Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
COLBY
It’s not creepy, it’s not creepy… Okay, fine.
It’s a little creepy. But Josie is just so lovely when she sleeps.
She tucks into herself like she’s giving herself a hug.
I swear this woman can conk out just about anytime, anyplace.
When she fell asleep while streaming our show, I stayed on the couch, with our legs intertwined, and took one too many glances at her soft face.
I slither off the couch as quietly as possible, and my body immediately misses the snuggles. My legs tingle with the evaporating warmth, and now I’m standing here debating if I should slide back and sleep on the couch with her.
Sigh. I tug the blanket up to her chin, lay one more on her from the basket, flip on the night-light, then saunter down to the recording studio to start my session. I put on my headphones and hit record.
For the past three nights, Josie’s fallen asleep on the couch way before I’m even tired.
Although today we were outside chopping wood for almost two hours, plus the emotional release she had probably contributed to the fatigue.
I saw something in her break when she talked about her father.
The pain was real, and raw, and I wanted so badly to take it away.
It reminded me a bit of how I broke down after Amelia, the moment when the denial fog lifted, and reality sank in, and it felt like my insides were being crushed.
It’s been four full days since Josie got stranded here, and to outsiders, that probably seems like nothing.
A blip in their daily life, an interruption before things go back to normal.
But for me, it’s shaken up the world that I know, the one that I cultivated like a vault around me.
And I’m not sure I want to go back to the world I knew before I met Josie.
This closeness, this bond I’m feeling to Josie probably isn’t rational.
I hear my inner “Ruby voice” as if someone were to write my show with this exact same conundrum.
“Hey, Ruby, does it seem rushed that I feel like I’m falling for someone that I’ve only known for four days?
” My overwhelming response would be, “Yes, a million percent, it’s rushed.
” But even with the expedited timeline, my reality is not changing.
Fuck. I am totally, unequivocally, fearfully, falling for Josie.
Okay, so technically it’s been more than a week, not four days.
And even more technically I met her a year ago, and she occupied my brain for quite a while back then, so does that count for something?
And I keep reminding myself that she is now the human I’ve had the most contact with, collectively, for years.
I need to stop falling into the societal rules on the amount of time you spend together with someone being the only factor that determines how much you should feel.
And also falling is a pretty intense term. But the truth is, I like her. A lot.
The office chairs squeaks as I adjust myself and readjust my headphones to record in my journal.
“I don’t know, Amelia. Am I overthinking this?
I remember what it was like to have friends.
I’m not totally obtuse. I just didn’t realize how much I missed sharing space with someone.
But this… I don’t know. Feels different.
” I rub Kona’s ears where she’s nestled at my feet.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop watching her sleep.
I swear I wasn’t there that long. Just like a moment too long.
I promise I have some self-awareness even if back in the day you’d tease me that I didn’t. ”
I continue recording into the journal. “But there’s something about having Josie here.
I like taking care of someone other than Kona.
Maybe I missed my calling and should have gone into the medical field, or some sort of caretaking field.
Every meal, every blanket, teaching her how to crochet, even with some of the most colorful swear words I’ve ever heard—who knew fuck nugget diamond butt plug could come out of a mouth so many times—it’s all filling me, bit by bit.
It’s like my insides were hollow, an empty bucket with traces of past liquid, and every day since she’s been here, it’s finally holding some water. Does this even make sense?”
I turn off the Amelia recording and pull up the questions I need to answer on my show.
Even though I’m normally diligent about keeping my recording schedule, I can push it off for a little bit and run an “encore” episode from a few years ago.
However, according to both the news and the Minnesota Department of Transportation, the roads are terrible, and even though the snow seems to have slowed, it’s going to take at least a day or two to clear the main roads.
Once it’s cleared, then I need to attach the snow scraper to my Jeep, plow the drive, and try to pull Josie’s car out of the ditch.
Getting too far behind on my recording schedule will not bode well for me after Josie leaves. So, even though I’m sleepy, I pull up question one and read.
Oh yeah. Crap. A few weeks ago, when I pre-vetted this question, I thought it’d be easy. Reading it now, a tension builds in my chest, because everything has changed. Having Josie here is shifting my mindset, and I’m not sure my answer today is the same as it would’ve been last week.
I clear my throat, channel my inner Amelia, and hit record.
“Hey, everyone! Welcome to the Love ’Em or Leave ’Em podcast. I’m your host, Ruby Reanne…
” I finish my intro and then read the question.
