Waiting for December, page 13
When I see you again, I’m going to be doing way more than reaching out for your hand. Be prepared. I will absolutely kiss you. And then I’ll kiss you again. And then I’ll pull out my pilot’s hat and we can go from there.
Your admiration of the hat has been noted.
Here are things I like: your smile, your wit, and talking to you. And a part of me even likes missing you because it lets me know how much I like you.
Eighty-two days to go and counting,
Sky
You better believe the literal second I’ve finished reading Sky’s letter, I’m downloading those photos he sent. They all open up in my iPhoto app, and I scroll through them one by one, laughing the entire time because Sky is not just sitting in the rooms smiling, he’s enacting entire scenes and making silly faces at me. First, he’s at his kitchen table, pretending to be aghast by something he read in the paper. Then he’s in his living room with his hands behind his head, pretending he just saw something hilarious on TV. In his bathroom, he’s hiding behind the shower curtain, sticking out his head and his tongue. In his office, he’s pretending to be bored of his work. And in his bedroom, he’s . . .
My God.
I forgot he mentioned this was for my eyes only.
And it really is. Because Sky is sitting on his bed wearing his pilot’s hat. Just his pilot’s hat.
And now I think I’m dead.
To: Sky
From: Harper
Subject: Re: Letter Number Three
Date: October 3
Dear Sky,
Let me start with telling you that you—mister—are single-handedly responsible for causing me to spill a full twelve-ounce latte all over the coffee shop floor. Want to know how you managed to accomplish that feat while being on the opposite side of the country? That bedroom photo. It completely did me in.
Let me explain the scene to you: I saw it. My jaw hit the floor. I froze. When I snapped into motion again, my elbow hit my cup. The cup fell to the ground. I slammed my laptop shut. Then the barista had to rush over and mop up the coffee. I stammered through an apology while all I could think of was that photo.
I don’t know what else to say other than I too wish you were on my doorstep.
Now I have to change the subject because I’ve already created a scene in this coffee shop once today. I can’t go causing another by getting even more flustered as I write down all the ways I’d show you precisely how much I like that photo if you were here in front of me.
What else is on TV these days besides Sleepless in Seattle? The reason I’m asking is that I don’t have a TV here, and one of the things I’m most excited for when we see each other again is snuggling up with you on that couch in your living room and watching a show or a movie. It doesn’t have to be a rom-com! I actually really like medical shows and scary movies. What kind of shows or movies do you like watching?
I want to know more details about you! Tell me some.
Here’s a new thing I recently learned about me: maybe I am a believer in fate. I didn’t think I was, but after meeting you, I believe in it a little. I do think we have to participate in our fate by making choices that align with it. And part of me thinks that sometimes bad things just happen and there’s nothing we can do about it. So I’m not sure how that factors into the equation. But yeah, I can now buy that sometimes the stars align and the right person enters our life at the right time. I mean, really, what were the odds that of all the seats on the plane, we were seated right next to each other? That’s pretty crazy, if you stop and think about it.
I’m crazy for Vermont too, Sky. But not crazy enough to tattoo VT on my wrist after a couple of days because I like it. I got the tattoo because of what this trip here represents: having the courage to start over and pursue a meaningful life. I’m not sure if it’s where I will want to live forever, but I was fishing to see if you’d be open to it in case Christmas Eve ends up going well and I want to stay a little while longer or eventually move here permanently.
Don’t spare any details to my questions when you write me back.
Until Wednesday,
Harper
seventeen
I DON’T KNOW why I committed to this. I mean, technically, I do know why.
I wanted to find myself.
I wanted to discover my passion.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could do hard things and stand on my own two feet after everything that happened six months ago.
But logistically speaking . . . after weeks of snacking on cheese at happy hour, drinking at the fire every night with Jesse, and refraining from any cardio training whatsoever besides walking into town every Wednesday to read Sky’s letters, signing up for a 10K was probably not my best idea.
Damn you, bucket-list item number 23! Or rather, damn me for putting “run a race” on my list in the first place.
I only have half a mile to go, which isn’t too terrible. But I think I pulled my hamstring, so I’m basically hobbling. Not great given that I walked to the start of the race and was planning on walking back.
Jesse offered to drive me. He also offered to come cheer me on, but I told him not to worry about it because I had no idea how long I would take to complete the race—or if I even could complete it—and I didn’t want him to stand around waiting for me that whole time. Also, even though the race started after breakfast at the inn and I would finish it before happy hour, I figured one of us should probably hold down the fort in case a guest decided to check in or out.
Hopefully, I’ll be able to call an Uber from the finish line. I say hopefully because Stowe is not like Atlanta, where there’s always a driver nearby. This is a small town, and seemingly the entire population is here either running the race or lining the streets to cheer us runners on. It wouldn’t surprise me if that included the Uber drivers.
