Chapter 13 #2
I can’t help it. I enjoy looking at her.
“Thank you. So much,” she says, her eyes swimming with gratitude. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”
“It was zero trouble at all. I wanted to do this for you, Josephine,” I tell her, every word genuine.
I need her to know that she has someone on her team.
Someone who will sit and listen to her. I know what it feels to keep your emotions locked up tight.
And I know that, inevitably, they come pouring out.
We’re quiet as we eat, and when Joey is finished, she slides off her chair and picks up her plate.
Before she can walk away, I gently grasp her arm. “I got this. Go get some rest.”
“What?” She frowns. “You worked all day, then cooked me a meal and acted as my sounding board. The least I can do is put these in the dishwasher. Don’t fight me. I’m too stubborn to lose.” With a wink, she gathers my fork and plate.
She winks at me.
It’s a simple gesture, but it hits me in my chest anyway, leaving me momentarily speechless.
Much to her dismay, I help her clean up the kitchen by tossing discarded eggshells and napkins into the trash and wiping down the counters. I rinse out the dish cloth, and as I turn around, she bumps into my chest. I clutch her upper arms, steadying her.
“Oof! I’m so sorry,” she says, her tone apologetic, her smile shy.
She looks a whole lot better than she did an hour ago. Her freckled cheeks are slightly flushed, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes.
Words melt on my tongue as I take in every detail of her face. An unruly strand of her wavy hair has escaped from her bun. On instinct, I carefully tuck it behind her ear, letting my fingers linger a bit before I pull them away.
Her breath hitches at the gesture, and the color in her cheeks deepens.
Her lips part, then close. When she opens her mouth again, she stammers, “Th-thank you.” She steps back, smoothing down her hair and clearing her throat. “I’m going to head to bed now. Thank you again. For everything.” Head down, she slips past me.
I spin, chest tight. “Joey.”
She spins around, brow furrowed.
Now I’m the one whose cheeks are heating. “If you ever need someone to talk to—about work, life, anything at all—I’m here, okay?”
Her shoulders sag and her expression brightens a fraction. With a couple of slow breaths, she studies me. There’s an unforgettable look of gratitude shimmering in her eyes. “Same goes for you. We lonesome misfit travelers need to stick together.”
“That we do.” I wink. “Have a good night’s sleep.”
Once she’s gone, I putter around the kitchen for a few minutes, feeding Barbara her daily banana. I’ve just started the dishwasher when Joey comes back out of her bedroom, her slippered feet scuffing across the hardwood floor.
When the sound stops but she doesn’t speak, I peer over my shoulder and find her nibbling on the inside of her lip, her focus fixed on me, words threatening to spill out.
“Everything okay?” I ask, hanging the dish towel up.
“Are you off this weekend?” she asks, her brows slightly furrowed.
“Yeah. Why?” I respond with a dip of my chin.
“Want to do something together?” She wraps her oversized sweater tighter around her, like she suddenly got a chill.
Her invitation catches me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless.
“Actually, never mind,” she hedges, eyes downcast. “You probably already have plans.” With a self-deprecating chuckle, she flicks a small, dismissive wave. Then, abruptly, she spins on her heel and starts heading back down the hallway that leads to her room.
Warmth floods my cheeks and my tongue feels clumsy, making it hard to speak. “I-I’d love to do something. What did you have in mind?”
Stopping dead in her tracks, she whips around, her messy bun bouncing. “Wait. Really?”
“Yeah, really.” I laugh, confusion and excitement warring inside me. Who wouldn’t want to spend time with her?
She rolls her lips and sighs. “It’s just. . .never mind. How about Friday? I can cook dinner.”
“I have plans Friday evening, but how about Saturday?”
“Oh.” Her head dips, but not before I catch the look of disappointment on her face. Though when she looks up again, her expression turns hopeful. “That works.”
Before I can find the words to explain that I spend my Friday evenings with my mom watching cheesy romance movies, she’s gone again, the door to her room shutting quietly behind her.
Part of me wants to follow her and clear the air, but logic wins out.
I want to respect her time. She’s had a long day and needs her rest before work tomorrow.
Exhaling heavily, I slump into the chair in the living room and stare down the dark hallway at the sliver of light glowing beneath her door. Shadows dance across the hardwood floors as she gets ready for bed, and in a matter of minutes, the lights are off. My cue to head upstairs for the night.
Upstairs, I settle at my small desk overlooking the dark forest. Clear, inky sky stretches before me with only the moonlight illuminating my small writing nook. I turn on the lamp at the desk and begin journaling.