“This next question comes from Nedrah in South Carolina. Nedrah says, ‘Hey, Ruby. I’ve been dating this amazing guy for just a few weeks now…’” I continue reading the statement, but my mind is trailing a little bit, and my voice is slipping from my “Amelia friendly” to my baseline.
Come on. I hit pause to re-record, something that I rarely, rarely do.
I shake my head, rub Kona’s fur, and take off my headphones to make sure I don’t hear Josie walking around.
I push out an exhale, start again, and reread Nedrah’s question from the top.
The last line is the one that gets me. “‘So, Ruby, I guess my question is, how do you know when it’s love or just infatuation? Sincerely, Nedrah.’”
I hit stop. I’m not qualified to answer this one. If I’m being honest, I haven’t really been qualified to answer a lot of these questions I’ve been sent throughout the years. And what I had planned a few weeks ago in my head now doesn’t feel right.
Originally, I was going to talk about the tingles, how I felt when I first met Amelia, how the urge to kiss her and be with her every second of the day morphed into a beautiful combination of maintaining my own identity, and honoring my own needs, while having her needs become equally as important.
But tonight, it doesn’t come to me the way it normally does. Tonight, I don’t want fictional Ruby to talk about an Amelia who’s no longer here. I slide off my headphones, and tiptoe back to my room.
A few hours later, a cry-moan sound rustles me from my sleep. I bolt upright so quickly I get a head rush. Josie? Kona’s head cocks at the side of my bed and she watches me scurry from the room. Outside the bathroom, I tap my knuckle against the door. “Josie? Are you okay?”
“No…” She whimpers and cracks open the door with a sheepish smile. She’s standing with one arm looped like a sling in the sports bra she fell asleep with on. “I’m broken.”
“Oh no,” I say, trying really hard not to laugh at the dejected image. “What happened?”
“I had the failed idea of trying to remove my death-trap sports bra when I should cut it off, instead. Can someone please explain why the inventors of these things made them so freaking tight?” She unslings her wedged arm from the fabric constraint and drops it to her side with a wince.
“And then you can explain why chopping wood yesterday clearly destroyed each and every one of my muscles, and a few that I didn’t know actually existed. ”
“You’re sore, huh?”
“That is the understatement of the year,” she says. “I don’t know how you do it.”
I can’t help but grin at the compliment.
“Well, I’ve had years of building up to this, and you went pretty hard yesterday.
” I step back to assess if she’s actually injured, but my gaze catches on the smooth, pale belly…
the ample plush cleavage peeking from the tight fabric…
the way her frustration is making the creamy slope of her neck flush with red.
I blink away and keep my eyes focused on the wall behind her. A much safer spot. “Do you need help?”
“God, I’m seriously pathetic. I was thinking about just cutting it off and calling it good,” she says with a laugh. “No, I think I’ll be fine.”
Oh thank God. I don’t know what has gotten into me, but the idea of touching her bare skin is making places warm that should not be warming. I need to move myself as far away from her as I can until I calm down. “Okay. Holler if you need.”
I retreat to the safety of my living room, from where a moment later I hear, “Um, Colby? Yep. Definitely need your help.”
Inside the small bathroom, the air turns intimate.
Josie smells nice, even before her shower, like dreamy sleep and woman.
The soap remnants from her shower last night linger on her skin, and even though it’s the same kind I’m using, it somehow smells more delicate, more feminine, on her.
My nose seeks out the comfort of her scent, but I stop myself.
She turns her back to me, facing the wall, and I start to tug on the strap.
“Christ, what is this made out of? Spandex stitched inside a wetsuit?” I say with a chuckle, because oof, my heart is thudding in my ears, and I need to keep talking.
Do not touch her any more than necessary.
Maintain your cool. My fingers drag against the strap, and I lick the corner of my lip.
Thank God she’s facing the wall, not the mirror, and can’t see me.
Yes, I’ve seen the fireplace cast a glow over Josie’s naked body, felt her smooth bare skin, and even though my fingers are itching to do it again, I force myself to tackle this sports bra straitjacket removal as clinically as possible.
When I grip the fabric and lift from the back, tugging up to her neck, I see her throat roll with a swallow.
Her fingers touch mine, soft, and a heavy moment passes.
“Thank you,” she says as she clears her throat. “I can take it from here.”
Something in me is as disappointed as I am relieved. I nod and step outside the bathroom door. The moment it clicks, I press my forehead against the wooden frame, pull in a deep breath, and debate about knocking.