Waiting for December, page 8
Jesse loves Vermont. A lot.
It’s really something to watch a man talk about a subject he loves in this fashion. Turns out, it does weird things to your body. It makes your palms clam up and your heart pound fast. It even causes strange thoughts to pop into your head. Like, if this man is talking about loving a place with this much enthusiasm, how much does his heart expand when he’s in love with a woman?
I have no idea why I just asked myself that. The last thing I care about is the mechanics of Jesse’s heart. I care about how my own heart works. And, if I did think about a heart besides mine, I’d care about learning how Sky’s heart works. No space for more hearts than that in this girl’s head.
You see? Strange thoughts.
“Hey.” Jesse reaches out for my arm as soon as he wraps up the conversation. “I don’t mean to leave you with cleanup. But I’ve got to run out and take the cover off the hot tub and the pool, then check the temperatures of each.”
“Of course,” I swallow, a little relieved he’s leaving so I can refocus.
And I will refocus. Those strange thoughts were just passing. They won’t come back.
—
I become surer and surer of that statement as breakfast wraps up and I check out the guests who are leaving today, because my excitement to read Sky’s email overtakes my thoughts.
I head straight to town to find that bakery with internet access Jesse mentioned, and the speed with which I walk there is a testament to how much I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for me in my inbox. Though Jesse said town was a mile away, I swear I make it there in ten minutes—maybe less.
I’m relieved when I spot the bakery, Milk & Maple, right on the corner, and even more relieved when I see it’s not crowded inside. I hurry to the counter and ask for the internet password in a rushed breath, as if I’m a marathon runner demanding water after crossing the finish line.
“Creamandsugar, all lowercased, all one word,” the college-aged girl behind the counter says as she twirls a strand of her curly red hair with her finger.
“Great, thanks!” I turn to find a spot to sit, then spin back, remembering I need to order.
“I’ll have a pumpkin spice latte,” I say.
The girl looks annoyed; perhaps she’s sick of making pumpkin spice drinks for tourists. I want to tell her I’m not a tourist—I live here now—but I don’t want to waste time either, so I make a mental note to order something else next time before rushing to claim a table that just freed up by the window.
I scan the room as I pull my computer out of my bag, noticing details I missed in my dash to get internet access: a display case with yummy pastries, a fireplace with two tables beside it, a bookcase in the back filled with novels.
I’m glad it’s so cute, since I plan to spend quite a bit of time here. And equally as glad, once I join the Wi-Fi network, to see that the internet connection is strong. I pull up my email, and I’m surprised to see, amid all the junk mail cluttering my inbox, not one but two new emails from Sky.
The first was sent yesterday morning when we were still together and has a subject line that reads Letter Number One.
The second was sent this morning and has no subject.
My stomach instantly drops, fearing the worst: maybe he’s written to tell me this arrangement was a mistake, that it’s not a good idea to meet up on Christmas Eve after all. I hate how quickly I jump to the worst-case scenario. But I can’t help it. In the past six months it’s become my new default.
Of course, the second email could just as likely be Sky reiterating how much he’s looking forward to seeing me again. In fact, this seems much more likely. Still, I feel sick to my stomach as I open it.
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: no subject
Date: September 19
Harper,
I’m embarrassed by how many times I’ve checked my email to see if you’d responded since my flight back to Atlanta. Since you still haven’t replied, I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I came across too strong. If I freaked you out, I can tone it down.
Okay?
Hope you got settled all right.
Best regards,
Sky
P.S. I realize this is two emails in one week. I promise to only send one going forward.
I let out the deepest sigh, relieved on two counts: (1) the email isn’t negative; (2) it appears I’m not the only one who’s nervous.
Then I sit up straight and lean in because if Sky was worried he came across too strong in his first email, I’m dying to read what it says.
I click it open, breathing much easier this go-round.
To: Harper
From: Sky
Subject: Letter Number One
Date: September 18
Dear Harper,
Since we’re only emailing each other once a week, bear with me, because I’m about to use up all the space I can get.
I’m up early, sitting at my desk while you’re still sleeping, because I can’t stop thinking about something. Don’t judge me when I tell you what it is, okay?
Rom-coms. Yep.
Remember when you said you wouldn’t judge?
Specifically, I can’t stop thinking about those scenes in rom-coms that I used to roll my eyes at when I’d watch them with my sisters. You know, the ones when the main characters bump into each other and form this instant connection? Like in Serendipity, for instance. Or The Wedding Planner. (See, I wasn’t lying. I know this genre well.)
Well, I don’t think I’ll be rolling my eyes from this point onward. Because I get that it’s possible now. Meeting you has made me believe that a guy actually can meet a girl and get a feeling and just know that he wants to be with her.
And you know what that got me thinking? I wonder how many other things are possible that I’ve written off my whole life as ridiculous. That’s a big extrapolation, but I like that our chance encounter has me wondering about all the other ways my universe might expand.
