Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances

by Bethany Hensel

  Layla sets down her burger. Whenever she sets down food, I know I have her complete attention.

  I take a breath. Then: “A few months after Jack moved in and we started working together…I…well…we kissed.”

  Layla’s brows raise and her eyes widen. “Now you tell me.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just, whenever it first happened, I made such a bungle out of it that I was too embarrassed to talk about it.”

  “Alright. Spill it all now.”

  So I tell her the whole story. How Jack and I, both rain-soaked and drenched, kissed in the stairwell, how his body scorched mine. How he lifted me like I weighed absolutely nothing and I wrapped my legs around his waist and he carried me like some romance novel hero to his apartment. He knocked over a lamp and sent a box full of papers scattering as we made our way to his bedroom. We got as far as the dining room before he started pulling my shirt from the waistband of my pants. His hands slid all over me, kneading me, caressing me, and I—

  “Wait a second,” Layla says, her eyes narrowed. “I have known her for years and you never once had any sort of fiery affair before.”

  “It wasn’t an affair.”

  “Fine. You’ve never once had a fiery episode. Even when you had a boyfriend, you never had soaking wet moments.”

  My eyes widen and I look around. “Geez, say that louder. And damn, it sounded gross when you said it that way.”

  “Sorry. You know I can’t help it. But my point is, it’s totally not like you to be so…so...come hither.”

  I give her a look.

  She shrugs. “Is he really that hot?”

  “He’s that everything. He’s handsome and gorgeous and nice and funny and he makes me feel really…I don’t know…safe.” I sigh and roll my eyes. “But don’t worry. My default idiot-mode kicked in shortly thereafter.”

  My heart pounded the entire time he held me. His lips were soft but firm, moving from my mouth to my jaw line to my neck. It was then his hands moved too. I could feel his long fingers play at the button of my pants and when they slid inside, I tensed.

  “But not in a good way.” I frown and shake my head. “It was like a bucket of water on my head, cliché as it sounds. The thing is, I wanted to do more with him, but it’s like when he started touching me, heading down to there, all these other thoughts just rushed through my head.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, stupid things. Dumb worries.”

  “Glory…”

  “Fine. I thought he’d think I was fat.”

  She leans back in her chair like I shot her. Her expression is horrified.

  “I know,” I say. “Trust me, I know. I was clearly an idiot back then.”

  “You don’t really think you’re fat, do you?”

  “No. I mean, I’m no supermodel but no, I don’t think I’m fat. That stupid thought just reared up in my head for some reason. I guess he’s so damn hot that I assumed he’d want some skinny size nothing and I’m not that and it just threw me for a loop.” I grimace. “Anyway, I told him to stop and he did. He asked if something was wrong and I told him that I just…God, I said something like I don’t want to go too fast and I should get back to feed Denny Crane.”

  Layla’s face falls, as if she just watched some poor kid try to slam dunk a ball and he got rejected. Big time. “You used your cat as an excuse? To end a kiss like that? What did he say?”

  “What could he say? He didn’t argue with me or pressure me or anything. He just breathed in and out really deeply for a second, and then he told me if I had to go, then I should go. He invited me to come back after I fed Denny Crane, he even suggested we go feed him together, but I said that…” I trail off. Remembering that night, remembering the way Jack’s eyes cooled from the heat of one of the sexiest moments of my life, is almost more than I can bear.

  “What?” Layla prods. “You said what?”

  My shoulders droop. “I said that we should call it a night. I told him I’d text him the next day but I never did.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I was stupid. I lost my mind. I got freaked out. Pick an option. Or pick all three.”

  “Oh Glory. Glory, Glory, Glory. He obviously really liked you.”

  The use of past tense is like a knife in my side. “Yeah, well maybe I wasn’t ready for someone like that to really like me. You don’t understand. He is teeth-meltingly hot. He’s gorgeous, and on top of that, a really good guy. ”

  “So?” Layla waves her arms around, trying to understand. I can commiserate.

