Free How to Love an American Man by Kristine Gasbarre Page A

slowly swam alone. “Look at that sky,” he said. The moon was three-quarters full, surrounded by stars rising up to fill every centimeter of space over the mountains and trees. They shined in mirrored perfection off the water, making the night twice as bright as it actually was.
    â€œI know,” I sighed, ducking into the water in awe so the dangle of my Florentine coin earrings was halted.
    â€œIs it deep where you are?”
    â€œUm.” I struggled for my feet to touch bottom. “I can stand, but I don’t want to. It’s all mud.”
    â€œCome here, then,” he said gently, holding out his hand. “It’s all rocks.”
    I waited a moment, and then slowly began to swim toward him. Suddenly I caught us both by surprise when I stopped paddling and said, “That’s close enough.” In the moonlight I watched him drop his hand, slump down in the water and drift away.
    I wished I could erase his confusion and reveal that my tentativeness was only because if I grew too near to him, then he might have done something to make me want to get even closer. Then, eventually I’d want to give him everything, craving things in return that he’s not ready to give. It’s a cycle more certain than the moon’s.
    â€œI’m getting hungry,” I told him. “You too?” I was relieved that he wasn’t cold toward me when he took my hand to help me climb the ladder onto the dock. Under the string of white lights over the bar, we snacked on munchies and sipped prosecco. “I love meals like this,” he said, as though he was realizing it for the first time. “Light. Whole foods.”
    I wrapped my towel tighter around my wet suit. “Me too.” I couldn’t get enough of the intelligent conversations we have, and our stories and easy laughter made me certain I wanted to see him again . . . I just wished I could decide which one of us was causing my hesitation.
    When I dropped him off at his house and helped take his bike off the back of my mom’s SUV, he stared at me for a minute, then hooked his elbow around my neck and kissed me hard on the mouth. After he’d gotten safely into his house, I stood there in the dark for a few seconds pressing my lips together, bewildered over what he’d meant to communicate with that. Was it a Thanks a million for your help with my bike today! or a boyish way to say, I’m starting to have feelings for you ?
    The following Tuesday I was riding around town in a sloppy ponytail and cutoffs, searching for saffron to test a mulled wine recipe that I’d just sold to a food magazine.
    My phone rang. “What are you doing right now?” Chris asked.
    â€œI’m out looking for saffron.”
    He laughed. “Saffron?”
    â€œYes, and do you know how hard it is to find saffron in small-town Pennsylvania? I’d have better luck digging for the treasure in Treasure Lake. What’s up?”
    â€œAre you busy right now?”
    Uh, yes, horribly. “Um, not really.”
    â€œCome over to my house.”
    â€œIs everything okay?”
    â€œOh, everything’s great. You’ll see. Hey.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMake sure you bring your swimming suit.”
    â€œUh,” oh God , I needed to run home and shave my legs! “Okay then, see you shortly.”
    Shoot, I thought, I was on a deadline, but what could I say? I swung my mom’s car around in the grocery store parking lot and raced home to find a bikini that might camouflage as many of my corporal misgivings as possible. Since when had swimming on third dates become protocol? Doesn’t he realize I’d like to know him a little better before he sees my body? It was different in the dark, but today the sun is blazing.
    When I arrived, he walked me down to his dock, where he’d lined up turkey subs on whole wheat and fresh cubes of pineapple.
    â€œSit down,” he said. “You have