When we got back to my house—well, Kenny and Martha’s house—John stopped at the stairs. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
His brow furrowed. “For monopolizing the conversation. I did most of the talking the whole walk home.”
Dryly, I said, “I think it was your turn considering how much talking I’ve done.” Then, I rose to my tiptoes to give him a peck on the cheek. His cheek was warm and incredibly soft, and I let my lips linger there.
When I pulled away, John was red-faced. “Next time, it’ll be your turn.”
“I like the sound of that,” I said, meaning the “next time” part.
John took my empty hand in his empty one. Both of our hands were palm to palm, and we were sort of weaving our fingers in and out, testing the waters. Neither of us dared look up from our joined hands. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. My heart felt like it was in my stomach—in a good way. It was that feeling I got when I watched super schmaltzy romance movies or the feeling when I read Captain Wentworth’s letter at the end of Persuasion. I didn’t think it was a sensation I could have in real life. It had always seemed to be a fabrication brought on by the right lines and the right music set to the right background. This feeling was dizzying. So much so that I thought I might pass out.
Kiss me already, I thought.
Why couldn’t John just read my mind? I didn’t want to spell it out for him. I didn’t want to do it myself. There was still a fear that he’d reject me, that somehow I was reading this situation all wrong. Friends held their hands like that. It was totally normal...
“I should go,” he said.
I nodded. “Are you okay to walk home?” I asked stupidly. Of course he was okay to walk home. He’d probably done it thousands of times in his life.
“I think I’ll be all right.”
I kept nodding and thought I must have looked like a bobblehead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Of course you will. We’ve got work to do.”
I forced my head still. “Well, uh... Goodnight, then.”
The thought of letting go of his hands left me melancholy, so I started with one hand then took one step toward the house. John didn’t let go of the other hand. Instead, he drew me back with the still-clasped hand and took my face in the other one. Then, he finally kissed me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The kiss was tender at first but quickly grew in intensity. I wrapped my arms around John’s neck, praying I could hold him there forever. His lips were remarkably supple, and his breath smelled like mint. That wasn’t fair, considering I definitely had green goddess dressing breath. He must have snuck in a quick tooth brushing after dinner.
Then, just as unexpectedly as it had started, John ended the kiss and backed away from me. “Shit,” he murmured, running his hand through his hair like he always did when he was uncomfortable.
“What?” I asked, horrified. I thought the kiss was great, but maybe he didn’t. Was I a bad kisser?
He couldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Kiss me?” I bleated. That was certainly not the reaction I had expected. I was hoping he was going to say something along the lines of “Finally!”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. Not after what we talked about the other night. I meant what I said, Chas.” He looked at me then, and I could see the pain on his face. “I told you I want you to get better before we do this, and I meant it. Now, here I am... I kissed you because I wanted to, because you make me happy and I... It was selfish of me to do that.”
I frowned, confused. “But, I wanted you to kiss me, too.” I wanted to hold his hand again, to grab his face and kiss him and get the response I’d imagined in my head—the one worthy of a rom-com. John was out of reach now, and I was scared to touch him. I was afraid he’d run away.
“I know,” he said. “What kind of person am I, though, if I tell you one minute I’ll give you time and completely disregard it the next?”
I tried to make my voice as unaffected as possible, “Well, you gave it over twenty-four hours, so... that’s time.”
John shook his head. “I’ve really screwed this up, huh?”
“Only the part after the kiss,” I answered. Now, I was bold enough to take one of his hands in both of mine. I pressed it to my cheek. “John, this doesn’t feel wrong to me. Maybe this is how I get better? I can still be my own person and be with you at the same time, right? Why should we deny this just because I’m on the mend—or whatever?”
He studied my face but didn’t pull his hand away. I wished I could read his mind or speak to him through my eyes so that he’d know I was sincere. The thought occurred to me, as we were silently searching for answers, that maybe he meant some of his grand speech for himself, too. Maybe he felt like he needed to be a whole person without me as well.
I considered voicing that theory, but before I could, John spoke, “Well, if you’re okay with it. Really okay with it...”
“Might as well make the most of it,” I urged. Placing my hands on either side of his face, I tilted his head until our foreheads touched. “I don’t know how much time we’ll have anyway, and I’d like to see where this could go.”
Something about what I’d said seemed to solidify his decision. He cupped my chin and softly kissed me again. “You’ll tell me,” he breathed, “if it gets to be too much for you? If you need space?”
“I will.”
“All right, then.” He took my right hand and pressed a light kiss to my palm. I guessed he was afraid if he touched my lips again, we’d never stop kissing. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I sighed. He hesitated but finally released my hands and moseyed away. I watched him dreamily until he disappeared, his silhouette blending in with the trees in the moonlight.
