My lips are swollen and sore, and I'm a disheveled mess when the doorbell rings.

"That would be our food." Mr. Gabe jumps up and pulls on his boxers and jeans, hopping on one foot as he tries to get his leg into his pants before rushing toward the door.

I slip back into my t-shirt and tuck my legs underneath me on the sofa. When he reappears in the doorway, multiple bags dangle from his fingers.

I burst out laughing. "Um, are you sure you ordered enough food?"

He sets the bags on the coffee table. "There's one more," he says, disappearing from the living room.

"You know there are only two of us, right?" I call. "Unless there's something you're not telling me, like you have a twin brother."

He returns with another bag, depositing it beside the bags already on the coffee table. "I don't have a twin. Just the one brother."

He's never talked about his family, and I don't remember his brother from my childhood. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"I don't think you've ever met," he tells me. "He's older than me. Now, do you want to eat like a civilized person with a plate and silverware or do you want to eat out of the containers?"

"Uncivilized," I reply. "What is all of this stuff?"

Mr. Gabe tosses a plastic fork at me, and I catch it. "This is lunch."

"Your brother isn't still in South Hollow, is he?" I have the nagging thought that I really don't know all that much about Gabe, despite the fact that he grew up with my father – and despite the fact that we've done some of the most intimate things possible.

Mr. Gabe removes container after container from the bags, setting them all out on the coffee table and prying open lids one at a time. "He and his husband live about an hour from here," he explains.

"Your brother is gay," she says.

"Yep." He opens a lid on a takeout container, then looks up at me. "Any particular feelings about that?"

My face warms. "Are you asking me that question because you expect me to be as small-minded as my father?"

"Are you?"

I bristle. "I think people love who they love. End of story. I might be my father's daughter, but I am capable of thinking for myself, you know."

He grunts. "Since you haven't tried any of these foods, I just ordered a bunch of everything."

"You ordered one of each of everything on the menu?"

"Not exactly," he says. "I ordered my favorite things from a bunch of different restaurants and had them all delivered. Wait, you're not allergic to anything, are you?"

"Um, no, not allergic."

"Is there anything you hate?"

"I can't think of anything."

"Well, you haven't tried enough to know what you hate."

"I know what I like."

He smirks. "I know what you like."

He does know what I like – at least when it comes to the bedroom. Or the office. Or the study. He seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to what I like.

"Yeah, well, I don't seem to recall you making any complaints about what I did, either," I tell him saucily.

"You're not getting any complaints from me," he says, putting his hands up. "Okay, so we have Thai, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, French, and German."

"You ordered all of this just because I hadn't had Thai food before?"

He sits down on the floor beside the coffee table with his back against the sofa, and crosses his legs. "I ordered it because you hadn't had anything. You need to try new things."

I sit down beside him. "My head is going to explode from all the new things I'm learning."

He hands me a paper wrapper. "Chopsticks?"

I give him a sheepish look. "I don't know how to use them, Mr. Gabe."

"You know, after calling me God in the bedroom, I think you can call me Gabe outside of it."

"I never called you God," I protest, shaking my head as I laugh.

He mimics my voice. "Oh my God, Oh my God!"

I giggle and nudge his shoulder gently with mine. "That doesn't mean I was referring to you."

"Oh, you were referring to me," he says. "Worshipping my cock, worshipping my hot bod. I refuse to believe otherwise."

"Your hot bod?" I laugh.

He tears open a pair of chopsticks and uses them to put a piece of sushi in his mouth. "That's right. Don't pretend you can resist it."

I peer over the container at the sushi. "What is this?"

"This is a spicy tuna roll. I ordered really easy stuff for you to try, just to see if you like it." He selects a piece with his chopsticks and dips it into a plastic container of soy sauce. "Here, let me."

I open my mouth and he feeds me, watching with anticipation for my reaction. "It's good," I declare.

"That's it? Good?"

"What?? I'm not a famous writer. I only have simple words, not eloquent professor words."

He snorts and points at me with the chopsticks. "You seem to forget that I've read your writing, Purity. You have plenty more words in your repertoire than good."

"Fine." I stick out my tongue. "It was… delicious."

Gabe rolls his eyes. "Try some Pad Thai. This is what most people try, but it's not my favorite Thai food."

"I thought you ordered all of your favorites," I tease. "What's your favorite dish?"

"I ordered things I thought might be easy to try," he replies. "My favorite is Khao Soi."

He feeds me a bite of Pad Thai. "What's Khao Soi?"

