Chapter Seven #2
Mercifully, Gareth also decided that it was easier to join in than to fight it.
We played along as Tom and Connor ribbed us about the romantic sunrise, wondered if that pair of red-tailed hawks was bonded for life, grazed an evergreen and encouraged us to grab some needles for a souvenir, dipped the gondola near a waterfall and told us to make a very special first-date wish.
And because Gareth and I had committed ourselves to having a good time, we did.
Cory was also easygoing, but if he wasn’t having fun, he wasn’t able to fake it.
If the dating jokes struck a nerve, anger and misery would have been radiating off him.
Macon was equally unable to fake a good time.
Justin would have enjoyed the flight—hell, it was easy to imagine him as a pilot—but I was glad that none of these men who haunted my thoughts were here.
For once, I was glad to be with the person I was with.
After about an hour, Tom pointed out a plowed field to Connor and the chase van. “Perhaps you’ve been imagining that we would float down gently for an easy landing,” Tom said to us. “But the wind has picked up, so I’m gonna need you to follow my instructions carefully.”
The enjoyment slid from Gareth’s and my expressions.
“No need to be scared,” Tom said, delighted by our fear. “We’re gonna lean against the basket, turn sideways like this, and then bend our knees a little to soften the impact.”
“Uh, how hard do you expect this impact to be?” Gareth asked.
“Just keep holding on to those rope handles for support.”
“Connor? You got this?” I joked while fiercely wishing that Tom were the one piloting. I grasped the thick, prickly rope with both hands and all of my strength.
“We’re fine,” Gareth said, looking straight at me with wide eyes.
I stared straight back. “Totally fine.”
His blue irises were piercing, and I held his gaze with a racing heart.
“Land ho!” Connor cried, and the gondola jolted us as it hit the earth. The basket skipped daintily across the field a few times before toppling pathetically onto its side in a complete stop. We all laughed again in a release of emotion as if we’d just been on a theme-park thrill ride.
Gareth and I clambered out and squelched across the muddy ground. “Land, sweet land,” he said. Mud streaked our pants from the knees down, and our sneakers were caked. The van driver greeted us with a cheer and waved two bottles: champagne and orange juice.
“Oh dear God,” I said. “There’s more.”
“I’m not opposed to a drink right now,” Gareth said.
Tom bombastically recited something called the “Balloonist’s Prayer” and then led a toast to celebrate our successful first date—ha ha, he meant flight.
We clinked our mimosas together and downed them.
Now that the adventure was over, the cold weather felt biting as we helped the team deflate the balloon, roll it up, and load it and everything else onto the utility trailer hitched to the van.
They didn’t ask for our help, but it seemed impolite to do nothing.
Job done, we trundled out of the field and back to the JCPenney parking lot.
I tipped Connor, and Gareth tipped Tom. Then they all stood around watching us, so Gareth and I clumsily hugged goodbye to their catcalls, got in our separate cars, and drove home.
Better or worse than Justin? Kat texted that evening, as soon as she woke up.
We didn’t do anything , I replied.
WHAT? But!! Romantic balloon ride!
Exactly. Too much pressure. We had to keep joking so it wouldn’t get weird.
She FaceTimed me. “That’s bullshit. Not even a kiss?”
“We would have had to do it in front of an audience. The pilots wouldn’t leave.”
She laughed. She was still in bed, and the room behind her was bright and sunny. “So that’s it?”
“I have no idea. I guess so? I told you, the whole thing was weird.”
“Well, it’s been a weird two months. But at least you’re going out on a high.” She grinned. Held the grin.
“Oh. That was a balloon joke.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you see the pictures I sent?”
“You both look terrified. But he’s cuter than the pictures I could find of him online. Have you kissed anybody with a beard yet?”
“No, but First Brandon was a day or two unshaven and had more facial hair than Cory can grow.”
She sighed. “I guess that’ll have to do.”
I was surprised to receive a text from Gareth the following night.
I supposed I shouldn’t have been. After all, I’d asked him out—signaling my interest and availability—and then we’d had a fun time despite everything.
Of course he would follow up. He didn’t know that my boyfriend was moving back in with me in two days.
He didn’t even know that I had a boyfriend.
I should have taken you out to breakfast , he said. Let’s do breakfast.
I called Kat again. “He wants to have breakfast. What do I do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, is it ethical for me to have breakfast with him tomorrow so I can try to make out with him? You know, check that beard box?”
“Do people make out after breakfast?”
“ I will make out after breakfast.”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure you’re looking for a real answer.”
“So… that’s a no.” I knew she was right, but I still felt irritated.
“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t. But if you want to do anything with him, the ethical move would be to tell him what’s going on first.”