When I turned back toward the house, I saw a flurry of movement in the front window. Had Kenny and Martha been spying on us? That was weird and a little gross but also a little sweet. I couldn’t decide how to feel about it. Bracing myself, I opened the door to see them sitting in their designated living room chairs, feigning innocence. They pretended to be engrossed in the items in their hands. Martha was reading a book written by someone named Sylvia Plath, and Kenny was working on a crossword puzzle.
“What’s an eight-letter word for ‘an enormous, plant-eating mammal that never forgets?’” he asked, ignoring my entrance.
“Elephant,” Martha answered.
I snorted. “As in the elephant in the room?”
Kenny and Martha looked up at me, their faces masked in astonishment. “‘Elephant in the room?’ What do you mean by that? We’re not hiding anything,” Martha’s words sputtered like John’s old truck did sometimes when it first got going.
Suddenly those blameless looks seemed like real worry, and I wondered what they thought I was accusing them of. “You were snooping on John and me just now. I saw you scurrying away from the window when I came in.”
“Oh...” Martha breathed and raised a hand like she was swearing on a Bible. “I suppose you caught us.”
Kenny cocked his head to the side. “Suppose so.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty.”
“I mean, I know I’m staying with you in your house and eating your food, but I still deserve a semblance of privacy.”
Kenny and Martha blurted out their agreements of “Yes, of course” and “Certainly.” The room got quiet for a moment until Kenny asked, “What’s a five-letter word for an apology?”
I stared at the ceiling as I counted it out. “Sorry.”
“That’s it.” He pointed.
Martha chimed in, “We’re very sorry for spying on you, Sissy. We will try harder to keep our noses out of your business.”
“But we’re both so excited,” Kenny burst. His hands balled into fists, and his face beamed.
“Kenneth...” Martha eyed him meaningfully.
He dismissed her with a wave. “Well, we are. John is family. We’ve
known him since he was a kid, and we always dreamed you two would get together.”
“Kenneth.” Martha’s tone turned from indulgent to slightly scolding.
“What?” he asked. “It’s true. Are we not supposed to say that? Is that one of those things with you kids? If your parents like your boyfriends too much or approve of the relationship, it’s just not interesting anymore? Should I pretend I don’t like it? Because I can.” He switched to a stern, paternal voice, “Young lady, I don’t want you seeing that boy. He’s no good.”
Martha cleared her throat. “We overstepped, didn’t we? It’s just... we haven’t raised any children. We don’t really know what we’re doing.”
“You’re doing fine,” I assured her, “but this conversation is just getting weird. I think I’ll go crawl in bed and die from embarrassment now.” They wore alarmed expressions, and I understood that a formerly suicidal girl should not be joking about wanting to die. It scared people. “I mean, I just need to go to my room and sleep this off. I’ll be fine.”
I excused myself, and when I got to my room, I threw the covers back on my bed and plopped down without a thought about changing clothes or washing up. What I wanted to do was think about John and that amazingly wonderful, out of this world, firework-worthy kiss—and not the drama immediately following. All I could think about, though, was that odd conversation with Kenny and Martha. Something about it left me uncomfortable, and I was having trouble figuring out what it was. Did I really think it was strange that they peeked out the window while John and I were kissing? I couldn’t blame them for wanting us to get together. They’d seen how we interacted; it was inevitable. No, the unsettling part was that this was the first time in my life I’d ever felt parented. It was unfamiliar, and I thought I liked it.
***
John came to the house the next morning, and I was relieved that he didn’t seem to harbor any of the guilt he’d had the night before. I was uneasy, though, not knowing how he’d react if I tried to hold his hand or flirt with him.
“Do you want some cereal?” I asked after Kenny and Martha made a big show of leaving us alone. They had no talent for subtlety.
“Oh, uh, sure,” he answered.
I reached into the cabinets and drawers to get everything I needed and admitted, “I’m still not great in the kitchen. I’d make you eggs or something, but it’d probably be a disaster.”
“Well, I could make you eggs,” John said and strode over to the counter next to me.
“No,” I sighed, “you see, the point is I wanted to do something nice for you.” I placed my hand on his arm, striving for casualness.
John cleared his throat, and I thought our close proximity didn’t feel quite so casual to him after all. “Well, if you’re sure,” he said.
“I am.” Then I removed my hand from his arm with a light pat and set back to the task of making breakfast. Soon we were sitting at the table, quietly slurping and pretending to find every little thing in the kitchen, except one another, interesting.
“I was just wondering... that kiss last night, did you like it?”
John smiled into his cereal bowl. “Yeah, I liked it.”
I tried not to exhale immediately. I didn’t want to let on that I’d been worrying about it. “Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“I’ve never had any complaints before,” I added and immediately regretted it. “Not that I’ve kissed a lot of guys or anything, it’s just that—”
“Ope.” Suddenly Martha was tiptoeing into the room behind us. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just forgot my grocery list on the counter there.” She attempted to stretch her arm across the counter without entering the kitchen fully—as if this would make her entrance less intrusive. She muttered an apology after attaining the list in question; then, she scampered toward the hallway.
