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9
Jo
I snap the guest bedsheet a little too hard, but the crack it makes doesn’t satisfy me.
Well, that was unsatisfyingly hot, I think to myself as I make up the living room sofa for Jakob to sleep on.
I add a fresh pillowcase to an extra pillow and unfold my best quilt, trying not to make eye contact with Jakob, who’s tucking the sheet in under the cushions.
“You’re my first overnight houseguest,” I say.
“Cool.”
You’re my first of many things, I want to say.
I’ve never sat on someone’s lap to kiss them before. Heck, I’ve never sat on a bus and kissed before either. Or held hands in the village. Or kissed at a train station.
There’s a lot I haven’t done, so it was a good idea that Jakob pumped the brakes. Even if I’m aching for more. Even if I wouldn’t resist him ripping my top off and having his way with me.
It was right for him to slow down, though.
The walk back through the woods to the cabin could have been awkward with as abruptly as we ended our little kissing session. But it wasn’t. Jakob was kind and pointed out every rut and root and stone along the way, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I know the path better than I know the village itself. And we talked. About the letters. About our childhoods. About more of the things we missed. We talked about everything and nothing, and it was wonderfully comfortable.
We spent the rest of the evening splitting a bottle of red wine and rifling through a box of old photographs. Photos of my mother, photos of Jakob and the junior rugby team from the time before I moved away. Photos of us with our very young classmates, and one very sweet one of the two of us as young children with my mother.
And now, we are tired from the journey.
Jakob is here…actually enjoying my company. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Sure, my friends love me. But no one who’s ever shown the slightest interest in me romantically has ever enjoyed my company for this long. Let’s face it, there’s a reason I’m not the girl who tries to make herself sound interesting in her Tinder bio.
I remember the couple I met along the cobblestone streets yesterday morning as I sipped my coffee, and I remember how I felt wistful for someone to share my life with.
And now it feels like the universe heard me and delivered in a big way, in the form of this mysterious, six-foot-four bearded artist who already knows me so well.
Everything with him feels new but also easy.
“Hello? Jo, is everything okay?”
I blush and look away, wringing my hands. What am I doing, thinking that this is the universe delivering a man to me simply because I wished it? This is a living, breathing human being and a friend. A kissing friend, who has made no definite declarations of commitment.
“I’m fine, Jakob. I’m just so happy to see you. I guess I’m still bowled over a little bit.”
With a sweet chuckle, Jakob gathers me into his arms and restores my soul with a bear hug. He always gave good hugs when we were kids. And now, fully grown, this hug is better than sleep and sunshine and food and sex. Well, maybe. The jury is still out on sex, but I’ll know as soon as I try it.
Will it be Jakob? Is Jakob going to be my first?
All signs point to yes.
I hope.
“I’m happy to see you too. And yeah, I’m a little overwhelmed that we’re back together, too. But in a good way. I feel good around you, Jo.”
That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.
“Good” is all I say, even as my heart cries out for more, compels me to declare my undying love or something else that will surely ruin this moment.
“Well, good night, Jakob.”
He slowly releases me from the hug, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
