-1The Dinner and The Showstopper

"This is weird."

They've been driving for only two miles when Summer makes her abrupt confession. It's been a silent ride so far - now that they've finally admitted to wanting to see each other outside of group hangouts and tragedies, they don't know what else to say. Lines for situations like theirs are blurry at best and they don't want to cross something they can't come back from.

"Sorry," is Ryan's automatic response, and she has to laugh.

"You apologize too much," she tells him, and both their lips quirk when he shrugs and says it again.

Another minute passes and then Ryan breaks the silence. "Okay, this is really weird. I don't even know where I'm driving." Summer looks askance at him. "I didn't know where you'd want to go. I - I don't even know if you prefer seafood or Italian."

He sounds frustrated at not knowing such a small detail and Summer has to bite down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth from splitting into a grin. The thing is, she doesn't think Seth knows either, but he's never thought to ask.

Lately, she's begun to feel like she's like his own personal comic book - all mapped out in black and white according to his vision, the outlines indelibly bold strokes. With Ryan, she feels like she's the artist and she can fill in the blanks with all the vibrant colors she wants.

"I'm allergic to seafood," she informs him. "I ate shrimp when I was fourteen and spend three days in the hospital."

Ryan nod and his blue eyes twinkle when he glances over at her. "Italian it is, then."

XXX

He takes her to a place just outside the city limits, and with every mile they put between them and Newport, Summer can feel herself relaxing. The restaurant looks like a total dive from the outside, but when she opens her mouth to protest, Ryan chides her gently about judging books by their covers and takes her hand to lead her inside.

Their hands are complete opposites; hers small and smooth, his large and calloused. Still, their fingers fit together perfectly and Summer marvels at the sensation of his thumb brushing gently at her knuckles as a bored-looking hostess leads them through the surprisingly upscale interior.

"A candelit rable for two, huh?" Summer teases once they're seated. "You really know how to treat a gal, Atwood. How'd you know about this place?"

Immediately, she regrets her question. Her good mood dims as she wonders whether Marissa has ever sat in this seat, leaned across their plates to eat something from his fork, toyed with his foot under the table.

Ryan seems to sense the direction of her thoughts, because he touches her elbow - very lightly, as if he's afraid to leave fingerprints - and confides, "I used to wash dishes here, for extra cash. Trey's drug deals didn't really cover the bills."

"Oh." She knows she has no right to feel as relieved as she does. But his casual talk of drug deals and minimum wage work remind her of something else. "You know, sometimes I forget we haven't always known you. That you used to be ..."

"Poor?" he supplies wryly.

She looks away from him. "No. Maybe. I guess." She shrugs uncomfortably. "It just feels like you've always been here. Do you ever ... miss your old life?"

Ryan considers. "I miss certain things. I mean, it was a completely different world, you know? There was more freedom, but not as many opportunities. I guess that doesn't make sense. But, yeah, I think I'm better off here. After all, I wouldn't have met the Cohens ... or Marissa ... or you."

He slips her in so softly that she thinks she might have imagined it. "Do you think what we're doing is wrong?" she asks, suddenly desperate for assurance. "I mean, I know it is. Being here, lying to Seth and Coop, I ... I know it's wrong. But ... I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm being stupid."

"You're not." Ryan reaches across the table to take her hand again and she presses back a sigh at how right it feels. "It's not wrong, either. We haven't done anything."

"We lied to our friends," she points out, with an uncharacteristic quietness.

He can't really argue with that. He's only denying it to reassure her but the fact of the matter is, he has no idea what they're doing. Being together like this can only lead to heartbreak for all of them, but ... but he can't help wanting to do it anyway. It's wrong, it's awful, but it's true. He likes holding her hand, seeing her smile, having her ride shotgun instead of sharing glances in the rearview mirror.

"Okay. You're right. We lied," he admits. "And I hate it just as much as you. If you ..." This might kill him. "If you don't want to do this again, just say so."

Summer's mind flashes to what would happen if she really did put a stop to this. She says she doesn't want to see him like this again (which would be a lie), he takes her home, and then what? She curls up next to Seth on the couch and watches more kung-fu movies? Ryan avoids her gaze when they all hang out? It's not exactly a bright future.

"No, I - I want to." He keeps his eyes on hers, questioning. She nods and repeats, "I want to be here. I can't ... I can't imagine not being here."

Ryan lets out a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding. "Good. Me, neither."

A smile tugs at her lips. Ryan Atwood, man of few words. She sounds like an idiot; a rambling, panicking idiot while she pours her heart out, and he manages to pack enough emotion into three words that she's utterly convinced of his feelings. She likes that about him. She likes everything about him.

Their waiter materializes out of nowhere, posed with his pen in place. "Are you two all set to order?"

"Yes." Ryan says firmly, giving Summer a rare, heart-stopping grin. "We know what we want."

XXX

"Thank you for tonight, Ryan," Summer says yet again as she fumbles with her seatbelt. It's probably the fifth time she's said it since he pulled into her driveway, but she's stalling for time. She doesn't want the night to end. "It was fun."

"It was," he agrees, looking vaguely amused at her struggle with the buckle. "Here, let me..."

One click and she's free. Summer glances up to meet his eyes, thoroughly embarrassed. "I loosened it for you," she grumbles at him, starting to look away, but then he grabs her chin and fuses their lips together.

Embarrassment evaporates. So does, for that matter, all rational thinking powers. Summer feels herself being swept away by an overload of sensations and she doesn't even try to stop it. So what if this isn't the way it's supposed to be? Things change. They're not all the same people they were when Ryan first came to town. She's different now, he's changed her, and this feels right.

She tears her lips away, only to have him immediately move down to her neck. She gasps and forgets what she was going to say, tries to breathe evenly. "Come inside."

"Your dad?" His words are muffled, since he doesn't see fit to remove his mouth from her skin.

"Away." Her toes tingle as his tongue finds her pulse point. "House is empty."

Ryan lifts his head at that, and his eyes are the darkest blue she's ever seen them, endless pools of longing that she thinks she could drown in. "Are you sure?"

She knows he's not asking about the house anymore. Summer nods. It's not her hormones talking - although, God, they're singing right now - and it's not the thrill of the chase, or the secrecy, or the 'forbidden fruit' aspect. It's the fact that he's Ryan and his hands, calluses and all, are more gentle than anything she's ever felt and he listened to everything she said during dinner, even that stupid story about her crazy Aunt Mae, and she wants him.

"I'm sure."

As if to spite her, her cell phone rings at that very moment, the opening notes of The Valley's theme song cutting her off. With a groan, Summer fumbles for it, then Ryan sees her eyes widen and pulls himself away.

"Marissa?" Summer answers, shooting him a look. "What bag? Oh. Okay, well, I can bring it by tomorrow if - what? Oh. You need it in the morning? Okay. No, that's fine. Yeah, I'll see you in a few."

She hangs up and her heart breaks a little when she realizes Ryan already has the car started up. "She's on her way," she reports.

"I should leave." His hair is disheveled from her fingers running through it, his clothes rumpled. She probably looks just about as guilty. "I'll call you?"

"Yeah." Summer is defeated as she hops out of the car. Her feet feel like they're hitting the ground for the first time all night. "Yeah, I'll see you."

"Summer?" He pokes his head out his window and she shuffles back to the car, wondering what else he can say. As usual, he chooses silence, instead just cupping the back of her head and pulling her close for another mind-melting kiss. "I'll talk to you later. Okay?"

"Sure," she agrees, hoping she sounds nonchalant. "Drive safe."

She's sure to wait until his taillights have disappeared before hugging herself and letting out the squeal she's been holding in all night.