He scoffed then and his eyes, which could be serious, or disinterested at times, but never unkind, turned cold. “Of course they do. But no matter how my hair is or what I’m wearing, people will always make assumptions.” His voice was strained like talking about this took him back to a place of endless frustration. He stopped and looked away for a second and when his eyes landed on me, they were soft again, the frustration back wherever he usually kept it under the surface. “People will always think they know who I am, and almost always they will be wrong.”

“People suck.” It was such a dumbass response and not nearly enough, but Patrice chuckled, and a real smile tipped up those lush lips.

“They do.”

I wanted to ask more, about how that was for him. How he handled it without being angry all the time. But I didn’t. Wanting to stretch out this moment, I asked something trivial.

“So what are you doing tomorrow?”

I thought I saw a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes at my obvious attempt to change the subject. It stung, but it felt like it was too late to take it back.

He must’ve caught something in my face. “Are you okay?”

I smiled at him tempted to reach out and touch the screen, wanting to feel closer.

“I’m fine. You didn’t say what you’re doing tomorrow?” I asked again. Not even sure why I insisted on asking the question.

He shook his head gently and sighed. “Driving back afternoonish actually. I need to get some stuff done for my classes next week and I won’t get anything done here. I also told Ari I’d meet him for an early dinner. So I’ll be around.” There was too much promise in that answer for me not to pounce on it.

“You want to come over for a drink after, maybe some dessert?”

That sounded a lot more salacious than I’d intended, but he didn’t exactly look put off, and I went with it. “I promise I won’t jump you, I mean unless you really want me to.”

He laughed at that, and I lit up inside. “I told you I will always be down for someone else making me food, and I have a wicked sweet tooth. I’ll bring some wine.”

I shook my head at his answer. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to. I’ll text you when I get back. I should be back in town by 5:00 p.m. or so.”

“Okay,” I said, trying very hard not to grin.

After that Patrice’s eyes got droopy like he was going to doze off. “I think I need to get to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That wasn’t a question or a maybe, it was a statement of fact, and it was hard to contain myself. “Okay.”