  “So…he surprised me. Here I am, thinking we’re neighbors and coworkers, and we share a taxi because it’s raining. Next thing I know, he’s kissing me in a stairwell. He’s squeezing my boobs.”

  Now Layla’s eyes widen. She looks around. “Say that louder.”

  “Oh, I don’t even care anymore. I can’t care. It’s all so upsetting. We shared this great kiss and then it was over. Because of me and my weird freak out.”

  “Well, what happened next? We know you didn’t text him”—she gives me a hard look—“but did you ever text him? Did he ask you out?”

  “He asked me out, alright. And I said no. He asked me out again, and I said no. Actually, I think I said that I was feeling sick and didn’t want to get him infected. He asked me out plenty of times and I always came up with an excuse to say no. And as more time passed, it just got way too late. He moved on, he’s went on dates and had girlfriends. I went on a few dates and had a boyfriend. I missed my window.”

  Now she’s looking as if a child just tried to do a high jump and hit their gut against the pole instead. “What were you thinking?”

  Good question. I’ve been thinking about the answer to that question on and off for years. Why did I always say no to him? Maybe it’s because I always say no to everything. Maybe it really is my default setting.

  I tell Layla as much. She’s shaking her head before I’m even through.

  “No, no this is why we made that list. You’re already learning to say yes and put yourself out there more.”

  “Yeah, and I have a new hair cut and some make up to show for it.” I lean back myself. “The list is for fun, but let’s face it. It’s just surface-level stuff. It’s not going to change my life. Or even add to it.”

  We both sit in silence. My Snickers is gone, I slurp on my drink. I can hear the dogs in their cages, through the windows I can see the cats in their cat rooms. Workers mill about in ugly Christmas sweaters and antlers.

  “Give me your list.”

  I look over at Layla. Her hand is outstretched and she has a look on her face like she’s going to solve the mystery of the universe.

  “Why?”

  In answer, she just shakes her hand. I quickly reach into my pocket and give it over. She unfolds it and starts writing. I don’t interrupt her. Then, she hands it back to me.

  “You’re kidding.”

  She points to the door.

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “I will never, ever, ever bake for you again if you don’t leave right this instant.”

  I hurry outside.

  Chapter Six

  A New List

  The knock sounds promptly at seven. Looks like my note I had taped to Jack’s door had worked. Come over at 7pm. I have a gift for you.

  I open the door and he stands on the other side, looking so solid and gorgeous I want to just fall into him. I want to wrap my arms around him and pull him so close I can’t breath. Instead, I step aside and invite him in.

  “I got your note,” he says. “You didn’t have to buy me a gift.”

  “I didn’t. That is, I do have a gift for you, but it didn’t cost me anything. Actually, it cost me a lot, but…” I gesture to the couch. “Can you sit a minute?”

  He does so. Denny Crane hops up and Jack scratches his back. With a reassuring smile (more for myself than Jack), I head into the kitchen.

  Much like the other night, all of the lights in the
apartment are off, except the tree lights. I’ve even turned off the lamp in the dining room. But it was too dark when I did that, so I placed dozens of candles on pretty much every flat surface. It added enough light to see, but made my place dim enough to give me the courage I needed.

  Courage. I shut my eyes and breathe. I can do this. I have to do this. Finally, I pick what I need and turn it on. And as the first notes of the song begin to play—beautiful, familiar notes—I step out, microphone in hand.

  My voice is wobbly, shaking actually, as I begin the verse. Jack smiles at me, a look both surprised yet delighted. My face is flaming red as I set the little karaoke machine down and continue onto the chorus, but his eyes give me the courage to go on. It’s not the exact I’ll Be Home for Christmas song we danced to, but it works well enough. When I’m finished, Jack applauds for me and smiles.

  I set the microphone down and sit next to him.

  “That,” he said, “was a wonderful present. Thank you.”

  Still way too hot from standing up there singing, I can only smile and shrug. I feel breathless.

  “And hey, you can cross it off your list.”

