just shook his head and laughed.
“Favorite food,” I quizzed, popping a piece of jerky into my mouth.
“Cheese and pepper tamales with hot sauce,” Holden said. “You?”
“Venison stew with wild mushrooms and a good Shiraz.”
“You don’t even know if you’re of legal drinking age.”
“Twenty-five, remember?” I grinned again. “Favorite season.”
“Summer,” Holden said, and I had to agree with that—though winter was growing on me.
“Favorite movie?”
“The Sting.”
I bit my lip. “That’s the one with Robert Redford, right?”
“And Paul Newman.” Holden looked interested. “Have you seen it?”
“I must have,” I said slowly. “If I knew it had Robert Redford. Though I’m pretty sure my favorite movie is Citizen Kane.”
Holden barked a laugh. “I bet you fifty bucks you haven’t actually seen that.”
“Yeah, but nobody has, not really,” I argued. “That’s what makes it such a good choice. No one can call you out on it, and you get cool-kid hipster points for having artistic taste.”
“Glad to know my guest hasn’t just lost his memory, he’s also a pathological liar.”
I stuck my tongue out and tried to think of a good next question.
“If you could go anywhere in the world for two weeks, with money as no object, where would you go?”
Holden made a face.
“What?” I asked, tearing open a packet of fruit snacks. “You hate traveling that much? Or is it just that you already have all the money in the world and have been everywhere and the question is boring?”
“I think I liked it better when you couldn’t talk,” Holden said. “Anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”
“You. Just now. And earlier today. And last night, and—”
“I didn’t answer because it’s complicated,” Holden said. “And maybe I am more comfortable here than anywhere else. But I guess if I had to go somewhere…” He paused. “I always wanted to go to Death Valley. I don’t know if I would spend two weeks there, but the idea of going somewhere so beautiful and empty sounds nice. I bet there’s great stargazing too. I always meant to go, when I was out in California, but somehow I—”
He broke off, looking like he wished he could take those words back.
“I promise I will forget that last sentence entirely, mysterious man who definitely used to live in Cincinnati or Columbus and certainly not anywhere remotely close to the west coast.” I held up my hand like I was swearing on a bible.
“What about you?” Holden asked.
“Me? I don’t know where I’ve lived.”
“No, I mean the vacation thing. Where would you go if you could go anywhere?”
I thought for a moment. “Definitely somewhere warm.”
“Death Valley’s warm,” Holden said.
“Not at night though, probably. It’s a desert, isn’t it?”
“Look at you, knowing science facts. Maybe you’re an environmental biologist or something in real life.”
“You think I’m not old enough to drink, but I have a PhD?” I said, laughing, and Holden joined in. “Besides, I’m sure you don’t want me horning in on your vacation. You’d probably want to take it with someone else.”
Holden didn’t say anything, just looked down at the table-top, and I wished I hadn’t said anything either.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry, I swear,” I said quickly.
“It’s fine.” The look Holden gave me was resigned. “You’ve probably figured out by now that I’m kind of a recluse. Before you washed up here—well, suffice it to say, there’s no one in my life who I’d take to Death Valley.”
“But what about the condoms?” I burst out, immediately undoing all the good work my apology had done.
“The what?”
“The condoms. In the basket. Ugh, I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but I just—hot-chocolate flavored? Really?”
Holden smiled—he actually smiled—and shrugged. “My friend sends me those. She’s into all the pagan holidays, so that’s what she does. Sends me care packages eight times a year. The condoms are her way of telling me she thinks I’m wasting my life and should get back out there and date again.”
“Oh. That’s…nice of her? I think?”
Holden laughed. “In my better moods, I agree with you. In my worse ones, I tell her to stop single-handedly propping up the flavored-condom industry or to at least send them to someone who would get some use out of them.”
For an honest answer, it was frustratingly unhelpful. No indication of why he’d stopped dating, or what gender of people he dated before he stopped. But I supposed I shouldn’t complain, when it was still more of an answer than I’d expected to get.
Or at the very least, I needed to complain