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My head spins. His touch is gentle and warm, and in a world otherwise cold, I feel entirely safe—so safe that I begin to believe life might turn out far better than the bare minimum I once aimed for.
Life just might go in my favor after all.
Chapter 7
“Ready for another load.”
I look up from where my finger is along the page and pop up from my perch.
It’s Monday the 22nd, just three days before Christmas and also some sixty hours since James caught me at the top of that waterfall. And we kissed.
Not that I’m counting.
But I have been quietly reliving the moment ever since.
James thought it wise to spend the past two days with his family, what with the whole fresh sense of family dedication, and especially after so many surprise visits out with me. Or, what I think is more likely, to recover from hiking, freezing, and very possibly breaking his tailbone out in the wilderness. “All the fun,” as he put it.
We’ve exchanged texts the past two days, though. Short and sweet. Nothing too wordy but just enough to share our lives and say we’re thinking about each other.
So far I’ve seen a picture of him sitting in a tiny pink chair, dressed up in all the glam of earrings and tiaras beside a game of Pretty Pretty Princess with the text: I won. More or less.
I also received a couple of texts showing highlighted portions of his truly, extraordinarily boring finance book with the words: Riveting stuff here. How’s yours? Has your heroine gotten into any portfolio-diversification crises yet, or are we still all puppy drama?
And there was a picture of him over a stovetop while his nieces stood on chairs beside him, about which he wrote: Taught them to make coq au vin. They essentially declared it to be mac and cheese. I’m now questioning my genetic ties.
He looked happy.
The crease along his brow from years of perpetual frowning that was prominent when I first met him in the airport has cleared. The latest picture of him with the whole family, grinning and windswept beside a lot of Christmas trees, is proof. And he’s wearing the green jacket in it.
He’s transforming, it seems.
Vacation looks good on him.
Oh, how I wish I could say the same about me.
I wish I could say I’ve been embracing the good weather and time with family after such a long period apart. I did manage to almost get one more point (after chickening out not once but twice with others) when I boldly asked a neighbor if I could pour coffee on her rosebushes. She said no. Then I fell into despair and caved to my fearful thoughts and ultimately apologized a thousand times. I ended the conversation mumbling something about research on caffeine and plants and backed away with a partially damaged reputation. I couldn’t count the point given I lied and denied like crazy after. It was a hard morning.
Regardless, James was on my mind 99 percent of the time despite myself.
I can’t help it. He has captivated my whole attention, and now I’ve found myself living beside my phone, hoping for the next text to come through. Walking with Mom through the grocery store, I kept one eye ever hopefully over my shoulder.
No James, but who did I get instead?
Dom.
We locked eyes across the produce section, and he beelined our way while I jerked the cart around and pretended to be bound and determined to reach the seafood aisle. My effort was in vain; he caught up with us, charmed my mother with a load of compliments while casually humblebragging that he was just out “because poor Stephanie has come down with something and it was only right for her to lie down” (so far, the only things in his cart were beer and chips), and somehow managed to slip into the conversation that he had bought me a cup of coffee out of goodwill the other night at the coffee shop when I was out with my “boyfriend.”
This led to Mom’s surprise over the news of said boyfriend, my denial that anybody held that title in my life (and my silent prayer that James wouldn’t show up now), an embarrassingly loud amount of information bestowed publicly from my mother about my exact relationship status and past life—to a very satisfied-looking Dom—and finally his breaking me down and securing my new phone number so he could “pass it along to Stephanie and see if we can get you two girls together sometime.” Then, once we’d finally parted with him, an effusive amount of praise from my mother about how mature Dom has become and how he’s “such a charming man.”
She’s always been the biggest believer in redemption stories. And deep down, I think she never quite fully believed me about everything Dom put me through.
But even though I haven’t earned any points and failed spectacularly in handing over my number to Dom, and the neighbor now fears I’m going to creep over and pour burning coffee on her rosebushes at night, that all got put behind me when, first thing this morning, I got a text.
May I take you to dinner?
Not Wanna grab dinner? or Hey. Eat? but the sort of request one might expect from a civilized man with a charming smile who reads finance books for fun.
This is as close to a Pride and Prejudice story as I’m going to get.