  “Actually, I made some revisions.” With that, I get up and grab the list from the table. As I hand it to him, I feel even more vulnerable and exposed than I was when I was singing to him. I don’t sit back down. I feel like I need to be ready to duck, or run, or hide. I need to brace myself no matter what.

  Jack accepts the paper. I can see his eyes take it all in.

  Glory’s Twelve Challenges of Christmas

  1. Wear high heels to work. And jewelry. Express yourself! You’re twenty-nine and have legs for days. Show ‘em off, honey! Tell Jack how you feel.

  2. Sign up for a class. Expand your horizons Tell Jack how you feel.

  3 Compliment ten random strangers. Be sincere! Tell Jack how you feel.

  4. Go to a museum and talk to five guys. Dust off those flirting skills! And no, you cannot combine this with number 3. Up the ante! Tell Jack how you feel.

  5. Speaking of up…update your wardrobe! Buy stuff with colors and sequins. Buy an expression tee and wear it! Buy a push up bra and let the ba-zingas do the talking! Tell Jack how you feel.

  6. Bake with tofu. Try something new.Tell Jack how you feel.

  7. Watch a bunch of scary movies. Push beyond your comfort zone! Tell Jack how you feel.

  8. Attend a ballroom dancing class. I’ve seen the many episodes of Dancing with the Stars on your DVR. You obviously love it, so give it a whirl (See what I did there?) And no, you cannot combine this challenge with number 2.

  9. Go to a bar and stay out until midnight.Tell Jack how you feel.

  10. Walk around naked. I know this sounds weird coming from me, but get back in touch with your body and your sexuality. Hmm, even when I explain it, it still sounds so weird.Tell Jack how you feel. And then walk around naked.

  11. Karaoke Tell Jack how you feel.

  12. Volunteer somewhere, put yourself in a situation with lots of kids or people around. Expose yourself to more crowds. Not literally. Do NOT combine this with number 10. Tell Jack how you feel.

  He sets the paper down. He stares at it for a long time, long enough for me to want to do option b and c together—run and hide. But then he looks at me, his eyes blazingly bright in the candlelight.

  “So,” he says, “tell me how you feel.”

  My heart drops. My stomach hollows and something heavy fills the void.

  “You were right. The list was good for me, and I’m glad I did it. I’m proud of myself for accomplishing the challenges, however silly or easy. I needed to get out of my comfort zone a long time ago. It’ll take time but I’m ready to own my life. I’m ready for it to take up space and be exciting and be difficult and crazy and hard.” I lick my dry lips. “I think that was always the problem. Whenever people would ask me to go places or join in, I’d always say I was too busy. But the truth is…I was too scared.”

  I stop at the look in Jack’s eyes. The blues, which have done everything from calm me to excite me to assure me throughout the years, now do nothing but comfort me, encourage me to keep going.

  So I do, although I can’t bring myself to look at him.

  “I was scared of failing. I was scared of being embarrassed and not good enough, so I figured I wouldn’t even try. I’d never attempt anything that I could get hurt with, and it worked. I had created for myself a very comfortable, safe place. At least, I thought I did. But what I really created was a cage. I didn’t just lock myself in. I locked everyone out.”

  I bow my head. My chest is tight, my fingers are clasped in front of me, so hard I think I’m about to break skin. But I’ve got to keep going.

  “I missed out on so much. I missed out on vacations and promotions and a thousand other things I wanted and never had the courage to ask for.” I finally meet his gaze. “I missed out on you. I missed out on the concert you wanted to take me to, the dinners, the movies and picnics.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to go another minute missing out on you.”

  Jack stands. He approaches me slowly, as if I might bolt. I could’ve told him not to worry. I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. He reaches out and finally takes my hand. I tremble at his touch.

  “You are good enough,” he says. “You are magnificent, but you don’t need me to tell you that. I am in awe of your bravery. Those challenges…you were scared of failing? You tried anyway. You were afraid of being embarrassed? You still talked to that old guy in the scarf.”

  I laugh and hit him on the shoulder. “No thanks to you.”

