Chapter 18
Sadie
Iwas mostly done with my makeup, when Jamison knocked on my door.
He was exactly on time, like usual. I was running late, like usual.
Sending him a, Give me one minute text, I finished applying mascara for the second time that day, ran my fingers through my hair falling in waves around my shoulders, and snagged my sweater off my bed on my way to the door.
Opening it, I found him leaning against the wall in white slacks and an olive green, short-sleeved, knit shirt.
Behind his glasses, his eyes traveled from my bare feet and legs, up my torso, taking his time as if every detail of me needed to be observed.
When he met my gaze, he swallowed and held out a bouquet of peonies in a vase clutched in his grip for me. I had to use both hands to take it from him.
My stomach flipped, and a smile spread across my face. “What is this for?”
“Just . . . ” He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder with his hands stuffed deeply inside the pockets of his pants. He looked so unsure, out of his element—as if he were nervous about what I’d think.
“Well, thank you.” Sticking my nose in the bouquet, I breathed in the sweet smell.
Inside my ribs, my heart swelled, and everything became a bit brighter and lighter.
I turned my back to him, unable to deal with the resurfacing delusions.
That scenario had already played out, and he’d been so oblivious he hadn’t even registered that I could want a relationship with him.
I would not fall back into the pattern of telling myself he meant something different than he did.
Accepting that he would eventually break my heart, again, was one thing.
Convincing myself that he was in emotional turmoil over me was another thing all together.
It’d just be so much easier, if I didn’t want it so badly.
I set the vase on the coffee table, the midday sun draping the blooms in bright light, and turned to smile up at him. “They’re beautiful.”
“They smell like you.”
I breathed in a slow breath through my nose. “My shampoo and conditioner.”
“I love it.”
Don’t do it, girl.
“Thanks.” I went to slip my phone in my pocket, only to remember the dress I was wearing didn’t have any. Gesturing toward the door behind him, I said, “Let’s go get the wedding flowers.”
“Do . . . you have anything planned for the rest of the day?” He blinked twice in quick succession. I’d never seen him this nervous and it was making me a little nervous too.
“Just the rehearsal dinner.”
“So, you can sneak away with me for a couple of hours?”
My logical self was doing a fantastic job not over thinking, but my emotional self was not doing a great job not over feeling. “Why?”
He brushed his fingers across his lips. “I’d just . . . like to . . . be alone with you, for a while if . . . that’s okay.”
“Sure.” It was more than I would allow myself to fantasize about, and also very much not okay.
“Good.” The shy twitch of his lips was doing unfortunate things to me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled down at my toes.
“I remember that dress.”
It might have been a bad idea, but I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “You do?”
“You wore it one of the last hot days—late summer early fall—and the sun went down, and I knew you’d be cold walking back to your place, so I got us an Uber.”
“I remember that. I was so confused because it was just a couple of blocks.”
“I didn’t want you to be cold.”
I hesitated for just a moment before taking the couple of steps between us to wrap my arms around him and rest my cheek on his chest. He pulled me even tighter, hugging me back.
I closed my eyes and for a dangerous moment, I let myself live in the dream.
That he could be mine. That he could love me the way I so desperately wanted him to.
He hooked his finger under my chin to press the sweetest kiss to my lips—like sugar on my tongue, it carried me on a high that would easily melt and leave me crashing.
***
“So that’s why your glowing,” I said, a smile so big it filled my whole face. The sun overhead might have been too hot if not for the breeze off the ocean.
Jamison had taken me for tacos at a food truck parked at the edge of town.
Just as the concierge had promised him, it was possibly the best taco I’d ever had.
From inside of the truck, Latin pop music played, and the smell of spices wafted in the wind.
Everything about this place was perfect, including the creaky plastic chairs facing the incredible view of endless blue water and sky.
“I don’t know what they had in that cream, but my skin has never felt this good.” He wiped the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin and spoke around a bite. With a silly shrug he added, “I’m a spa head now.”
Snorting, I shook my head. “I don’t think that’s an actual phrase.”
“This is who I am, Sadie. You have to accept me this way.”
“Turns out you’re a man of expensive pleasure, and amazing skin.”
He held his arms out wide. “This is me.”
“You’re so brave.”
Smirking, he took another giant bite. “Tastes so good.”
“I know. I’m thinking about another.”
“You can, but I’m planning to bring you to a cupcake place after this.”
“Stop. I love cupcakes.”