Once she’d completely exited the room, John and I burst into laughter. Who knew Aunt Martha’s poorly timed interruption would be just what we needed to break the tension?
“Chastity,” John spoke as our laughter subsided, “don’t misunderstand. I liked kissing you. I just wish I’d’ve let you make the first move, I guess.”
“Me?” I balked. “I made the first move when we were kids. Doesn’t that count for something? Anyway, I don’t even know how I’d go about it,” I said.
He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Well, you’re going to have to figure it out. Because the next time we kiss, it’ll be your move.”
My jaw dropped. “My move?”
I would have continued, but I heard a low voice call out from the back room, “Hey, kids, do you mind if I come in and get my keys?”
I grunted and called back, “That’s fine, Uncle Kenny.”
Kenny came in and clumsily fished for his keys in a bowl on the counter in a similar stretching motion to Martha’s. “Sorry,” he mouthed before shuffling away.
“Should we talk about this outside?” John asked after Kenny left the room.
I sighed. “Yes, please.”
We stepped out onto the back porch, and John made a big show of closing the sliding door behind us.
“Now, where were we?” I asked.
“You were going to kiss me,” John answered, then amended, “I mean, I was saying that you’d have to kiss me... er... be the one to kiss me next time. Like I said, I want to make sure you’re comfortable with it.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to,” John replied too quickly.
“You don’t want me to?”
John groaned. “I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I want you to.”
“Then, I will,” I declared, squaring off my shoulders and stepping toward him.
“Oh. Right now?” John looked startled. “But we haven’t even finished our breakfast.”
“I think we should just get it over with right now so we can move along from this awkwardness,” I said with the calm and composure of a diplomat.
He snorted. “So, romance isn’t your strength, then?”
I took another step toward him. “I’m going to kiss you, John Reed, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t sass me, please. This will take a lot of concentration.”
“Okay.” He tried to present his most serious face, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
I placed both of my hands on his chest for balance as I stood up on my toes and reached my lips to his. My feet wavered, and John caught me by the waist, giving in to the kiss.
This time, he didn’t pull away in self-admonishment. When the kiss came to an end, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and gazed at me.
“How was that?” I asked.
John smiled and rested his chin on top of my head. “Perfect.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“You know, my mom loved you,” John said to me as we walked toward the goat barn with our milking pails. “She’s spent the last week talking about you, asking when I would bring you home again.”
“Well, duh. I told you. Moms love me. I am a very lovable person. There’s a reason they made me America’s sweetheart.”
“Okay.” He tilted his head and grinned. “Now you’re just being cocky.”
“Yeah, but it’s why you like me, right?”
“Who said I like you?” he teased.
I gawked. “Well, who said I like you?”
“You did. With your lips.” He walked backward, tempting me with puckered lips.
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they’d get stuck at nine o’clock. “You sure do think you’re cute.”
John dropped his bucket and grabbed my hand, boldly pulling me toward him. “Well, I try.” His hands were on my waist, and the look he gave me left me nearly breathless.
“Now who’s cocky?” I murmured.
“Chastity, I want to kiss you again, but I can’t possibly do that until you tell me you like me.” He leaned in closer so that our faces were inches apart.
I couldn’t just tell him I liked him. It seemed too simple. And he hadn’t made any declarations of his own yet. “No fair. You go first.”
“Don’t make me carve our initials in that tree over there.” John pointed to a cluster of trees further out. I didn’t know which one he was referring to specifically, but it didn’t matter. They were all beautiful, with the prettiest little white flowers adorning their branches.
I giggled. “I’ve never been threatened with acts of love before. Uh... I mean... I didn’t mean that you love me; it’s just that it’s... uh... sweet is all.” My face felt hot. It had to be the color of a cardinal by now—the bird, not the baseball team. I pulled myself away from John and began walking again, putting my mind and body back on track.
“Chas.” He followed. “Are you embarrassed?”
I tried to hide my face in my hair, unable to make eye contact.
“Never thought I’d see the day.”
“You see me embarrassed regularly.” I whirled around and pointed an accusing finger at him.
His expression turned pensive. “Why do you think that is?”
Groaning, I threw my hands up in the air. “I don’t know. You just make me nervous sometimes, and I get tongue-tied and do foolish things. It’s like I’m completely comfortable around you and totally uncomfortable at the same time. It’s confusing.”
“I know what you mean. Why do you think my automatic reaction is to argue with you? It’s like I have all my defenses up because, around you, I can’t seem to keep my defenses up.”
I squinted. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know.” John’s frustrated voice sounded like a Muppet. Dammit. Why did he have to be so adorable?
“What do we do about it?” I asked.
“Probably just bicker and do humiliating things around each other for a while.”
I sighed. “As long as you’re okay with that.”
Be It Ever So Humble Page 17
