Chapter 11 – Hannah
Chapter Eleven
HANNAH
T he streetlights pop on up and down my block, and the German shepherd across the street barks in excitement at his owner coming home from work. It’s another calm evening in another small town on a small island.
Standing up from my swinging bench, I walk across the porch, my stomach twisting. When I moved to Pine Island, the only dream I had involved my shop. I didn’t let myself think too much about fitting into a community or finding love. And now…
Taking a deep breath, I lean against the railing, my heart racing from both anxiety and excitement. Two days of not seeing Michael feel like a lot, but even though I managed to avoid a flare the other night, I’m still on edge.
He’s shown how caring he is, how attentive. And yet, I’m still afraid.
Maybe it’s because I’m not used to things going this well and a part of me is always on edge, waiting for this new relationship to crash and burn.
Headlights slice across my yard, and Michael’s truck pulls into the driveway. My stomach just about climbs up my throat, and I tug on my sweater and smooth my hair, not sure what to do with myself.
He steps out of his truck, a hunky specimen of a man, his long legs eating up the distance between the driveway and me.
It’s not until he’s on my bottom step that he finally speaks. “Hi.”
“Hello,” I squeak. “How are you?”
“Great, now that I’m here.” The way he says it, it doesn’t sound like a line. It sounds like the words he’s been holding in all day, just waiting for the moment when he can finally release them to the universe.
Taking my hand, he leads me to his truck. I suppose I walk, but I don’t remember even taking one step. Everything is hazy with my fingers around his, and the next thing I know, we’re driving out of town.
Again.
“Tonight is fibro-friendly,” Michael announces.
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.” What could we possibly be doing outside of town that won’t drain my energy?
I bite my bottom lip, an unexpected swell of emotion crashing through me. Maybe it’s delusional to think I can even date. Someone like Michael—fit, active—would probably be happier with a woman who can keep up with him. I can’t handle more than a walk around the block or a yin yoga session, and there are more soft bits on me than muscle.
“I did my research.” Pride buoys his words. “This will be a calm, no-stress night.”
That makes me relax—until we park in front of what looks like a small fishing shack. Trees crowd around it on two sides, with the beach on another. There’s electricity, at least, and the porch light is on.
But what the heck are we doing here? Are we going out on the water? Exploring the beach at night?
My heart hits my rib cage with the force of a sledgehammer, over and over. It’s too cold on the beach and the water.
Michael turns to me, grinning—until he sees my face. “Shit. What is it?”
I lick my lips and consider just burying my fears and not making a big deal out of anything, but I’ve learned enough to know that will get me nowhere but into a flare. “I’m worried about a repeat of last time.”
“Ah. I see.” He turns to face me more directly, and his scent envelops me in a spicy embrace. “Tell you what. I’ll open the shack’s door, and if you don’t like what you see, we’ll turn right back around and I’ll drop you off at home.”
I nod slowly. He did say that tonight was fibro-friendly, and it would be unfair of me not to give him the benefit of the doubt. Not living with this condition doesn’t mean he can’t understand it.
We leave the truck, and he leads me to the little shack. After Michael unlocks it, the door creaks open, and the sight inside literally takes my breath away.
A big, cozy couch with blankets and throw pillows is pushed against the wall, a small projector on a shelf above it. Serving-size snacks fill a bowl on a coffee table, and twinkle lights give the whole place a soft glow. The space heater is going full blast, and the curtains are closed to keep the rest of the world out.
“Wow,” I breathe, stepping into the room.
“You like it?” His voice comes from so close behind me, I feel a delicious tickle on the back of my neck.
“It’s wonderful.” I nod at the white sheet hanging across from the couch. “Are we watching something?”
“That was my thought. Or we can just hang out. There are snacks, and here’s a cooler with different drinks.” He walks around the room, pointing everything out. “If you’d like something hot, there’s an electric kettle. I can make you tea or hot chocolate.”
I bite into my smile. “Michael…”
“And here’s a footrest.” He pulls it out. “Or you can lie on the couch. I can sit on the floor. Are these enough blankets?” He picks up a stack of at least five.
My grin turns into a laugh. “It’s more than enough. Thank you. So much.”
The gratitude filling my heart is enough to make me cry. Tonight clearly took some time and effort to put together, and being a single dad and a fire chief, he’s probably chronically short on that.
“I wanted to make sure you’re comfortable.” He hangs his coat on a rack and gestures for mine. “And to have an evening where we don’t feel like the whole town is watching.”
“That’s certainly a bonus.” I hand him my coat and settle on one end of the couch.
“I preselected a few shows I thought you might like, but we don’t need to stick with them.” His leg brushes mine as he passes by on the way to the other end of the couch, and electricity crackles under my skin. “There’s a Scandinavian knitting competition that’s dubbed in English, the latest season of The Great British Sewing Bee , or Gravity Falls .”
“ Gravity Falls ?” I cock my head at him. “Isn’t that a kids show?”
He looks sheepish. “Well, yeah, but one of the characters is constantly knitting. And it’s more like a show for everyone. Katie and I both like it.”
“Sounds good.” Once more, I take in the room—this little oasis that Michael wove together just for us. I want to say thank you again, but I don’t want to cheapen the expression, so I settle with putting it another way. “This is really special.”