I moaned. “What’s my other choice?”
“Don’t meet him for breakfast.”
“And my other, other choice?”
“Don’t tell him, have breakfast, pop a mint and feel each other up, never contact him again, and then feel guilty about how you treated him for the rest of your life.”
“I mean, most of that sounds good.”
“Listen, I think you want me to tell you to do it, and I’m not going to stop you or judge you. But I’m also not going to encourage it. He sounds like a nice guy.”
Gareth was a nice guy.
How’s tomorrow? I texted him, ignoring Kat’s advice and my gut.
He responded quickly. I have to be on site early. Doubt you want to meet me at 6! Wed?
Wednesday, the day after tomorrow, was March. I wouldn’t be seeing Cory until that evening, but it definitely felt unethical to break my word to him. I don’t have to go into work until late, and you met me at 6:30 for the balloon. We’ll call it even.
Is a restaurant okay or should I book a rafting trip?
It made me laugh out loud . I’ll settle for a restaurant.
Lottie’s? They’re open that early.
My heart twisted. Lottie’s belonged to Cory and me. What about that British phone booth downtown? They have pastries in the morning.
It’s a date , he said. And then, See you in… a few hours?!
A few hours later, he was waiting for me beside the phone booth with an expression between a smile and a grimace. “They don’t have food here, or even coffee. Just tea.”
“Oh no!” I greeted him with a hug. He was wearing his construction clothes, but he smelled like a new day, fresh and clean. I was bundled up in a cheerful and colorful coat that I knew he’d never seen before. “I could have sworn they did.”
“I did wonder how they could fit any pastries into that tiny kiosk.”
I groaned. “I’m sorry. Do you need coffee?”
He confirmed that he did but bought me a chai latte before we set off to locate it. “Maybe we should have tried to squeeze in there with the barista,” he said. “You know, do a reenactment of the balloon ride.”
“Are they called baristas if they don’t serve coffee?”
“You’re the librarian.” He gave my arm a playful nudge. “You tell me.”
I was surprised by how light and happy I felt to be there with him.
We already had banter and inside jokes. This was what I had been missing with Justin.
We located an open coffee shop, and when he walked me back to my car an hour later, my chest was vibrating like it was filled with hummingbirds.
I could tell he was thinking about kissing me but was nervous to do it.
I reached for his jacket lapels. The durable cotton was thick in my hands, and he smiled and sort of laughed as I pulled him into me.
His coffee breath was comforting, and my whole body mushed and went giddy with the pleasure of kissing him.
His strong arms wrapped around me warmly.
I wanted to take him somewhere private and do private things to him, but instead we made out on the sidewalk until he realized he was about to be late for work.
His lips were as red and raw as my skin was from his scratchy beard.
He said goodbye in a daze, and as he disappeared from view, my body released a quake.
This unexpected physical reaction escalated quickly.
Violently. I hurried into my car and shuddered, splitting apart at the seams. I wept and howled.
I opened the door again and threw up my latte onto the street.
Mortified, I sped away from the scene. Then I engaged in another two hours of uncontrollable, primal anguish at home.
If only I had asked Gareth out sooner. A loop existed inside me now that I would never be able to close.
Cory was coming home tomorrow. I wanted him to come home—I wanted to want him to come home—but I didn’t.
I wasn’t ready. These thoughts felt disloyal, even though I’d followed our rules.
I just needed more time, that was all. Not yet , my body screamed as I took a second shower to calm myself down.
As I drove to work. As I greeted patrons and scanned their books.
As Macon gave me a wide berth, then guardedly asked if I was okay.
No, jackass, I am not okay! I shrieked.
“I’m fine,” I actually said.
That night I tried to clean the apartment for Cory’s return, but the emotional hurricane had exhausted me.
What if he needed more time, too? The possibility made me feel a little better and then much worse.
I had no appetite, so I skipped dinner and went straight to bed, but then I couldn’t fall asleep.
I turned on my lamp to read, wincing at the obnoxious ding ding ding the pull chain made as it settled back down.
We’d both always hated our lamps. The books piled high on my nightstand shamed me as I debated which one to try again.
I kept starting them, and each one seemed fine, but I always lost interest after that first reading.
Another book would distract me. Then another after that.
But I also didn’t want to give up on any of them, because what if I missed out on something exceptional?
So the stack kept growing, and I still hadn’t finished a single one.
I doubted I’d made it past page thirty in any book this year.
On top of the stack, my phone flashed with a text from Gareth: We’re bad at breakfast. Let’s skip it and go straight to lunch.
I picked up the phone instead of a book. But I was a coward, so I did not text him back.