Page 38 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

I laugh at her accusatory look. “You don’t,” I say and take a sip of coffee. “You’re actually quite peaceful when you sleep.”

When I say that, the air shifts. Our eyes lock, so many unspoken words lingering between us, and maybe I should just open up. Maybe I should tell her that I don’t want her to leave. That this last week has been the best I’ve had since my wife died. That for the first time in six years, I didn’t think of heartache or trauma or feel this burn in my chest that’s haunted me since Amelia passed. Josie has cracked open this layer and her sunshine poured in, and I’m absolutely not ready to let any of this go.

Why can’t I just tell her? Fear of rejection? That she doesn’t think the same? That I’ll push away a friendship that means almost as much to me as potentially being together? Whatever the reasoning is, I’m blocked from blurting it out but pray that she’ll say something.

Josie lays her hand on me. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”

When I rest mine on top of hers, I fight back the urge to lift it to my lips. God, I hate this so freaking much. Why can’t I just say something? Anything? “Anytime. Seriously.” I squeeze her hand and go back to eating. “We do need to talk about when you’re returning because we still have four episodes left of Killing Eve, and I won’t feel right finishing those without you.”

A smile crosses Josie’s face. “Deal.”

After breakfast, Josie and I head outside to start the process of digging out her car from the mound of snow it’s buried under. Much to my dismay, it goes much quicker and smoother than I’d hoped. This entire time, I’ve held on to a delusion that maybe her car was permanently stuck and she’d have to stay here for another month. Or maybe the mini-plow wouldn’t hook up properly to the Jeep and she wouldn’t make it down the path. Or maybe when I was done with the path, we’d discover that the county roads hadn’t been plowed yet, even though I was almost sure I heard the scrape of metal on pavement echo through the forest last night.

But nope. The Jeep tugged the car out almost effortlessly. As Josie shoveled the patio, the mini-plow tore into the pathway and we finished almost at the same time. And when I got to the end of the street, MnDOT had plowed so perfectly that I saw concrete.

There’s officially nothing keeping her here. No reason for another popcorn night, or more hot tub moments, or more snuggles in my bed. Why, why, why the hell did I not invite her to sleep in my bed right away? One night of snuggling and I want more. So much more.

Back inside, Josie shoves her minimal items into her gym bag, and my neck grows hot. Just say it! Tell her you don’t want her to leave. Tell her that you’ve developed feelings. Tell her you’re scared, and you don’t know what this looks like, but you’re both worth it to figure it out, if she wants to.

And that’s the key. How would I know? Every show I’ve ever done on the podcast about being brave and putting yourself out there, and just admitting your feelings, is coming back to bite me square in the ass because this is an absolutely terrifying place to be. The threat of rejection, laced with the threat of losing a deeply developing friendship, is making my gut turn. So, no. I can’t ask her to stay. My heart cannot take it if she doesn’t want to.

Josie folds an already folded blanket lying on the couch and pats the pillow. She bends down and rubs Kona’s fur and whispers some things about being a good dog, and making sure to take care of me, and other sweet stuff that I can’t hear because my heart is pounding so hard in my head that it’s drowning everything else out. Don’t go. Don’t go. Please don’t go.

“Well, I should probably head out,” she says and tugs on her coat.

Tears prickle at the back of my eyelids. “I suppose that makes sense. Back to the grind, huh?” I sound like an idiot, but I don’t know what else to say.

She reaches her arm out and gives me a hug. It’s a nice hug, warm, but it’s not enough. I pull her into me, hard. Her body sinks against mine, her hands clutch at my back, her heartbeat thunders against my chest. We stay like this for a long time. Longer than friends. Longer than people who shared space for a week. Longer than people who may have only met a few weeks ago but seem to know more about each other than anyone else.

“Why does this feel like a goodbye?” Josie whispers into my ear.

I don’t say anything, because I feel that, too. This tug to keep her here but knowing that it’s not logical, that we’re probably in some sort of post-snowstorm fog and reality will step in soon. I step back because if I hold her any longer, I’m going to explode. “It’s not a goodbye. It’s a see you soon, okay?” My eyes drop to her cherry pink mouth, and God, I want to kiss her again so bad. Not out of desperation, not out of a ploy to keep her here, not out of anything but simply wanting to kiss Josie.

She slings her gym bag over her shoulder and makes her way outside. At the porch, I tug my sweater around me with Kona at my side, still in denial, still thinking she is going to stop and rush back into my arms, and say she wants to stay. I keep this delusion as I wave, as she starts her car, as she makes her way down the drive.

And when I shut the door to my house, I’m met with the silence of what just happened. I pace the house, I step into the recording studio, I look at my laptop. It’s too quiet. It’s way too fucking quiet. The solitude is deafening, covering me from head to toe, a dark isolation that’s shaking me to my core.

It’s only been ten minutes, but I can’t stand it. I want her back here, in my arms, filling my space with me, making me smile.

I pick up my phone and my thumbs fly off a text before I can reason with them to stop.

Colby

I wish you were still here.

The three dots pull up immediately.

Josie

I never left.

TWENTY-FOUR

COLBY

I race to the front door with my heart thundering in my chest as Josie pulls up to a stop. She slams the door, and marches to me. She’s determined, serious, smiling, the pink in her hair matching the flush in her cheeks. Her look mirrors my insides and carries the weight of a million unsaid words. All the hope, the fear, the desire, the trust. She runs up to the porch, throws her arms around me, and crushes her lips against mine. The kiss steals my breath. I stumble back a few inches with my mouth warm and hungry, and so fucking grateful.

She came back.