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Jakob
We exchange our books after dinner.
Smoothing my hand over the fine brown parchment and string that Jo has wrapped up my book with, I have to chuckle. “I feel like it’s Christmas and all I did was hand you a book inside a bookstore bag.”
Jo chuckles dismissively. “I like making things extra homey. It’s sort of my thing. Especially for you. I mean…as a guest.”
I absorb all of the layers of meaning here and resolve to talk about it. But not yet. My belly is full of delicious homemade summer berry tart with coconut-lime shortbread crust. And my mind and body are exhausted from all the activities we packed in today. After the bookstore, Jo and I visited a museum dedicated to local arts and crafts, which I assured Jo that I found fascinating even though it wasn’t “fine art”—her words, not mine. We biked the entire lakeshore. We spent the afternoon picking wild berries from a field. Finally, we returned home with our hauls.
As Jo prepared dinner, I assured her I would entertain myself by tinkering in the garden. I pulled weeds, plucked the last of the summer tomatoes, fixed the rabbit-proof fencing, cleaned out the chicken coop, and laid down a fresh layer of straw bedding.
In the garden shed, I found a surprising collecting of tools and amused myself by creating an odd little garden gnome out of scrap metal from rusted buckets and broken watering cans.
“Jo. You do too much for me,” I say, snapping open the strings and tugging at the paper.
I read the title: “A Night Sky Companion: A Beginning Stargazer’s Field Guide.” I look up at Jo, who’s watching me warily.
“I hope you like it. If you already know your constellations, I’m sorry.”
Setting the book aside, I reach out to her and pull her into my lap, shushing her with a soft kiss. “You remembered.”
She blinks at me shyly and nods. “It was one of my fondest memories from childhood, sitting on my roof with you and looking up at the stars. Now we can actually identify what we’re looking at.”
I press my forehead to hers and fill my lungs, my eyes, all my senses with her nearness. She is the one for me, and I endeavor to show her how much I appreciate her thoughtfulness. “Jo,” I grit out, emotions rising in my throat.
I take her mouth in a heated kiss, my tongue finding hers. Her soft sigh of pleasure resonates through every bone in my body.
“Jakob,” she hoarsely whispers, the sound edged with need. I’m beginning to develop a Pavlovian response to this sound.
A low hum is my only reply, and it gets lost in her sweet mouth, her soft lips. The hum becomes a growl at the feel of her hands gripping the front of my shirt. My hand slips between her thighs, massaging her high inside her leg. She gasps and pulls away from the kiss.
“I want to open my present now.”
“Do it,” I rumble.
Unfortunately for me, she means the book. Not the present waiting for her inside my trousers, straining against my zipper at the moment.
Her cheeks are flushed a sweet pink as she reaches for the paper bag. She reaches inside and pulls out the book, reading the title aloud.
“Pirate’s Plunder.” She examines the illustrated cover, featuring a beefy, long-haired fellow with a flowing shirt that’s being wrenched from his body by a flame-haired maiden whose breasts appear to be spilling over the top of her bodice.
“Is this…is this a vintage spicy romance novel?” she says, looking confused, turning it over to read the back.
I shrug. “I thought you could use something to read just for fun and relaxation. You’re a very…practical person. A little escape sounded nice for you.”
Jo is not as moved or enamored with the book I chose for her, but she thanks me with everything she can muster, which is a friendly hug and a peck on the cheek.
She stands then and grabs a big blanket from the basket she keeps near the fireplace. “Let’s go outside and try it out. You want to grab some pillows? I’ll get a flashlight.”
“Thank gods.”
When she looks at me strangely, I realize she means we’re going to go outside and look at the stars. We’re not going to try to imitate whatever salacious content might appear on the pages of Pirate’s Plunder.
Our little nest on the back deck is nice, too. Wrapped up together in a large blanket, I flip through the constellation guide, and with the help of the flashlight, I find the section for our corner of the world in autumn.
We spot Cassiopeia, and I read aloud the accompanying mythology. It really is a great book, and I’m starting to feel self-conscious about my choice.
“Thank you, Jo. For everything.”
