“Is this truly hygienic?” He eyed his hot dog with all the skepticism he could muster.
“Trust, papi.” I bit into my hot dog and chewed quickly. “All eyes are on the street vendors. If you want an unsanitary dining experience, go to a midrange restaurant.”
He hummed and stepped closer to the building. Times Square was right ahead, less than a minute’s walk up the street, and there were plenty of benches.
“You wanna go sit over there?” I pointed up the street.
“I don’t think so.” He took a tentative bite of his food. He hadn’t allowed anything other than mustard on it. “I know where we are. Tourist mecca of the universe.”
I snickered.
He looked as if he couldn’t decide if he liked the food or not, though the next bite he took was without apprehension.
I extended the water I’d bought for us in silent offering.
He shook his head, busy chewing.
I grinned when he got some mustard on his upper lip. “You’re cute, you know that?”
“Don’t give me compliments when I’m eating.” He failed to stifle his own grin, and I could thank the bright lights from Times Square for revealing his faint blush. “I still want chocolate after this, for the record. Don’t deny me.”
I really fucking loved him. He’d let his guard down around me, and I never wanted it to go up again.
“There’s a Godiva store across the square,” I mentioned and took a big bite. Unlike his lame hot dog, I had ketchup and onions on mine too.
“Damn it.” He winced as he spilled some mustard on his coat. “I like their hot chocolate very much.”
“We’ll get you a cup, then.” I jammed the rest of my hot dog into my pie hole, then uncapped the water and poured some on a napkin. “Lemme,” I said with my mouth full. Then I wiped the stain off his coat—and his upper lip. “All gone.”
He smiled and dipped down to kiss me chastely. “Thank you.”
I smiled back.
He didn’t seem to mind that I doted on him. I ached for a lot more of it. It was one of my favorite aspects of being in a relationship, taking care of someone, making them feel special.
“If walking across Times Square will give you anxiety, you can stay here while I buy us some chocolate.” I grabbed the trash and threw it in a nearby trash can. “It’s one thing to push you past some discomfort, but I don’t wanna expose you to panic or anything.”
Gideon made a face and ran a hand through his hair. “As comfortable as it would be to say I’d panic, I don’t think I would. You have a strange knack for not giving me more than I can handle.” He paused. “Except for one time. When you invited your brother to come out for drinks with us, I stopped breathing for a beat.”
Aw, shit. “I only asked him ’cause I knew he’d say no, hon. He’s up at dawn on Saturdays. That’s when he goes bananas in his workshop. He builds and repairs instruments.”
“Oh. I should’ve known.”
I shook my head and ducked in for a quick kiss. “I coulda explained it after it happened.” Clear communication was important in any relationship. With someone who was autistic, I’d learned you might as well multiply that importance by ten. “You ready to hit up Godiva?”
“Yes.” He nodded firmly. “Please tell me the direction as soon as we reach the square. I’m not entirely certain I can navigate myself once I’m there.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know.”
I noticed by his grip on my hand that he was tense and uncomfortable, but he pushed through and walked with quick strides.
“We’ll have Levi’s to our right here,” I said as we got closer.
“You like that brand,” he noted. “Most of your jeans are Levi’s.”
Yup.
When we reached the square, we were smack-dab in the middle of it. Billboards literally everywhere, each one flashing in bright colors and turning this little spot in New York into a constant state of daytime. It wasn’t even midnight yet, so there were still tourists pretty much everywhere.
“Let’s cross here,” I said, pointing the water bottle at the street we’d just walked up. We needed to get to the other side. “Godiva is straight across over there.” I gestured to the actual plaza where there were no cars, so we had to cross it diagonally.
Gideon nodded with a dip of his chin and followed me across the street, before he slowed down and looked up. He stared at the billboards as if he’d never seen them before. Fashion brands, Broadway shows, fast-food commercials, comedy specials, Coke, M&M, Hershey’s…
It was quickly becoming too much for him, I could tell. He looked away from one flashing billboard only to get stuck on another, and then he spun around in a half circle and flinched at the sound of a street performer who was banging on upside-down buckets. I could only imagine what it was doing to Gideon, having no filters to push anything aside. People talking and laughing and hollering, taking pictures and pointing at various billboards, the traffic noise, the ever-present sound of sirens wailing. Times Square was alive.