Chapter 6
ZENNIKA
I wake to find Jude's side of the bed empty, though still warm.
For a moment, I lie still, listening to the sounds of the B&B coming to life around us with distant voices, water running through pipes, and the creak of old floorboards.
Outside, birds sing in the aftermath of last night's storm, which had me clinging to Jude as thunder shook the windows.
The bathroom door opens, and Jude appears, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair damp from the shower.
My breath catches at the sight of him as I take in his lean muscles and tanned skin, the result of years of outdoor work.
Two days ago, his half-naked body wouldn't have affected me like this. Or so I tell myself.
"Morning, sunshine," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Sleep okay? That storm was pretty intense."
I stretch, not missing how his eyes track the movement. "Better than I expected, considering. Thank you for... you know. Being my storm shelter."
"Anytime." He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. The gesture is tender, domestic in a way that should terrify me, but somehow doesn't. "Dawn's making blueberry pancakes. I can smell them from here."
"Tempting, but I should shower first." I sit up, holding the sheet to my chest, though he's seen every inch of me over the past two nights. "What's the plan for today?"
"Get the truck checked at Miller's Garage, then straight shot to Georgia if all goes well." He stands, moving to where his duffel bag sits on a chair. "Should make it by evening."
I watch as he dresses, the casual grace of his movements mesmerizing. This feels dangerously comfortable, this morning routine we've established in just a few days. Like something I could get used to.
The thought should send me running, but instead, I find myself asking, "What happens when we get there?"
He pauses, t-shirt half pulled over his head. "To Georgia?"
"To us. When we reach Georgia. When the wedding's over." I swallow hard, forcing myself to voice the question that's been nagging at me since our conversation in the diner last night. "When you go back to Washington and I move to Georgia."
He finishes putting on his shirt, then sits beside me again, his expression serious. "What do you want to happen?"
"I asked you first," I deflect, nervous now that I've opened this can of worms.
"Fair enough." He takes my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "I want to keep seeing you. I want to figure out if what we've found on this trip can work in the real world."
My heart beats faster. "Even with the distance?"
"Even with the distance. At least to start." His eyes hold mine, steady and certain. "I'm not ready to let this go, Zennika. I'm not ready to let you go."
The simple honesty of his statement steals my breath. This is not the Jude Carson I thought I knew, the player, the heartbreaker, the guy who'd dump a girl two weeks before prom. This man before me is solid, genuine, looking at me like I'm something precious.
"I'm not ready to let this go either," I admit, the words both terrifying and freeing. "But long distance is hard, Jude. Really hard."
"I know. But we're both stubborn, determined people." He smiles slightly. "If anyone can make it work, it's us."
"That's a lot of confidence."
"I believe in us." He says it simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you?"
The question hangs between us, weighted with possibility. Do I believe in us? In this connection that's formed so quickly it should feel suspect but somehow doesn't? In the way he looks at me like he sees things no one else has bothered to look for?
"Yes," I whisper, surprising myself with the certainty I feel. "I do."
His smile is like the sun breaking through clouds. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine. "Then we'll figure it out. Together."
"Together," I echo, the word a promise.
He kisses me then, soft and sweet, a seal on our agreement. When he pulls back, his expression has lightened. "Now, not to ruin the moment, but if you want any of those pancakes, you'd better hurry. I heard at least three other guests heading downstairs while you were sleeping."
I laugh, shoving him playfully. "Way to kill the romance, J."
"I'll make it up to you later." He winks, rising to finish getting dressed. "Meet you downstairs in fifteen?"
"Make it twenty. Some of us need more than five minutes to look presentable."
After he leaves, I sit for a moment, processing what just happened. Jude and I have agreed to try making this work beyond our road trip. Beyond Georgia. Beyond what should have been a temporary lapse in judgment.
It's terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
In the shower, I let hot water wash over me as I consider the practical aspects. How often could we see each other? Video calls in between visits? Would one of us eventually have to relocate if things got serious? Is it crazy to even be thinking that far ahead?
By the time I'm dressed and heading downstairs, I've decided to take Jude's advice for once, to stop overthinking and just take this one day at a time. See where we stand when we reach Georgia, then figure out next steps from there.
The dining room is bustling with activity, other guests chatting over coffee and Dawn's famous pancakes. I spot Jude at a table by the window, already working on a stack topped with berries and syrup. He looks up as I enter, his face brightening in a way that makes warmth spread through my chest.
Maybe this is crazy. Maybe it's doomed to fail. But right now, walking toward him in a quaint B&B in the middle of this cute little town, I can't bring myself to care about the rational arguments against us.
For once in my carefully controlled life, I'm choosing to follow my heart instead of my head. And it feels right.