Since I slept until eleven, my parents compromised and allowed Gyver to visit while I ate breakfast. They even allowed me to see him alone—after a stern “Make sure she eats”—because they were speaking with the counselor I’d soon be meeting. Mom still wasn’t keen on the counselor idea. “What are you going to tell her about me?” Gyver rolled his eyes, and Dad shooed her out of the room.
“If I eat the toast, will you eat the rest so they get off my case?” I bargained when the door shut.
“Nope.” Gyver smiled and sat on the edge of my bed. I didn’t like the table with my breakfast tray between us, but my parents would be peeking in, so it stayed.
“I’ve been asking for you since three thirty,” I confessed.
“I know.” He grinned wider.
“I did some translating.” I reached under the table for his hand and blushed. “How do you say ‘kiss me’ in Italian?”
Gyver’s forehead wrinkled, and as the seconds stretched silent, my smile melted. My eyes itched with the tears of the rejected. I wrestled for composure, but my heart sprinted and my irregular breath caused a coughing fit. Gyver’s fingers had tightened when I’d asked, but now he released my hand and passed me a cup of apple juice.
I fought for control of my breathing, fought the tears blurring my eyes. I sipped, sending stinging juice down my raw throat.
“Forget I said anything,” I whispered, studying the banana browning on my tray. I wanted to shove it all aside and pull my knees to my chest.
“No, Mi—”
The door opened and we turned toward my father. “You okay? I could hear you coughing down the hall.”
I nodded and held up my juice, hoping he wouldn’t look too closely at my stricken face.
“I’ve got her, Mr. Moore. I’d come get you if anything …”
Dad smiled at Gyver. “I know you would. Just checking.” He pointed to the tray. “Eat,” and backed out of the room.
I crumbled some toast and peeked at Gyver with a hummingbird’s heart thrumming in my chest. “I assumed … Forget it.”
“I’m thinking. I know mostly kitchen Italian. If you want to know how to say something food related, I’m your guy. ‘Kiss me’ doesn’t come up at the dinner table.” He laughed and I raised my eyes to him.
“So you do …?” I trailed off. “The playlist wasn’t so subtle by the end.”
“I tried subtle, Mi. You didn’t get it.”
“And the last song? It’s you singing; you wrote it for me?”
“I could make you a whole playlist with the songs I’ve written you,” he confessed.
“Please do.” I put down my juice and leaned forward. “Gyver, I believe I’m going to get better—I do—but I’ve got lots of this left. Are you sure it’s what you want?”
“Lots of you—in bed? It’ll be torture, but I think I can manage.”
I frowned. “Be serious.”
“Mi, I’ve waited years for you already. I know what you’re saying, but I’m in love with you. Did you really not know? It’s going to take something worse than cancer to scare me.”
I shook my head. “You’ve called me ‘Mi’ forever. How long have I been oblivious?”
“Only since I was ten. Don’t you remember? You caught me repeating your name in the backyard.”
“You told me you liked alliteration. You were lying?”
Anyone else would have blushed; Gyver smiled and handed me a slice of toast. “Eat or I’m gonna get kicked out.”
I took a hasty bite. “All these years I’ve been collecting alliterative names for you—”
“Baciami!” Gyver interrupted, satisfaction settling on his face.
“Ba-cha-me?” I repeated slowly, my initial grin falling to a pout. “It’s not fair. I want to kiss you and can’t.”
“I don’t know; last time I initiated a kiss, you dropped ice cream on me.”
I laughed. “I didn’t do it on purpose! Is that what you thought?”
Gyver shrugged and nodded.
“Seriously? You think I’d waste perfectly good ice cream? That was a poorly timed clumsy moment, which I interpreted as a very bad omen.”
Gyver groaned. “You and your signs.”
“I’m done. I promise. I’ll cancel my horoscopes and throw away the Magic 8 Ball.”
“Keep the Magic 8 Ball. I gave you that.” He picked up and rubbed my hand. It was a gesture that should’ve been familiar and comforting, but it felt new and electric.
“Gyver, just so you know, Ryan and I didn’t …” I blushed and stumbled over words. “That day in the kitchen it looked like—But we never.”
He cupped my face, thumb stroking my cheek; there was a smile in his voice. “I didn’t think so. At least not that day.”
“How were you so maddeningly calm? I can’t believe you invited Ryan over for lasagna while we were standing there half-naked.”
“Rest assured, I went home and lifted till I threw up, but I didn’t think you’d … I knew you’d interpret my interruption as a very bad sign and cancel your plans.” His smile was smug. “But I don’t want to hear the words ‘Ryan,’ ‘you,’ and ‘naked’ in the same sentence again.”
The door opened too soon. My parents and the counselor entered the room. Far too soon for me to tell Gyver everything I needed to. “Come back later?”
“Tomorrow,” Dad corrected.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Dad repeated himself.
Gyver squeezed my hand under the tray. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mia Moore.”