Chapter 12 #3
I wasn’t entirely sure.
That hug last night started off as a simple goodnight, but by the time my arms clasped around his neck, I was searching for something more—tenderness.
The lack of tenderness in my existence festered like an unattended wound, but Jesse was an abundant source of it. He felt like a safe place to fall. And I wanted to drop my weapons and fall more than I wanted my next breath.
I stepped fully into the light. “Jesse?”
He jumped, dropping the bit on the table with a cuss word.
“Gosh, I’m sorry.”
“You scared me.”
“I should’ve called out.”
“It’s alright.” His brow furrowed. “Are you good? What are you doing out here?”
Uncomfortable, I smoothed my dress, and his eyes followed the action. The blush pink bridesmaid dress with a plunging neckline and clingy silk fabric suited my skin tone and highlighted my best features. But it had been so long since I felt desirable, that I felt like I was playing pretend.
Finding my tongue, I said, “I saw you leave.”
A smile played at his lips. “So you followed me?”
“Yeah, I guess I did,” I admitted with a wince. I stepped into the room, my gaze scanning the tools scattered over the workbench. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m trying to be.” He squeezed the bit in his hand. “I was going to come back. I just needed a minute to breathe.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Don’t. I’m glad you came.”
I almost melted with relief. I strode over and leaned my hip against the table. “Need to talk it out?”
“There’s nothing to really say.” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. “I was doing alright until I had to talk about her.”
“Your speech?”
He nodded. “Maybe I should’ve left my experience out of it.”
“What you said was beautiful and uplifting. I’m just sorry it cost you something.”
“Being real always costs something.”
I gave a loud huff. “Very true.”
Silence fell for a moment. Then he spoke, a quiet ache infused in the scrape of his voice. “Weddings aren’t easy. My brother got married a few years back and I didn’t even go.”
“Did he understand?”
“Yeah. My whole family did.”
“What about Tag? Does he know you still have hard days?”
He took a deep breath. “I think, in theory, he does. But, I’ve gotten good at pushing through them. So, if he doesn’t realize, it’s on me.”
I thought about what Bea had said this afternoon, that they wanted to see Jesse go on some dates. Maybe he wasn’t ready for another woman in his life and they didn’t know because he masked his pain. He probably seemed all better now. But he wasn’t. Maybe he never would be.
The idea was achingly relatable.
No one knew me either. Not really.
The words slipped from my lips without permission. “It’s hard to expose your heart when you know no one can understand until they live it themselves. Trying feels pointless at times or like you’re seeking attention or something. You know you’ll never be whole, so why bring it up?”
Jesse turned to look at me, his gaze searching mine. “Yes. That’s exactly how it feels.” He gave a disbelieving exhale. “I gather you’re speaking from experience.”
“Not really. I’ve never lost someone dear to me.”
“You can grieve lots of things. Not just people.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged for lack of words. “So, is this your favorite brooding spot?”
He smiled. “One of them. Wherever I can stay busy.”
“Thanks for letting me barge in.”
Jesse’s gaze narrowed. “You keep doing that, you know.”
“Doing what?”
His green eyes blazed, his smile finally lighting his eyes. “Keep noticing that I’m struggling then…making stuff easier somehow.”
I looked away, swiping a curl behind my ear.
“Thank you for seeking me out.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Well, you told me to do that.”
His brow knit in confusion.
“Remember? You said to find you after the wedding.”
His full smile made butterflies erupt in my stomach. “I did say that.”
“Was there something you wanted?”
He turned away from the bench, leaning backward against it and lacing his arms across his broad chest. “I wanted to dance with you.”
Panic rose in my chest, but I held onto my poker face. “Oh.”
“Do you dance?”
I shook my head, twisted my lips. “Nope.”
“Well, I am very proficient in square dance.”
I covered my lips with a hand, stifling girlish giggles. “Proficient in square dance? Is that a line on your resume?”
We laughed together as tension spun out of my shoulders.
Talking to him felt like curling up in a cozy reading corner, making cookies, or holding a warm mug of hot cocoa in cold hands.
Like comfort and wonder and gratitude all bundled together.
But I couldn’t figure out why we just…clicked.
Could it be natural chemistry? That hardly seemed fair—to travel nine hundred miles, find him, then be forced to say goodbye less than forty-eight hours later.
Jesse lifted his hand flat between us. “Care for a spin?”
Breath wooshed from my lungs. “Right here?”
“Why not? The tack room will just make it memorable.”
I scanned the surrounding walls, taking note of the ropes and bridles neatly organized on hooks and the saddles draped over rails. Guitar strumming filtered into my awareness—muffled, distant, hardly carrying all the way from the pasture.
Just enough to dance to.
My gaze roamed over Jesse, quickly soaking him in. In one singular day, his face had become familiar, even dear to me. The lines at the corners of his features, the easy smile, the sparkles in his eyes when the smile was real. And I knew from last night just how warm and inviting his body could be.