"It's a curry soup."

"Have you gone to all of these places?"

"I've been to some of them."

"I've always wanted to travel," I say wistfully. This is the first time I've been outside of South Hollow."

"You should travel. It would be really good for you."

I give him a look.

"That sounded condescending. I didn't mean to be condescending. I just mean that it's good for anyone."

"Mrs. Cooper – the librarian in South Hollow – used to stock travel guides in the library. If you think about it, that's really weird, because who in South Hollow goes anywhere or needs travel guides? So I think they must have been donated or something. Anyway, I used to look at the photos in the books and dream about traveling to all of those far-off places."

"Starting with Pennsylvania," he teases.

"Got to start somewhere." I pause, thinking about how much Mrs. Cooper helped me get to college. "She let me read all of the books my father never would. Like On the Road. My dad would have crapped himself if he found out I read that book."

Gabe snorts. "Mrs. Cooper has been in South Hollow for a long time. She's always been pretty subversive. She tried to get me to read, but I fucking hated reading as a kid. She would shit herself if she knew I grew up to become a writer – and a writing professor."

"She knows you're a writer," I tell him, astonished that he thinks South Hollow might somehow be unaware of his success. "I read all of your books a million times because she gave them to me."

He looks taken aback. "You did?"

My face flushes warm. "Maybe not a million times exactly."

"No, go on," he says, a smile playing on his lips. "Tell me more about how much you obsessed over my writing and how amazing it is."

"Screw you," I say, laughing.

"You basically stalked me, didn't you?"

"I did not," I protest. "Mrs. Cooper made me apply here. Well, she made me apply everywhere. I was only going to try for the state school. That was what I was reaching for. She told me I should shoot for a school far away from South Hollow, and the creative writing program here is stellar."

"Well, it's only as good as the professors it employs," he asserts pompously.

"You're so modest."

"I'm the best at being modest."

I giggle as he uses chopsticks to feed me more noodles. "Are you glad you left South Hollow?" I ask.

He lets out a loud laugh. "What kind of a question is that? Are you glad you left South Hollow?"

I giggle again. "I'm… fucking ecstatic."

He grins. "Well, I'm more fucking ecstatic than you are."

"When I got here, I thought there was no way I was going to make it," I confess. "The city seemed so big and the campus felt like a zoo with people everywhere. The thought of making it to classes, let alone actually studying for classes and working, felt really overwhelming."

"Yeah. To be honest, I never thought you'd make it either."

I bark a laugh. "Seriously?? You were trying to make sure I didn't make it."

"I was trying no such thing!" He spoons something else – German, this time, I think – into my mouth. "Spaetzle."

"You were totally trying to get me to leave! You were so mean to me. I thought you hated the fact that I was in your class."

"I did hate that you were in my class."

"I knew it!"

"That had nothing to do with hating you, Purity," he explains. "Don't you get that, after everything that's happened? I didn't want to be anywhere near you because I couldn't stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you. There you are, coming from South Hollow, naïve and innocent – and there I am, the asshole who can't stop thinking about debauching you."

"You were thinking about debauching me?"

"Are you really asking that? I wanted you the second I saw you."

"I didn't realize that."

"I didn't want to treat you like shit, Purity. Trust me, I regret that." He exhales heavily. "It killed me to do it, but I was trying very hard not to cross a line with you. I warred with myself over it. It's wrong that I have."

I groan, frustrated with him. "You're acting like I have no authority here. Like, just because you're older and my professor, that I can't decide whether or not to sleep with you."

"I'm not a sleezeball professor who sleeps with his college co-eds. Just so we're clear."

"We're clear," I assure him. "Are you going to teach me how to use the chopsticks, or are you just going to feed me forever?"

"Fine, smartass. I was being honest and vulnerable for two seconds but yeah, I'll teach you how to use the fucking chopsticks." He pokes me playfully in the arm with his chopsticks before tearing open a new packet and placing them in my hands. His fingers fold over mine as he demonstrates how to use them. "Spread your fingers like this."

When I attempt to do it on my own, my piece of sushi disintegrates. "I'm going to totally suck at this forever," I declare, laughing.

"It's your first time. You'll get better."

"Does that apply to my first time with other things?"

He grunts. "I'm not sure you need any help with other things. Some things you're just a natural at."

My cheeks feel warm. "Really?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Sometimes things just click, sweetheart. Don't question it, just go with it."

He's only talking about clicking in bed, of course – because this doesn't exist anywhere outside of the house.

This can't go anywhere beyond these four walls.