  He laughs with me. But then he gently touches my hair. “You were afraid of being hurt, and yet here you are, standing in front of me, telling me how you feel.” He adds in a whisper, “You karaoked.” He smiles. “Now that’s brave.”

  “My knees are still shaking. But not just because I sang to you.”

  He moves his hand down to cup my cheek. I reach up and grab his wrist. I turn my head just enough to place the softest of kisses on the most tender of pulse points.

  Slowly, I step back. Jack doesn’t take his eyes off me as I take my shirt by the bottom and pull it over my head. I undress for him purposefully, confidently, even if I’m trembling. When I am standing in just my bra and underwear, Jack removes his shirt. His shoes, boots and jeans. As his hands grasp the waistband of his boxers, he looks at me, as if asking if it’s still okay. If I’m okay.

  “You’re right. I don’t need you to tell me I’m good enough. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m good enough. I am good enough…to want…to ask…to be better. And I am not missing out on anymore. I’m not wasting another moment.”

  I unclasp my bra. I slide off my underwear. My heart pounds as I stand, physically, emotionally and mentally naked in front of him. His eyes take me in, and he looks both staggeringly aroused, as if he’s staring at Venus herself, and profoundly relieved, as if he’s finally home.

  His kiss is fire on my lips. His touch is lightning. I can feel his erection at my hip and I grasp it. He gasps, surprised, as if still not believing that this is real. I’ll show him it’s for real.

  We fall on the couch together; we continue the kiss the whole time. I sink into the couch with him on top of me. I run my hands through his hair and moan. A deep pull of satisfaction courses all through me—I’ve wanted to do that for years. But I’ve also wanted to touch him, to run my hands all over his body. So I do that, too. Finally.

  His body is lean but strong, full of sinewy strength and tight coils of muscle. His narrow hips rest between my legs and the hard heat of him at my center is the best feeling in the world. The way his chiseled chest brushes against my tight nipples is probably the second best feeling.

  But suddenly he stills. His breathing is rough, ragged. His voice is a deep rumble. “We can take this slow. You don’t owe me anything. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  With a smile, I clasp the back of his head and bring his
mouth to mine. He tastes so good and feels so good that for a moment, I forget we’re on a narrow couch instead of my bed. I roll over and we both go tumbling to the floor.

  Jack breathes out sharply as I land atop him. Before I can even ask if he’s alright, he’s already kissing me deeply. I sit up just enough so I can brace my hands on his chest, the position causing my spine to arch and my breasts so push together. His eyes are heavily-lidded and wonderfully dazed. A part of me thinks I should be embarrassed by my brazen pose, but that part is small and stupid.

  “I’ve wanted you,” I whisper, my breath a hungry pant. “I’ve wanted you for so long. I hate that I didn’t say yes five years ago, that I was too scared to say yes to something so right.” I lower myself until I can kiss his mouth, then his beautiful jaw line. I leave a trail of kisses down to his broad chest and then I tilt my head up to look him in the eyes. “I’m saying yes now.”

  I sink down on him. He slides in easy. The look on his face heats my body and makes everything tighten. It feels good to be in control, to kiss him as strong as I want, to stroke him as much as I want, to pull him into me as deeply as I can take him. The way he stretches me is delicious, decadent.

  “Jack…yes…yes…”

  He responds with is own pleasure-drenched words and moans. His eyes slam shut as I angle my hips, as his thick erection rubs against my tight bud of muscles. His back arches and his blond hair falls across his forehead.

  “Glory…” He opens his eyes as his hands find mine. Our fingers twine tightly together.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  I hold nothing back. Every plunge and drag, every slide and thrust, is a heat wave, reigniting something that never should have gone out in the first place.

  ****

  Later, much later, we watch the snow fall. We’re still on the floor, but Jack pulled an afghan on top of us.

  “It’s Christmas day,” he says, placing a kiss on my shoulder. “Merry Christmas.”

  I smile. Just beyond his shoulder, I can see my list where it somehow fell to the floor. My neon green heart attack. Jack follows my gaze.