I wouldn’t need a tack room to remember a dance with him.
A deep swallow pulled at my throat.
My heart was treading dangerous ground.
But my fingers slipped across his callused palm, unable to refuse. “I’d love to.”
He clasped my fingers and lifted his left hand while his right palm found the back of my ribcage. His hands were warm and confident, melting me. I pulled closer to him, my knee accidentally knocking into his. I whispered, “Sorry.”
Jesse launched into a box step pattern that matched the walking rhythm of the song, and I moved with him as if we’d practiced before.
“I’m a little rusty.” He said, his voice quiet so we could still hear the music. “Been a long time.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“So are you.”
I looked up at him, needing to keep the conversation going. “Who taught you to dance?”
“My mom, actually.”
“That’s sweet.”
“My parents host a community dance on their farm every summer. So we grew up with it.”
I beamed. “Seriously? That’s so fun.”
“It is.” His steps grew a little more confident. “I take Cade every year.”
“Back to Oklahoma?”
He nodded. “Yep. Beginning of August we go to Oklahoma and stay with my folks for two weeks. We go to the barn dance, help my family with the corn, rope my in-laws cows, see old friends, and stay up too late with Cade’s cousins.
Laurel’s family celebrates her birthday on August 9th so we always go to that, too. ”
“I’m sure that’s bittersweet.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Mostly bitter, actually, but seeing family is sweet.”
I accidentally missed a step. “I’m sorry. That was an insensitive thing for me to say.”
His hand on my back tightened. “No, it wasn’t.” He adjusted his steps so we realigned. “I’m so used to people not knowing what to say, and trust me, you haven’t been insensitive one single time.”
We danced in silence for a few moments, our feet scuffing against the dirt floor. “It sounds like you have a good relationship with her family still.”
“Yeah, I do. They’re good people. I worked on their beef ranch as a teenager so we go way back.”
I wondered what teenaged, cow-chasing, sun-soaked Jesse was like. The mental image made me smile.
“I’m sorry I keep talking about myself,” he whispered.
“Don’t be. Maybe you needed to talk.”
“I think so. Thank you.” He smiled down at me and my heart tripped. “Tell me about you.”
My steps became less confident. “There’s nothing very noteworthy about me.”
“Nonsense. I know you need your coffee dessert-caliber in the afternoon.”
I gave an abrupt laugh.
“And you live in Colorado.”
“Denver.”
“You inherited the family’s easy-to-talk-to and love-to-help-people trait.”
His comments warmed my spirit, bringing a smile to my face.
“And you have a bad habit of picking your nails, but you’re trying to stop.”
My jaw dropped open. “Wait. How did you know that?”
His left thumb caressed the tops of my fingers. “You can learn a lot just watching.”
The bold admission turned my heart into mush.
“You also don’t like being on the hot seat or getting attention in any way which is why you won’t look me in the eyes right now.”
I shook my head because I felt totally exposed. He had gathered all these things about me?
He continued, unfazed, “You’ve got two beautiful daughters and are clearly a wonderful mom.”
A lump rose in my throat.
“And speaking of beautiful…” He paused long enough that I finally looked up, his green gaze glowing gold in the yellow light. “You got all the best Thompson genes. I don’t know if it’s fair to your sisters.”
Oh, my heart. It swelled with emotion so fiercely it hurt.
Jesse had no idea he was spoon feeding me all the things I wasted away with want for.
The dancing, the closeness, the sweet words over my soul.
He looked at me as if I meant something—as if I truly was beautiful to him, as if I was someone a man like him could treasure one day.
His kindness carved an ache in my chest—a drop on my tongue when I was thirsty for an ocean. Inwardly, I begged him to go on, keep talking, keep seeing me, keep making me believe I was worth noticing. I blinked against the tears swirling my vision, fighting to hold onto my game face.
But he tsked, his tone turning facetious. “Yet, underneath your beautiful, sweet exterior, I know the truth.”
A smile tugged my lips. “What truth?”
“You’re a dirty, rotten Go Fish player.”
A laugh slipped from my mouth, loud and unhindered, and my welling tears receded. He laughed too, his hand on my back squeezing me closer. “And,” he continued, leaning over my ear, “you’re also a liar.”
His warm breath sent tingles down my spine. “That’s bold. What have I lied about?”
Jesse moved my right hand in front of my body and lifted his arm, twirling me beneath it.
I followed his cues as easily as I filled my lungs.
While I spun, his hand left mine, landing on my upper back and his right palm fell to my hip, gripping it as he bent his knee and lowered me in an achingly slow, romantic dip.
I arched back into the movement, completely confident in his ability.
And I was made to be touched this way.
Unhurried, he guided me up and my spine rolled until we were face to face. His hands settled on my waist as mine clasped around his neck. Stunned that we had executed a move flawlessly, I blinked a few times, unable to do anything but stare into his eyes.
His breaths were heavy, loud. Mine were too.
Then he whispered, “You said you don’t dance.”