Chapter 13
Thanksgiving had been nice. The food had been great, and the company had been even better.
I was still thinking about it days later as I got a jumpstart on peeling out the broken panels of flooring in my living room so that I could put the new floor in later.
I’d had the consultation earlier that week and new vinyl panels were sitting in the back of my truck beneath a tarp to protect it from the weather, just waiting to be installed.
Snow was on the horizon. I’d heard whispers all week, the worried townies a combination of both excited and anxious for the first big storm of the year.
Renovation was going slower than I’d hoped.
It was a massive project and it didn’t matter how hard, or how long I worked, it didn’t feel like I was making much progress at all. One set of hands simply wasn’t enough. Not when I was holding myself to impossible standards. Everything had to be done the right way. Perfect. I couldn’t compromise.
That itch was back beneath my skin. Anxious energy making me nearly vibrate apart as I worked myself to the bone.
Between that and work on the farm post-Pie Festival, I was running myself into the ground.
I hardly slept anymore. Couldn’t, even when I tried.
Couldn’t stop staring at the walls, imagining all the holes I hadn’t touched.
I saw every shadow and wondered what horrors lie within it, just waiting for me to fix them.
Thus far, I’d managed to replace the appliances in the kitchen.
Things I considered to be the “easy” jobs.
The dishwasher had given me some flack because of the plumbing.
And also, the new one was a slightly bigger model than my previous one.
Which’d had the unfortunate result of kicking up a bubble in the snap-on flooring.
Something about pressure, probably. At least, if Google was to be believed.
Which meant I now had to replace that floor too.
I’d panicked, thinking the bubble was a leak at first, but quickly discovered it wasn’t. Thank god.
That was the only hiccup, though. The oven went in seamlessly. As did the fridge. And luckily for me, the counters in there were…ugly but not falling apart. A quick coat of paint and they’d be passable enough for even my mom’s eyes.
As I worked, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jason.
About all he’d told me.
His charity projects.
But most of all, the way he’d been after dinner itself.
I’d chased him out of the kitchen on Thanksgiving for trying to usurp my dish-doing-duty, and he’d set up shop in the living room with his kinda-niece. I could hear him with her, riotous giggles filtering through the archway into the kitchen as I finished up the task at hand.
Before that, though…I’d overheard a somewhat confusing conversation about the Santa Fund. Just snippets. I’d pushed the thoughts aside till now, as I didn’t have enough of the puzzle to be useful.
Once I’d finished the dishes, I lingered in the doorway, peeping on Jason and his family as covertly as I could.
The same way he’d peeped on me the day I’d found the magpie.
I’d thought Jason’s offer to help me had been an insult then, and I was realizing…
I had been a total idiot to think that. The magnificence of that moment with the bird had felt private.
Special.
Monumental.
A sign that moving here had been the right thing to do.
This felt like that too.
One of those life-defining moments. The kinda thing you think about for years afterward.
I didn’t know why.
Didn’t know why my heart kept fluttering, and my stomach felt funny.
Jason was dancing—if you could call what he was doing dancing—the movements were so…
awkward and disjointed. He reminded me of an ostrich, all long-legged gracelessness.
Hopping up and down to the beat of a game, a video game controller in his hand, his niece standing to his left.
She was pretty obviously kicking his butt.
He didn’t mind.
Though he did feign competitiveness.
“I’m going to trip you,” Jason threatened, huffing and puffing. “I swear you’re cheating.”
Marybeth cackled. “I’m not!” She jerked her arms up and down, stomping her little feet. “You’re just a really bad dancer.”
“Mary! Your daughter is bullying me,” Jason complained.
“No I’m not!”
“Kids,” Mary teased from the couch. “I’m going to turn the game off if you can’t behave.”
Colorful buttons kept flying on the screen. Green, green, green for her. Red, red, red for him. But he appeared happy. Didn’t even seem to care that he looked like an idiot. That nothing about what he was doing was even remotely cool. Which of course, made him super fucking cool.
He was confident even when being a massive dork.
On the couch, Mary was laughing at their antics. She had a laptop on the armrest beside her, probably working—if any of the comments Jason had made about her were true. Her husband was tucked into her side, fast asleep.
The worse Jason danced, the harder his little audience laughed.
I think he enjoyed it.
Liked bringing them joy. Even at his own expense.