To be honest, it’s nice that most of the town has shown up for the event. The race is a fundraiser for the local hospital, and it’s pretty neat to see people rally together around a good cause. Having so many people out here applauding is also what’s gotten me this far, and it’s what helps me reach the finish line in the end.
Once I cross it, a medal is placed around my neck, and the cheering coming from the roped-off area separating the runners from the crowd gets even louder. I’m surprised I’m getting this much support because I was definitely pulling up the rear. These are some seriously nice strangers.
I look over to give them a wave and say thanks when I spy Jesse right in the middle of the crowd.
I cover my mouth with my hand because not only is he standing there hooting and hollering and pumping his fist in the air as if I just came in first place, but he’s also holding a sign.
It’s written in bold letters, so I can easily make out what it says: Bucket List Item Number 23. Beside the words is a box, and in the box is a check mark.
I’m sorry, could he be any better of a friend?
I hurry (or rather hobble) over, ducking underneath the rope. When I get to him, I throw my arms around his neck. “You came!”
“Of course I came,” he replies, pulling me into his chest.
“But I told you that you didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. I couldn’t miss it.”
I pull back, still in disbelief that he’s here, although I guess I shouldn’t be. Jesse shows up. That’s what he does. I should have known today wouldn’t be any different.
“Who’s keeping an eye on the inn?”
“I put a sign up that said Be Back in an Hour. How are you feeling?”
He lets me drape an arm around his shoulder for support as we walk to the table where they’re handing out goody bags to all the participants.
“Proud, but also disappointed,” I admit. “I didn’t love it, and I discovered running is not my passion. I don’t think yoga is either.” I’m about a third of the way through my thirty-day yoga regimen, and as much as I wish I liked it enough to consider getting certified as a yoga teacher, every day I find myself counting down the minutes till my prerecorded class is done.
“At least you’re ruling things out,” Jesse says.
“True. I’m just starting to worry I’m going to get to the end of my time here and have only discovered a lot of things I don’t like.”
“One day at a time, remember?”
Before I can respond, a volunteer hands me a bag filled with candy and refreshments, plus coupons to use in town. I fish out two lollipops from the bag and hand Jesse one, then unwrap the other. “Thank you,” I say. “For saying that. And for coming today.”
“Are you kidding? I’d do just about anything for an orange lollipop.”
I laugh as we make our way out of the crowd. In my last letter to Sky, I said that meeting him made me a believer in fate and timing. I admit meeting Jesse has made me just as convinced. And because they both came into my life when they did, I can’t help but wonder if the universe knew what it was doing all along. I’ve been a little pissed at it for the past six months, after I lost my fiancé and my job. But now I have a great job, a love interest, and a new best friend. That makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the state of Vermont.
“Where’d you park?” I ask.
“About ten blocks that way.” Jesse points in the general direction of the inn.
I wince. “I might’ve sorta pulled my hamstring.”
“I could carry you, if you’d like.”
“Would you?” I press my palms together. I didn’t want to ask, but Jesse made it so easy by offering.
Seconds later he reaches down and sweeps me up off my feet. “Come on, my little bucket-list-crosser-offer. Let’s get you home.”
Forget just Vermont. Right now, I might be the luckiest girl in the world.
—
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: Letter Number Four
Date: October 10
Dear Harper,
My apologies for the spilled coffee, although I’m glad the photo was well received. I hope the barista made sure to give you the memo that your next two cups of coffee are on me. I called and told her you would be in on Wednesday, so hopefully you’re drinking one of those free cups this morning. If not, then the barista pocketed the money or didn’t recognize you from the description I gave, and I might just have to come to town and treat you to a cup in person.
I wish I could. I know from your last letter that you’re most looking forward to sitting on the couch with me and watching movies when we reunite, but what I’m looking forward to the most is taking you out on the town for a real date (after we stay in for at least twenty-four hours, of course).
What are your favorite go-to dinner spots in Atlanta? And in Stowe? I want to get a jump start on planning our first couple of dates.
Let’s see . . . you asked about shows and movies. I like reality TV like Shark Tank and The Great British Bake Off, and also documentaries. I’m terrified of scary movies. I would try to be all manly and act like I’m not if I were watching one with you, but I don’t want to lie to you—they’re not my favorite.
Here’s a question for you: what are you doing for Halloween? In the spirit of honesty, I do like going out to parties. Blame the extrovert in me. But trust me, if you were around, I’d be just as happy staying in. This year, a good buddy of mine is having a costume party. I’m going as a fireman. If you were here, I’d switch it up and be a pilot. And we could ditch the party and play dress down instead of dress up. And now I’ve gone and changed the subject to us naked again. Admittedly, it’s on my mind a lot.
While we’re on that topic, I know I hinted I’d love to hear your fantasies, but after how worked up I got from that line you sent last week that wasn’t even a real fantasy, just a teaser of a fantasy (I’d show you precisely how much I like the photo if you were right here in front of me), I’m not sure I can. At least not if I am to succeed in keeping my distance until December.