He visibly relaxes another degree. “I was so nervous about getting this right. Although…I’m only now realizing that I should have picked at least one show that wasn’t knitting-themed. I know that’s not your whole identity.” He cringes.
“Actually, sometimes it feels like it is. It got me through a really hard time—my symptoms starting and not knowing what I had, my breakup…” The diagnosis, which came after a few years, was welcome, but not the saving grace I’d hoped for.
Since there’s no cure for fibromyalgia, you basically just learn to live with it, to manage it. You adjust. You change your expectations for life.
“I spent a lot of time on my aunt’s couch during a bad period.” Thinking about those weeks is bittersweet. They were hard at the time, but they turned out to be the launching pad to where I am now. “She taught me how to knit while I was there, and the rest is kind of history. It was hard to keep up with teaching anyway with my symptoms, and when I saw the storefront online…”
“It was meant to be,” he finishes softly.
Something glimmers in his eye, an understanding or a knowing that I can’t quite get a read on.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He nods. “I felt that way when Katie was born, like I’d waited my whole life to be a dad. When she came into the world, it was like, this is it. This is what I’m here for.”
“That’s beautiful.” I can’t help it; I need to know. “Can I ask about her mother? Where is she?”
His face hardens. “She left. Not long after Katie was born. It was…challenging for her to be a mother. She got pregnant pretty early in our relationship and we tried to make it work that whole year, but it just wasn’t who she is.”
“Oh.” My eyelashes flutter. This is so heavy. How do I even follow that up?
“They don’t have contact. The last that I heard from Talia was when Katie was one. I sent her some photos, and she wrote back, asking me not to get in touch again. Said it was too hard.”
My chest aches with pain for both Michael and Katie. The poor girl. What must it be like, growing up knowing you weren’t wanted by your mother?
“I don’t hate Talia for it,” Michael says, and it’s more like he’s speaking to himself than me at this point. “Well…most of the time, I don’t. Parenthood was thrust on us both. I took to it, she didn’t. Would I rather Katie has a mother? Of course, but no mother is better than one who doesn’t want to be there.” He blinks, as if coming out of a trance. “I’m sorry. That was a lot. I shouldn’t?—”
“No, it’s okay.” I touch his knee. “My mom died when I was eight. I went to live with my aunt.”
His eyes widen. “Wow, Hannah, I’m so sorry.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Thank you. My aunt is like my mom, though, so I’m really fortunate to have her.”
We sit in silence, the weight of the past pressing in around us. It feels more bearable now, though. It’s not like we’re carrying each other’s loads, but we’re acknowledging what the other person has been through—we’re really seeing each other—and that makes everything feel easier.
Michael’s gaze holds mine, and the air between us becomes charged. We’re about a foot away, so close I would only need to lean forward…
Except I lose my nerve and look away.
If he’s disappointed, I can’t see it. He stands and messes with the projector. “Check out the snacks. There should be some there you like.”
I cock my head at that. “How do you know what snacks I like?”
“Being in a small town has some benefits,” he chuckles.
Indeed, it does, because inside the bowl—along with pretzels, hummus, popcorn, and veggie sticks—is a paper bag with the coffee shop’s rhubarb crumble cookies—my favorite. He must have asked the staff there what I usually get.
“How can you be this thoughtful?” I blurt out before I even know what I’m saying.
He stops whatever he’s doing with the projector and looks down at me. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be? What have the other men you’ve dated been like?”
I snort. “You don’t want to hear me talk about that.”
“I want to hear everything about your life—as long as you’re comfortable sharing it.”
God, how did I get so lucky? Why, out of all people in the world, am I here tonight with this amazing man?
“My last boyfriend didn’t believe fibromyalgia is real,” I say, Michael’s warmth giving me courage. “He didn’t even believe the doctor who explained it to him. He called the man a quack.”
Michael’s eyes widen, and he plops down on the couch. “Seriously? What an asshole.” He makes a face. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. He was an asshole. He told me that I just wasn’t pushing hard enough and that everyone is tired and I should toughen up.” My lips draw tight.
“Please tell me you punched him for that.”
“No,” I laugh. “But I did break up with him in the parking lot after that doctor’s appointment.”
“Good.” He nods seriously. “You deserve so much more than that, Hannah. You deserve…” His face turns pink.
“What?” I can’t get my voice above a whisper. “What do I deserve?”
His throat rolls with a swallow. “To be seen.”
The words break down a wall I didn’t know I had, and suddenly, the power of a thousand horses is behind me. Leaning forward, I press my lips to his.
He responds immediately, his kiss gentle but firm. Slow, like we have all the time in the world. It’s also over too soon.
He pulls back, gazing at me with heavy eyes. I’m aching for his touch, but also glad that he’s giving me space, taking things slow. After all my dormant years, I can’t just jump into something hot and heavy.
“So,” he says. “How did I do?”
“With the kiss?”
He chuckles. “With setting up tonight. And…sure, with the kiss.”
I pretend to think about it, though I already know the answer. “Ten out of ten.”
He whistles. “You’re blowing smoke.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” I pointedly look at the projector, though I’m smiling.
He turns on Gravity Falls , and through a whole four episodes, my smile never wavers. My rating might have sounded like an exaggeration, but it wasn’t. It was pure truth.
Because that’s all that’s here between me and Michael. Sweet, innocent truth. A place where I can show up and be my full, authentic self.
God, does it feel good.