “Most unfortunately.”

Another chuckle escaped him, pulling his gaze back up from his hands and onto her face. “Y’know, when you say it like that, it almost sounds like you’re flirting with me…”

Isabella interjected, “Goodbye, Gilbert,” with a snort, pushing the door open to let herself out.

“Big mistake,” Gilbert sang obnoxiously. “I like it when you play hard to get.”

She spared him a brief glance, issuing a tight smile. “Good thing I’m not playing.”

Despite his thousand watt grin, his gaze darkened. The hunger reflected in his eyes bedded itself within her, fluttering at the walls of her womb. Gilbert peered at Isabella like a predator would when it spotted prey. 

Suddenly, his smirk was far more vulpine in nature, his sumptuous, sinuous mouth curving around words that formed the lyrics of what would be their mating song. “I know you aren’t,” he intoned, “and I like that even more.”

The length of her sternum throbbed in time with the ache between her thighs. Walk away, Isabella, before you make a mistake you’ll regret. 

“Well,” she said slowly, clearing her throat as she rapped her knuckles against the car door for a sense of clarity, “goodbye, Gilbert.”

But when she turned to walk away, Gilbert’s voice rang out, “Oh, wait a minute!” 

Isabella faced him once again, wary brows knitted together. He had dug his wallet out of his pocket, opening the billfold. “Here, you’re gonna need this,” he offered, a stack of banknotes folded between his fingers which he held out in her direction. “I was kinda the one that broke your phone. It’s only right that I pay to replace it.”

“Gilbert, you don’t have to—”

“Isabella.” The strength of his tone caused her to freeze, an intensity in his gaze that contrasted his airy personality. “You’re gonna take this money from my hands, or I’m gonna go buy a phone for you, and knock on every single door in that building until I finally find—”

“Okay, okay!” Isabella interrupted, irritation as sudden as a punch to the gut. Immediately, she snatched the money out of his hand, counting the bills out. “Wait, Gilbert, this is way too much!” He had given her eight hundred dollars—way more than what was necessary for a new mobile phone.

Gilbert shrugged. “Trade that Nokia brick for an iPhone,” he suggested, “and then take yourself out to a fancy dinner. Oh, but make sure to wear a nice dress, if you do—I’m expecting pictures on Thursday.”

Isabella gritted her teeth, clutching the dollar bills in her hand to stop herself from strangling him. She could do it too. She could hop back into the car, wrap her hands around his neck, and wring the life out of him. Though, the image conjured up other feelings and desires she was in no state to address at the moment. “Gilbert, you—!”

“Anyway, I gotta go,” Gilbert interrupted vivaciously. “I’m totally exhausted, and my bed is calling my name.” He waggled his brows at her. “I’d settle for yours though, if it was available.” 

Before Isabella could scream at him, he launched the car away from the curb, honking his horn as he waved a carefree hand above his head. “Toodle-oo, Bells!”

As he sped away, the aggravation tensing her muscles evaporated, leaving behind a slack-jawed grin in its wake. Idiot.

It was a Monday morning, and she wouldn’t see him for a few days. A part of her wondered if she should be worried about how tonight might have changed the trajectory of her entire life. Would she slip herself under the covers of her comforter, close her eyes, and drift off into unconsciousness, only to wake up with no memory of it happening at all? If she failed to act upon these new discoveries, shunning the possibility of other opportunities, wouldn’t that reduce this night to a mere dream?

“Not even Jupiter can find a lost opportunity, Isabella,” her father had once told her. “So make the most of this life while you can.” Until tonight, she had forgotten about that, and she had always considered it sage advice. 

Had she really been so distracted by the neat little path she’d carved out for herself, she had neglected to tend to the weeds? Even still, if she did choose a different path, what would she do if she were to get lost, unable to find her way back home?

Isabella didn’t have the answer to any of these questions, and that was okay, because in this moment, as dawn spilled over her skin and warmed her weary bones, she decided, That’s tomorrow’s problem.

After all, it’d be a shame to let this sunrise go to waste.