Also, in your last letter you said “in case” Christmas Eve goes well? In case? Don’t tell me you are starting to doubt whether or not it will. If you are, what can I do to give you more faith?
Miss you,
Sky
To: Sky
From: Harper
Subject: Re: Letter Number Four
Date: October 10
Dear Sky,
I certainly didn’t mean anything by saying “in case” Christmas Eve goes well. I have faith that it will go well too. I guess I meant it more as a figure of speech and because I didn’t want you thinking I was jumping ahead and planning next steps when we’ve only taken the first few.
But go ahead and figure out our first couple of dates. I’m already so excited for them! I didn’t have that many favorite spots in Atlanta since I’ve always been one to stay in more often than dine out. The few I did have I used to frequent with that infamous ex of mine. So, yeah . . . let’s rely on your go-to Atlanta spots for our first few dates. And we will probably have to rely on your picks in Stowe too because I haven’t been out to eat once since I arrived. I keep thinking I’ll get around to it, but I have a routine down and haven’t yet wanted to deviate from it.
The thought of you dressed as a fireman is equally as hot as you dressed as a pilot, so now you’re just giving me more things to fantasize about. I’ll keep those details to myself like you asked. It’s too bad because here I was feeling like I might be up for typing them out . . . but you’re honoring my wishes by giving me time and space, so I’ll do my best to honor yours.
On Halloween, I plan on spending the night passing out candy. Reality TV and documentaries? I can’t say I’ve spent much time watching either. I guess we’re opposites in that way too. Although someone reminded me not that long ago that opposites attract.
Our night together is starting to feel like it was a while back, though. Does it feel that way for you, or is it still fresh in your mind? At least we have these letters, which help me feel connected to you.
Harper
P.S. Thank you for the coffee! What a sweet surprise.
eighteen
“IT’S GOING TO be fine,” Jesse says. “Stop stressing.”
“Stop stressing?” On the center of the table I set down the bouquet of dahlias and magnolia leaves that I had Jesse drive me to town to pick up earlier this morning. “I can’t stop stressing. I’m about to have dinner with my bosses.”
I step back and look at the flowers. They’re not in the center of the table. I push them to the right. There. No wait! Now they need to be a little farther to the left.
“Harper, seriously,” Jesse reaches for my arm to stop me from adjusting them again and turns me toward him, resting his hands on my shoulders.
“My parents are going to love you, and they’re going to think we’re doing a great job running this place, and they’re going to think this dinner table looks amazing. Even if the flowers aren’t quite in the middle.”
“They’re not?” I take his wrists to remove his hands so I can get back to work but stop when Jesse laughs.
“If you got a ruler out, they couldn’t be more centered, Harper. But please don’t do that.”
I can’t help but laugh myself, because at this point neither of us would put it past me to retrieve one. Ever since Jesse told me yesterday that his parents were coming to dinner tonight, I’ve been acting like a crazy person. Last night, I stress-ate the candy we bought to hand out on Halloween. Today I haven’t stood still. He keeps telling me they aren’t going to be judging us, but come on. How they feel about the way things here are going will likely factor into their decision about whether or not to sell the inn or let Jesse run it for them after the holidays.
“Come on, sit down.” Jesse pats the chair beside him and I groan and sink into it.
“Now turn around,” Jesse says.
“What?”
“Just do it.”
I’m too tired to argue, so I do. Then Jesse is rubbing my shoulders, and he’s fantastic at it. He could be a masseuse, only I hope he doesn’t become a masseuse, or switch to any other career, because he’s a really good innkeeper and this is what he wants to do and what I want to do and I hope his parents can see that.
This is what I want to do?
“Are you calm yet?” Jesse asks.
“Yes,” I say. So calm I might not be thinking straight. Or maybe I am thinking straight.
“Good,” he replies. “Because my parents just walked in.”
Ohymygod. I’m back on my feet in seconds, eyeing the sixtysomething couple walking through the parlor toward us: a tall man nursing a limp from his fall with dark features similar to Jesse’s, and a shorter woman with snow-capped gray hair and warm and inviting eyes peering out through horn-rimmed glasses.
—
Jesse was right. I had no reason to freak out over meeting his parents. Absolutely none whatsoever. In my entire life, I have never felt so welcomed and at home around people who aren’t my immediate family. No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Hudson ran such a successful inn for so many years.
Sorry, Mark and Beth.
They reminded me at least three times to call them by their first names over the course of the evening, usually in between regaling Jesse and I with their most humorous stories from their years as innkeepers and complimenting the two of us on a job well done so far.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dessert?” I ask them now as Mark gives me a hug goodbye. I wish they’d stay longer.
I’m starting to wonder if this is a hereditary trait because it reminds me of how I feel each time I say goodnight to Jesse. The past week we’ve both stayed up till well after midnight playing cards and talking. Each night we tell ourselves we’re going to go to sleep earlier, but when it comes around to it, we never do.