“I know. It’s one of your hotter takes.”
“Shut up,” I said, but it was lost inside my giggling. It was intoxicating the way he made me laugh, the way he made me feel. Like champagne bubbles were fizzing inside my chest. “I love all baked goods.”
“But in the spring when I wanted to hang out and you were having a hard day you said I could come over only if I brought cupcakes.”
The little things he remembered were kind of adorable.
And the spark in his brown eyes was something I could watch for the rest of my life.
I remembered that night; it had been abnormal.
Instead of sex, we snuggled on my sofa and watched a movie whose title I couldn’t remember.
It wasn’t very good. The most memorable thing about it was that it made me sad, which had more to do with hormones than plot.
When I started crying, I’d been so scared he was going to make fun of me.
Instead, he’d moved to my side of the sofa and rubbed my back until my tears dried.
It was probably the beginning of me giving into my reckless crush. The memory was like dancing on hot coals, and some self-preservation stepped up to douse them. “Was that the time I was PMSing like a motherfucker?”
“You didn’t say it, but it was heavily implied.”
“By my crying?”
“You had a bad day.” He stretched a hand out to squeeze my knee, it lingered there, big and warm. “And that movie was terrible.”
Just like that, he had me giggling again, which should probably embarrass me, but I was too dizzy from liking him.
There was no help for me. But at least this time, I could let myself enjoy this, enjoy him, knowing that I would survive the loss.
What else was there to do?
“I didn’t realize how much you were . . . paying attention when we hung out.” Hoping to come off as nonchalant, I took the last bite of my taco, when in reality I was hanging onto every word he might say before he even said it.
Leaning back in his chair, he rested his ankle on his knee. “I think there’s often a disconnection between my behavior and . . . me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, you didn’t think I was invested, when in fact, I want to know everything about you.” His hands flexed and curled into fists on his lap. “I must not express myself well.”
I sucked on my bottom lip, debating whether to go further with this conversation or not.
If I kept quiet, I could keep my dignity.
But if I said something, I might be less confused by how he could be saying this while not understanding what I’d meant when I’d asked him if he’d want something meaningful with me.
“You don’t say much,” I observed, “so, it leaves me to interpret you through your actions. I can make up an entire story from what you do.”
“What story is that?”
That you wrap me in a towel, and notice what flowers smell like me, and that must mean that you love me.
“That you text me out of the blue from time to time. We get drinks. We have sex. And then we don’t talk until . . . ” I let my words trail off, letting what I didn’t say speak for me.
The plastic chair creaked under his weight as he leaned back staring out at the ocean lapping at the rocks lining the shore.
A line formed between his eyebrows, and a muscle flexed in his jaw.
I could practically see his thoughts raging behind his brown eyes, but I couldn’t read them.
After a couple minutes, I opened my mouth to suggest—with an upbeat tone that I didn’t actually feel—we should go get the flowers. We could skip the cupcakes.
But then he said, “When my dad died . . . I don’t think I really got better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t deserve—I’m not—” He cut himself off, running a hand down over his lips. He chuckled, his mouth caught in a grimace. “Why is speaking so hard?”
“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”
“It’s not you.” With both feet on the ground, he leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and his hands dangled between his knees. “I need you to know, it’s me—it’s my fault.”
“What is?”
“Anytime you didn’t feel valued, it’s my shortcoming.”
I reached out, taking hold of his hand and squeezed. “No, you don’t make me feel . . . cheap. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I don’t think that’s what I’m trying to say either.” He hung his head squeezing his eyes tight. “I know that when we get home whatever this is is done. But I want you to know how important this has been to me.”
Breathing deeply, he lifted his head and met my eyes. It was as if I could really see him for the first time—the softest, most protected parts of him. I bore it like a responsibility. I cherished it like a gift.
He licked his lips. “I want you to know how much I’ll miss you.”
I was more confused than I had been at the beginning of the conversation. What was I supposed to understand, that he would regret losing this casual hookup? Or that he felt more for me than he wanted?
Knowing that I was asking a question that had the potential to really destroy me, I opened my mouth anyway. “So, why are you just . . . accepting it?”
He blinked. I couldn’t tell if he understood or if he was just apprehensive to answer.
The words clung to my tongue, too scared to be spoken. The wash of the ocean drifted a constant noise in the silence between us. I almost couldn’t hear myself speak a paper-thin whisper. “You don’t have to miss me.”