Page 51 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“Yeah,” I agree, feeling a sense of wonder take hold of me. When Sheryl mentioned a “little waterfall,” I wasn’t prepared for this. It’s stunning.
We stand there, taking it all in—the sights, the sounds, the smells—for what feels like longer than it should. I alternate between watching the view and stealing glances at Jenny, her artistic eye seemingly absorbing every detail. I could tell she wants to capture this scene in a painting someday. I’ll have to remember this place and bring her back when she has her canvas and paints.
A shift in temperature alerts me that too much time has passed. “Jenny, we should head back. It’s going to be dark before we make it back to the cabin.”
She looks down at her watch, then back up at me, her expression apologetic. “I’m so sorry, I just got lost in the beauty of this place.”
“No need to apologize. I did too.”
With one last glance at the waterfall, we turn and make our way back to our one-bedroom cabin.
Back at the cabin, Jenny is all business, making quick work of brushing her teeth and changing into pajamas. She doesn’t even meet my gaze as she grabs the extra pillows from the closet and begins lining them down the middle of the bed.
“I think this should suffice,” she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork.
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing to the pillows.
“This way we can make sure to stay on our own sides of the bed.”
“Um . . . okay?” I say. Something is definitely going on with Jenny. Last night, she was fine with us sleeping close together, embracing actually, and now she’s back to not wanting to share a bed. “So you’re making a pillow fortress?”
“Exactly,” she says, adjusting the pillow again.
“Didn’t realize we were preparing for a siege,” I quip.
“Better safe than sorry.”
I wouldn’t mind being a bit sorry. The thought passes through my mind so quickly, the memories of waking up with her in my arms and the kiss we shared blooming warmth within me.
But I won’t make her uncomfortable.
“Jenny,” I say gently, gesturing to the wall of pillows. “What’s really with the fortress?”
She sighs and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Last night was . . . great,” she says hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I reply, keeping my tone soft and steady. “If a fortress of pillows is what you need, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Her eyes flicker toward mine, relief mingling with something unspoken. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “I don’t know how to explain it, I just—”
I hold up a hand to stop her, offering her an easy smile. “No need to explain.”
I swallow the lump of pride rising in my throat and focus on reassuring her. My smile must do the trick because a small one tugs at her lips in return.
We settle into our respective sides of the bed, the pillow wall an imposing divider between us, forcing us closer to the edges of the mattress than is comfortable.
Jenny seems to fall asleep easily—her breathing evens out, and her occasional sighs break the cabin’s quiet stillness. I lay on my back, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling and listening to the muffled rustle of leaves outside and the faint croak of frogs in the distance. The smell of pine lingers in the air, mingling with the faint lavender scent of her shampoo.
I turn on my side, careful not to disturb the wall of pillows, and study her outline in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains. Her hair is spilled over her pillow, and her face is relaxed, peaceful in a way I rarely see when she is awake.
The memory of our kisses from yesterday replays in my mind, vivid and electric. Her lips had been soft, tentative at first, but when she leaned into me, her touch grew confident, igniting something I hadn’t expected.
Kissing Jenny wasn’t just a moment; it felt like a turning point. It reminded me that beneath all the pretense of our arrangement, there was something real there, something worth exploring.
But then there was this wall, both literal and figurative. The pillow fortress is a clear reminder that she isn’t ready to blur the lines of our deal. My feelings for her are growing stronger, but the weight of what we are—what we aren’t—keeps me awake long after Jenny’s drifted off.
Clearly, the closeness from the last few days was too much. Even though I swear she was the one who instigated the kissing both times. What happened? I can only hope that she is starting to feel the way I am. Even if she isn’t quite ready to acknowledge those feelings.
In the morning, we pack up quickly, a silence filling the room. Jenny seems lost in thought, and I don’t want to push her. As we leave the cabin, I look back at the wall of pillows that had stayed intact all night. Then I close the door, and we leave in my truck.
