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“Stasi? Suz says she’s on vacation and hasn’t talked to her in a while.”
Jo nods, thinking.
“Do you want me to go turn myself in?” I ask this with a laugh even though it hurts to sense her pushing me away.
“I’ll respect whatever it is that you want to do, Jakob. My main worry is that this whole thing is weighing you down.”
With a groan, I stand and brush off my jeans. “We don’t know that’s what the visit Suz had was even about,” I say.
Jo heaves a sigh and shakes her head. “You’re right. I’m sorry to be pushy.”
The slight sag of her shoulders would be barely noticeable to anyone else, but she seems to me to be deeply bothered by this conversation.
The embrace I offer is met with a perfunctory kiss and a tight smile. Her armor is up, and I do not like it.
“Hey,” I say, cupping her face and gently forcing her to look me in the eye. “I didn’t say I don’t like it when you’re pushy. We might disagree, but I like seeing the outspoken side of you. It’s sexy.”
Her face softens. “I want you to receive all the good things in life. To live out in the open. Get all that you’re entitled to and more.”
What I’m entitled to. I’ve never felt entitled to anything. It’s simply not in my DNA.
“I want nothing more than a simple life. With you. I can make my art here as well as anywhere else.”
She chews on her lip and thinks this over. “I worry you don’t have a studio all to yourself. If you let me know what you need, I could try to find you a place; I don’t know the first thing about fine art.”
“Fine art,” I repeat with a shake of my head. I kiss her softly. “You are a treasure, Jo.”
When I let go, her gaze shifts to the array of garden beds, drooping with the last of the season’s offerings.
“Someone ought to pick all of that,” she remarks, now eager to change the subject.
“Let’s do it.” I fold the picnic blanket into a makeshift sack and follow Josephine into the garden.
Our comfortable silence is peppered with small talk as we pick the winter squash, chard, turnips, and more until we’re covered in darkness. I keep the focus on her because I do not want to talk about the man in the kilt and what his visit means. So I ask Josephine about her work, her friends, and her life in Mirror Lake.
“It’s not all that exciting. Not as exciting as life in the city as an artist,” she says.
“You’re too humble,” I say, knowing I’m correct.
She lets out a surprised squeal when I place myself between her and the overgrown rhubarb and crash my mouth into hers. I cage my free arm around her, splaying my fingers over her back possessively. She needs to understand just how exciting and desirable she is. I want her to know with this kiss that she’s perfect. And that she’s mine. I can’t stand another minute to go by without her knowing how I feel.
She shivers in my arms.
“Gods, you’re so sweet, I never want to stop kissing you.”
She laughs shyly. “Jakob, I don’t know how to respond to you sometimes.”
“You don’t have to respond in any other way than to honor our marriage pact,” I say. I keep the tone teasing. But am I teasing?
Embarrassment makes her squeeze her eyes tightly. “We were so silly and dramatic back then, weren’t we?”
She moans softly through more of my relentless kisses, a sound so intoxicating I might injure the squash if I’m not careful.
The blanket full of veggies between us is quickly becoming annoying. Carefully, I set it down on the ground so I can clasp her rosy face with both hands.
“It’s not silly. It was innocent and pure and sweet. One of my favorite memories of childhood.”
“Oh, Jakob…”