Isn’t that what a good connection is supposed to do? Open up our worlds? Make us think more is possible?
What more do you wish were possible, Harper, if the sky were the limit? (See what I did there? I used my own name in a pun. That’s a total dad joke if you ask me. Not that I’m thinking about becoming a dad. But I guess it’s in my “someday maybe” category.)
Do you want to be a mom? Have kids? What would you love your life to look like if it could look like anything? What are your dreams for the future?
You’re waking up now, and I like that you just rolled over to my side of the bed to try and cuddle up next to me. You look disappointed that I’m not there, and it makes me want to crawl back into bed beside you. But then you might not get to work on time, and I might not catch my flight and . . . condoms. We still don’t have any damn condoms.
I thought about running out this morning to pick some up, but I think you and I could do better for our first time than a morning when we both have places to rush off to. We will do better than that. I promise.
I’m picking up writing this again now that we’re down at the kitchen table. You’re currently looking at me like you’re pissed I’m still typing. I want to laugh because I think even your pissed-off face looks cute, Harper. It makes me think you and I are going to be able to resolve any future conflicts quickly. I know I couldn’t stay mad at that face longer than a minute. Maybe two. We’ll have short fights and lots of make-up sex. How does that sound?
I only have a few more minutes now, so typing fast. Share with me your fantasies, Harper. All of them.
(Did your mind just go where mine went after I typed that statement? I didn’t mean those kinds of fantasies, although I wouldn’t mind at all if you did want to share them . . .)
I’ve got to get you to work now, but I wish I didn’t have to. I wish we had more time. That’s my dream right now.
Until next time,
Sky
This barista must think I really like pumpkin spice lattes. Because she happens to be setting my drink down at the exact moment I’m looking up from Sky’s letter, and although I can’t see my expression, I can feel that I’m beaming. I’ve never received a letter like this before. I want to print it out and frame it so I can read it over and over again.
It’s definitely safe to tell Sky I missed his cute snore when I write him back. Which I should. Right now, before he sends a third email. I take a sip of my pumpkin spice latte and begin.
To: Sky
From: Harper
Subject: Re: Letter Number One
Date: September 19
Dear Sky,
My first dream would be for the inn where I’m working to have Wi-Fi so I could read your emails right when you send them and email you back in a timely manner. I found out when I arrived that the inn doesn’t have internet or even cell service.
Please know I’d never ghost you. Or intentionally leave you hanging. Also, please never sign an email ending in “regards” to me ever again. The formality of your second letter made me sad, and so did the context. You didn’t come across as too strong in your first email. Please keep flattering me.
I’ll come on strong myself for a minute and admit that I missed your cute snore last night. I also might have had a few fantasies when I woke up this morning. But I’m not going into detail on those. At least not yet. ;)
As for my fantasies about the future . . . yes, I do want kids one day, and I’d like a great love too. I’d also like to spend my time doing some activity or a career that’s personally meaningful. I’ve never had that and have always been envious of people who proclaim they have a passion and know what they’re “meant to be doing.” Like how you described feeling when you’re traveling and flying.
That’s what I’m working on figuring out while I’m here. I’m going to pick up some paint while I’m in town today to give an art project a shot. Maybe I have hidden artistic abilities that I haven’t tapped into yet. I know, I know, it’s unlikely. But you never know until you try, right? I’m also working through a list in a book I’m reading that’s supposed to help me figure out what I’m “naturally drawn to.”
Should I add you to this list? (See what I did there? I made a cheesy dad joke. By the way, why aren’t mom jokes a thing? Are moms not funny? Or are moms actually funny and dads are just corny funny? That was a tangent, but I am curious if you know the answer to this.)
What about you, Sky? What other big dreams did this big revelation provoke? I want to hear yours too. I also want to hear what your life is like in Atlanta. Fill me in so I feel like I’m there with you.
Vermont, I must say, is working its way into my heart. I got to feed goats and chickens this morning, and the maple syrup on the pancakes is everything I ever dreamed it would be. I will probably dream about it tonight. And possibly you. In a separate dream, of course. Because maple syrup in that context isn’t a go for me.
Do anti-fantasies give you hints to my actual fantasies? I suppose you’ll have to guess.
Until Letter Number Two,
Harper
I’m blushing when I press send. I probably should have proofread it and maybe cut out the part about maple syrup. But if I reread it, I would have nitpicked it, and I don’t have time to rewrite it. I still have to find a place to get those art supplies I mentioned to Sky. And then I need to race back to the inn and shower before giving the ole happy hour another try. And, oh, my phone!
I pull it out from my purse and find so many messages.
Mom: Glad you made it safe. Next time text us as soon as you get off the plane. Your father and I were worried, dear. Okay, honey, hope your first day is going okay.
Dad: Did your first day go okay?
Mom: Did you get your dad’s text?
