Birding with Benefits

Chapter 37

Once, when Celeste was birding with John, a Cooper’s hawk had slowed to land on a branch just above her, so close she could see the shine of its talons. Both then and now had brought a sense of wonder—seeing something beautiful and dangerous all at once. Then, she’d just whispered “wow.” Now, she said nothing at all.

After a moment, John bent for his other sock, then turned his back and made his way to the living room.

The sight of him disappearing through the doorway shocked her into action. She threw on her robe and bolted to catch him in the living room. “Wait up. Whoa. John, hold up!”

John had one hand pressed tight to his nape, his tense back to her as his shoulder blades pushed against his shirt with each breath.

He was quiet a lot of the time, but this was different. This silence made her bones ache. It was heavy with questions she was afraid to ask, like why and when and what now?

John sank onto the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers entwined. Celeste took a seat in the worn wingback chair facing him. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Finally, he looked up and met her eyes. “You were clear from the start about the dating stuff, and I thought I was too. I was excited to try this with you, to have something uncomplicated.” He picked up a pencil off the table and rolled it between his fingers. “But something changed for me along the way. I don’t know where or when exactly, but I’m not where I started.”

“Okay.”

An eloquent response for a woman who talked to students all day about the power of words. But what else could she say? She wasn’t where they’d started either. Now she didn’t know where she was at all.

Behind her, the clock marked each passing second.

“With Breena”—his eyes stayed on the pencil as he passed it between his hands—“I spent too long trying to be what I thought she wanted, and never feeling like enough. I’m done doing that. That’s why I can’t keep going like we have been, pretending it’s casual. I want more than casual with you, Celeste. Do you…” He raised his eyes to hers. “Is that something you could be open to?”

She was so proud of him, even as her stomach twisted. He was making a move, saying what he wanted, changing up the status quo.

But she was also so fucking scared.

She cleared her throat, forcing out some words. “There were reasons I didn’t want to date for real, and you were on board with that. I’ve made promises to myself, John. Plans. I’m just starting to see myself again, and I can’t just flip a switch and know exactly how to change course.”

He dropped the pencil to the table, then rubbed at the tight line on his forehead. “I’m not asking you to. I’m not asking for any promises, just… openness.” If Celeste leaned forward, she could reach him over the corner of the table. Instead, she drew up her knees and hugged them tight.

“I want us to keep seeing each other, Celeste. But if we did,” he continued, “I would need to know you’re open to having bigger feelings for me. That if you start to fall in love with me you’ll let yourself. Because I’m halfway there already.”

Celeste cradled her face in her hands, pushing hard at her cheeks. She wanted to crawl into John’s lap, curl up under his callused hands, and ask him to tell her more about what “halfway” meant.

But alarm bells clanged as her old armor clicked into place.

“I’m scared,” she said finally. The confession barely made it through the slats between her fingers.

“I know.” And then John was crouching in front of her, pulling her palms away to look at her. “I’m not Peter, Celeste.”

And she laughed. Because it was either that or cry. Of course John wasn’t Peter. He was quiet, soft-spoken with his competence, generous to a fault. And he wasn’t the problem.

“I know you’re not.” She cupped his face, stroking his beard once before sitting up straight and pulling her hands back into her lap. “But I’m still me. And that’s what scares me. I’m the one who let myself get lost, who let myself get smaller. I’m the one who was so eager to make everything okay that I never asked for more of what I needed. And I can’t trust myself not to go there again. I’m just now growing into my own space. Figuring out my own shape, you know?”

“Okay.” John tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and let his hand linger at her face. “I understand.” He stood. “I’m sorry this is happening now, after your argument with Morgan. Do you want to call Maria? She could come over.”

She didn’t look up, just watched her hands as they twisted together. “I’m okay alone, but thank you.”

Alone was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

He touched her cheek again, and Celeste recorded the memory, the way the softness of his hands, calluses and all, always surprised her.

Then his fingers were gone, and so was he.