He was free that way. The same way the magpie had been. Wings spread. Weightless enough to take flight. There was something about his smile—especially when he was looking particularly dumb—that really did me in. Like there wasn’t a self-conscious bone in his body.
He was brave.
Ballsy.
Everything I’d always wanted to be. Not afraid to look silly. Not afraid to take risks. Not afraid to mess up. Not afraid to talk to people. Not afraid, not afraid, not afraid.
It was a cute picture.
All of them were cute.
But Jason?
God…
Jason really was something else.
After learning more about who he was, it was easier to appreciate him. To appreciate the choices he made to be a pillar of his community. To appreciate how he showed up for everyone in his life. So used to being lonely, but so determined not to let anyone else feel alone.
I wanted to be like him.
Wanted to…have the kinda weightlessness he did.
Wanted to fly.
The Pie Festival the next day had been much the same. At that point, I hadn’t even been surprised when Jason showed up to my booth bright and early before we’d even opened.
“You helped me yesterday,” he said, his hot pink tumbler in hand. “Quid pro quo.”
“What?” I frowned, confused.
“That’s lawyer speak for let’s make it even Steven,” Jason explained.
I wouldn’t have turned him away, even if he hadn’t been trying to trick me into accepting. Which was a thought that gave me pause as much as it felt invigorating. To know someone…that intimately. To allow them into my life like that.
Beneath my walls.
It was scary and amazing and…
Wow.
I hadn’t known friendship could be so world-shattering.
Jason asked me what I needed assistance with, saluting, like a total nerd in his coffee-colored sweater. I simply told him. No fight. Nothing.
He was surprised, if his eyebrows could be believed.
But pleased.
He kept giving me these looks I had no idea how to read. Touching me. Grazing his hand over my back when he passed by to gossip with the guests that popped in—simultaneously selling bushels and bushels of apples like it was easy.
He squeezed my nape when he introduced me to literally everyone who came by.
Pulling me forward and forcing me to meet people like I was a naughty puppy.
It was becoming increasingly clear to me that Jason hadn’t been lying when he’d said he knew everyone.
He knew their names, their occupations. Knew their families and their struggles.
At one point, very memorably, he’d grabbed me by the hips and quite literally manhandled me out of his way so he could get to the register. His hands had been hot. Index fingers just barely slipping beneath the hem of my t-shirt.
I don’t think my heart had ever beat so goddamn fast in my entire life.
Like I was climbing Everest, unsteady ground beneath my feet, avalanches caused in the wake of Jason and his magnetism.
And god, was he magnetic.
He pulled everyone in the world in just by existing.
Jason helped Jordan when the ice cream machine I’d rented for the apple pie sundaes broke. Not well. He was apparently shit at fixing appliances. But he tried.
He helped Patrick restock the back when we ran out halfway through the day.
He brought us all lunch, and then dinner, and at the end of the night—when he found out I’d ridden over with Patrick and Jordan that morning—Jason offered to take me home.
Everywhere I turned, there were reminders of him.
Making my skin feel hot and my heart go fluttery.
Even my bank account practically had his fingerprints left behind.
Which meant I was juggling feelings about Jason and my first-ever real friendship with fears about not finishing my house in time for my mom to visit.
A lot of feelings. Too many. My chest felt stringy as taffy stretched out one too many times.
It was hard to get a breath in, I was so full of holes.
So tired. Bruises beneath my eyes. My head swimming on a near constant basis.
Suffice to say, I had a lot to think about as I worked.
Nothing felt the way it had before that day in the grocery store when Jason had held me.
The silence was too loud.
I found myself turning my music up to drown it out. Tearing, repairing. And yet the house looked the fucking same. How was that possible? All that work and it felt like I hadn’t done anything.
I hadn’t seen Jason in days.
Days.
And that felt…weird. Especially after he’d been so doggedly following me around before.
I missed him.
Which, believe me, was a giant surprise.
I couldn’t recall exactly when I’d stopped wanting to avoid him. When I’d stopped fearing his big mouth and what it might do to my reputation. When I’d stopped throwing my guard up whenever he was around. When I stopped hoping for distance.
Part of me wished he’d come by. Force me to eat. Grab my nape. Take care of me the way he took care of everyone else. I didn’t know how much longer I could handle this until I broke.