I respond to their messages first because Mom is right. I should have texted her and Dad right when I got off the plane. As parents, they naturally worry, and since I’m their only kid, they worry more than most parents. I know this and I left them hanging. It doesn’t matter how old I am. That wasn’t cool.
After I apologize, I let them know about the Wi-Fi situation and cell phone service, so they know not to expect to hear from me in a timely fashion from here on out.
Then, I move onto the conversation with my friends.
Zoe: Please expand on that smiley face next to “safe.” I’m thinking there’s more to the story of your arrival there!
Grace: Um . . . saw online there’s a new innkeeper at your inn. Judging from the looks of him, my money is on THAT being why you haven’t responded!!
I pause. Grace’s comment hits me the wrong way. I don’t like the insinuation, and I really don’t want my friends framing Jesse that way. I want them talking about Sky. Then again, they don’t know about Sky. Of course! They’ll love the sound of him when I fill them in. And, okay, I did have the same gut reaction Grace did when I first met Jesse. He’s an objectively good-looking guy. So the leap makes sense. I just have to correct the assumption.
I type a long text message to fill them in about Sky and the pact we made. I’d call, but they’re both at work now.
I also let them know about the Wi-Fi and cell service. Then I feel the need to send along a photo of Sky to really drive it home that he’s the one to focus on. Sky said he found my email on LinkedIn, so he must be on there. I search for Sky Alder and find him in seconds.
Wow, this picture is . . . wow. He’s even wearing his pilot’s hat. It’s a good thing I’m just now seeing him in it. If I’d seen it before, it would have made parting ways even more of a challenge.
I screenshot it and send it to my friends. Within seconds I have responses.
Zoe: !!!!
Grace: OMG!
Zoe: That’s some serious willpower on your end to make him wait for you! How adorable he’s waiting for you!!
Grace: Seriously adorable! I mean, THE PACT is adorable. Sky is not adorable . . . he’s HOT! And sounds swoon-worthy. We like him!!!
I close my eyes and let their excitement further stoke mine. Is there anything better than sharing details about a crush with your friends? Then I respond.
Me: Yeah, guys . . . I really like him too!
ten
IT’S CRAZY ALL the things a new crush can do to you, like make you:
Smile incessantly. Half the people at this happy hour I’m hosting have asked me what I’m so happy about.
Forget things. I completely spaced on grabbing art supplies when I was in town and will have to go back tomorrow.
Gush about everything. While chatting to the guests about the cheeses, the wine, the town, and the inn, I sound almost as passionate about Vermont as Jesse did this morning.
Not notice things you normally would. Like someone calling your name.
“Harper?” Jesse tries again. I only know it’s not the first time he’s tried to get my attention because he laughs when I finally spin around and spot him sitting by the fire outside the inn. “What kind of daze were you just in? A good one, I hope.”
I grin and nod but don’t elaborate. As if I want to tell Jesse all about my crush.
“How did happy hour go?” he asks. It’s pitch-black out, but Jesse’s face is well lit from the outdoor fire and the string lights hanging high above that run from the porch pillars to two evergreen trees in the distance and back.
“Better than yesterday,” I reply. “But I suppose that’s not saying much.”
“You’re being modest. Sounds like you’re becoming quite the spokeswoman for Vermont. I heard you talking to some guests when I popped in there to make this.” He holds up his drink.
“What do you have there?”
“A hot toddy,” he says, taking another sip from his mug. “Want one?”
I was just making conversation. But I don’t say so aloud. “That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t want to bother you to make another.”
“It’s no problem at all. Wait here.” He’s on his feet before I can protest and throws me his blanket.
Oh. Okay. I guess we’re having cocktails.
I wrap the blanket around my shoulders and take a seat in an Adirondack chair on the opposite side of the fire. Because Jesse and I work together, a little physical distance seems the most appropriate right now. Although there’s also a chance I just made things weird. If Jesse thinks it’s weird, he doesn’t let on when he rejoins me. He simply hands me my drink, then fetches another blanket out of a basket near his chair and sits down where he was before.
“Good?” he asks as I take my first sip.
“Delicious.” It is.
My answer makes him smile. “How was town today?”
How does he know I went to town? Before I can ask, he explains. “I saw you heading that way when I was chopping wood.”
Didn’t he just chop wood yesterday? I guess there is a fireplace in every room. Wood chopping must be part of his daily routine. Noted.
“Town was really nice,” I respond. “That bakery you mentioned is quite charming.”
“Everything in town is quite charming,” he says.
I grin because he’s right and because he’s doing it again: selling me on this place and making me fall for it a little more.
“Do you miss living off of Main Street?” I remember him telling me he lived near there last night.
“A little,” he says. “But this place is pretty hard to beat. I’m not complaining.”
“Me either,” I say, shooting a glance up at the stars that are out in full force again.
“What was Atlanta like?” he asks.
