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Am I even allowed to be this happy? What is the catch? Because there’s no way this man—this artist from the city—finds me, a small town supermarket manager, all that interesting. I am enjoying myself immensely, but I am waiting for the boot to drop.
The defeatist voice that sometimes pops up in my head tells me that this man will be bored of me sooner rather than later.
It’s more of a nagging feeling than a voice, and it taints everything about this day.
I decide here and now that I’ll have to enjoy this while it lasts—because nothing lasts forever, so why not make the best of it? Turning back to J.D., I tell him that I’ll take the whole stack. These will keep me busy during the winter—and also give me plenty of ideas to keep Jakob entertained, in my own silly, homespun way.
“I have an idea for tonight,” I say as we make our way through the bestselling fiction section of the store.
Jakob chuckles and winds his arm around my ribs. “So do I,” he rumbles, kissing my neck. His breath is so warm and his touch so exciting it makes my nipples hard. This bra is my most comfortable one, and yet I want to be rid of it as it suddenly begins to feel tight and itchy. Do breasts swell when a woman is turned on? Is that a thing?
“Not that,” I say, playfully swatting his shoulder. “Well, yes. More of that, please. But also…”
I can hardly get the words out because he’s now kissing me out of sight and out of earshot of J.D., who has busied himself on his computer with one thing or another.
“Yes, love?”
There’s that word. It feels so good to hear it. But I remind myself that it’s just an expression like “lass” or “dear.” He loves me as a friend. He likes me as a romantic partner, but love-love? We’re not there yet.
“I think we should split up and each of us choose a book for the other. We’ll keep it a secret and then we’ll exchange our books as gifts tonight.”
Jakob’s eyes gleam at the idea. “What sort of book?”
“It could be anything. It could be any type of book that makes us think of the other person. It could be a recommendation of something we read that we’d like to share. Or it could be something completely out of our usual comfort zone.”
“Hey,” Jakob says, grinning. “I like the comfort zone idea. What do you normally read?”
I tell him that mainly I read mysteries and thrillers, biographies, but my most frequent purchases are books on crafting, cooking, gardening, and design.
“What about you?”
“Mostly I read about mechanics, fine art, engineering, welding, and graffiti art.”
“That gives me quite a range to choose from,” I say.
He shrugs. “Not much of a reader unless it’s something I need or an artist that I absolutely fall in love with.” He names off a few sculpture artists I’ve never heard of, and I find myself feeling a pang of jealousy at two or three who sound like women’s names.
I’m being absolutely ridiculous, I know.
“You’ll have to introduce them to me one day.”
“Promise. They’ll love you,” he says, pressing his lips softly to mine. So these are people he knows.
It hits me like a ton of bricks to realize how big and grand his life is in the city. He knows artists. Artists who are no doubt more interesting than I am. More educated. More fabulous.
More…everything. How could they possibly love me? How could I possibly be a match for their cool, successful friend?
“What’s wrong?” Jakob studies me with concern in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I say with a brave face. “Just trying to think of what to get you. Let’s do this.”
We separate for less than five minutes, but I could have spent five hours picking something. I finally land on a book about stargazing. Perhaps this is a little bit of a cheat. I assume he doesn’t do much gazing at the stars what with the city lights hampering such activities. But it’s also something I’d like to learn more about.
There I go again, racking up more and more activities to keep him entertained enough to fool him that I’m interesting.
I wonder if that will ever wear off.
20
