The next morning, Jesse and I stop by my storage unit, where we grab my camping gear and lug it to the car.

When he showed up at my condo beforehand, he looked so adorable in shorts and a tank. He brought a backpack and a sleeping bag with him, ready for our weekend excursion.

We load the gear into the back of my Audi before I hop into the car and prepare for a leisurely drive to North Carolina.

I’m excited, not just because I’m eager to spend time with Jesse, but because we’re doing it in public.

When we first got back from Puerto Vallarta, I was fine with confining our relationship to my condo. It wasn’t different from what we shared in Mexico, and in a way, it was nice getting to have our private affair in this fantasy that was removed from our real lives.

However, the more I get to know him, the more I don’t want it to be a fantasy. I want him to be in my life, and I’m enjoying the fact that this weekend we’re not feeling like we have to be a secret anymore.

Jesse deserves better than being treated like some sort of dirty little secret. He deserves a man who wants to show him off, who’s proud of him, which I am—so incredibly proud. Young as he is, he’s not some kid. He’s a man who’s been through more than most people would ever guess—something I can appreciate.

As we begin our drive, Jesse takes my phone, scanning through my music selection.

“Who the hell is Kate Bush?” he asks.

“Are you kidding me right now? She’s only one of the greatest musical artists ever to walk the earth.”

“Never heard of her.”

He turns on the music, and I recognize Kate Bush’s soothing voice and the sweet melody as “And So Is Love” fills the air. But as quickly as I start enjoying the song, Jesse makes a gagging sound.

“Would you prefer to have One Direction on through the drive?”

“Shut the fuck up. You know I don’t listen to One Direction,” he says with a laugh.

“What about one of those podcasts you’re always telling me about?”

“Really?” he asks, seeming excited that I brought it up. This is more the kid version of him. “I’d love to listen to one, if you really want.”

“Yeah. I’d like to hear where you find out some of those stories you tell me about.”

“Okay. I’ll find one. There are some I listen to that are kind of like listening to NPR, but I want to introduce you with something that’s a little more on the funny side. I bet we can find something that works, and then if you’re really appalled, we can put on this screeching voice you call music.”

“I can’t believe you said that about Kate Bush.”

As I turn to him, he smirks in a way that lets me know he’s enjoying pushing my buttons. It reminds me of a button I really want him to hit—something I’m eager and excited and nervous at the same time about sharing with him later.

On the long drive, we share some of his podcasts, and he indulges me with some of my music, which at one point he admits he’s not totally against and that I have some decent taste, aside from the fact that he thinks Kate Bush is shit, which is a fucking lie.

We stop at a Wendy’s for lunch.

“Come on. Let’s go inside,” I say.

“Inside? Oh, around people? What if the paparazzi catch us?” Jesse teases.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be plastered all over the internet. We’ll be the talk of TMZ.”

He laughs as we get out of the car and head inside. As we stand in line, scanning the menu posted behind the registers, Jesse asks me, “What do you think you’re getting?”

“Two ten-piece nuggets. That’s usually what I get.”

“What a coincidence. I get the nuggets, too. I actually usually get it with a bowl of chili.”

“A bowl of chili sounds nice,” I say.

“If you’re going to follow through with that thing you mentioned last night, I wouldn’t recommend the chili.”

“No, I wasn’t actually planning on having it, but I have enjoyed Wendy’s chili from time to time.”

This expression he’s making at me is cheeky, but he looks skeptical, like he’s wondering if I’m going to make good on the offer I made.

A part of me doesn’t want to follow through, but I push that voice aside. I’ve entertained it for too long, and now Jesse’s awakened something within me—this desire, this need. I want to explore it, and I feel comfortable exploring it with him.

After we order, we get our drinks and take our trays through the restaurant, passing the other patrons—a lot of families with kids.

As we sit, my back to the wall so that I can see all the people behind Jesse, I truly appreciate we’re here in public and that I’m not nervous or worried about being caught…because of how much I like this guy. I like having him in my life. I like getting to know him more. I’m certainly not ashamed of what I feel for him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, those thick dark brows pushing together.

He has such a boyish face at times, but when he pulls his brows together like that, stern and serious, he looks so mature.

“You don’t think it’s kind of nice being able to do this?”

He glances behind him and then at me. He tucks his face low and glances up at me, almost sheepishly, and there’s the boy all over again, like a kid who’s appreciating something he shouldn’t be.

“I like it a lot, actually. I’m excited about doing it a lot more.”

He’s not teasing or being playful, just admitting that he’s into me, which in some ways is startling. It surprises me that someone like him would desire me, and I feel lucky that’s the case.

I savor my chicken nuggets, feeling a little deprived of chili.

He doesn’t dip his nuggets in any sauce, something I take note of, whereas I’m getting globs of barbecue all over mine before I inhale them.

“I don’t want to take up all the sauce,” I say.

“No, no. I don’t need any sauce.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’m just not a sauce kind of guy.”

“There’s one sauce I know you’re into.”

He laughs. “Well, they don’t exactly have that behind the register, and I prefer to have it, um, à la carte,” he jokes.

“There’s only one way to take that, but I’m pretty sure it’s totally inappropriate to be saying that so loud in this setting.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says before whispering, “À la carte.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I say.

“I think the f-bomb is worse than me saying à la carte.”

Little bastard.

We finish our meals and then get back on the road. He gets talking about some of the podcasts we’ve listened to. He’s very opinionated about some of the topics that come up, asking for my thoughts, which I’m eager to provide. It’s a stimulating conversation, and I’m fascinated because this wasn’t my idea of what would happen. I imagined we’d be discussing music or making random conversations on a long drive, the way we typically do at my condo, but this is so seamless. I can see where some of his everyday conversations come from now that I’m listening to these with him. That he stays informed and enjoys absorbing new information and sharing it with others. His enthusiasm about it is contagious, electric.

I’m so enchanted by our conversation that I’m kind of disappointed as we get close to the campsite. Like with so many nights we share, I feel like I could keep this going forever.

“God, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he says, catching himself in the middle of one of his energetic monologues. “Sorry, uh, psht, you don’t care about any of this.”

“That’s not true. I do care, and I’m actually listening to you, which is why I’m so quiet right now. Jesse, you really do have very interesting opinions about all this, and I just… It’s things I’ve never even thought about, so I’m having a very good time hearing you share them.”

“Oh, well then, in that case, allow me to bore you a little more.”

He picks up right back where he left off without missing a beat, and as he sits there moving his hands about wildly, expressing his frustration and excitement, I find myself wondering who the fuck is this amazing man sitting beside me.