by Claire Cain
“I think you need to address that, and soon. I know you’re not interested in dating someone if you know they wouldn’t consider marriage—”
“Definitely not.”
“But you two are friends, and he’s obviously attracted to your sexy, brainy self, so… see what happens. Give it a date or two. Who knows, maybe you guys will be totally awkward tomorrow, or maybe he’ll bring Henry along and declare he’s been trying to set you two up all along,” she teased.
“I get it. I’ll see how it goes. But I don’t think I can hang in there too long because…”
“Because you really like this guy,” she finished for me. I could picture her sweet, sympathetic face.
“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever liked someone like this,” I said in a low, almost defeated voice. “I think it was easier when it was clearly not an option.”
“Really liking someone is not a bad thing, Ellie. And better yet, it could be a good thing.” Her soothing voice and general confidence buoyed me. “But listen, I need to know—is he a decent kisser? Your concerns for the overall situation overshadowed that key element of this conversation. He’s a pretty restrained guy—not real warm and cuddly. It’s hard to imagine. Because if he’s no good at kissing you may want to—”
“The man can kiss. Fear not. He is definitely passionate, even if you don’t see that at first glance. Add this to the tally of things at which Jake Harrison is an expert.” I thought of his intensity, his heat, and his determination—the look in his eyes made me feel like I was falling back, my feet planted, waiting for someone to catch me.
After some lazy writing, a long run, and then a fairly meticulous clean-up process (because even glasses don’t hide the subtlest of unibrows), I stood ready for Jake at 5:55pm the next day. I had no idea what he’d plan, but I guessed it would be something simple. Or I hoped. I opted for black skinny jeans and a white silky tank top with a light gray short-sleeved cardigan over it. I wore bright red flats, both because I could walk or run in them, if need be, and because I couldn’t imagine needing heels for whatever he had planned. My hair was down and wavy, and I had a little make up on behind my glasses.
I heard my doorbell a moment later, and somehow hearing the doorbell, instead of a knock at my back door, sent a new rush of nervousness through me. His choice to use the front door made this seem more official. I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I shook my head, letting my face loosen up, and rolled my neck like I was about to take on a great physical task.
I opened the door and inhaled sharply when I saw Jake standing there.
We’ve established I’m not the physically-focused type, but this man always made me sit up and take notice. I’d become frustrated by my inability to ignore how physically appealing he was—he was the lightbulb to my mosquito.
Tonight he wore nice jeans, a dark green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to just below the elbows like he had the night before, and he had his short hair styled so it looked a little tousled. Or maybe it was tousled, just out of the shower. He had been looking at his phone while he waited (while I was doing my warm-up routine on the other side of the door) so he looked up at me, smiled, and put his phone in his back pocket.
“Hello,” I said, my voice surprisingly low and quiet, a reflection of my nerves.
He stepped forward and reached for me, even as his eyes swept over me, and kissed my cheek, lingering there a moment before he backed away. I could tell my chest and neck were splotchy from the full-body blush his perusal created.
“You’re beautiful, Elizabeth,” he said and slid one hand down my arm to take my hand in his. I felt a flurry of butterflies as he laced his fingers between mine. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Without another word, we walked to his car. He’d held my hand briefly the night before, but I’d been frustrated enough it hadn’t sent the little zings and zaps through my body like the contact did now. He opened the door for me, and I climbed into his immaculate Jeep. It was free of any of the usual clutter—no crumpled receipts or gum wrappers or empty water bottles like my passenger floor board typically held.
“You keep your car very clean,” I said, though even as I said it, I realized how that lined up with what I knew of him. He was exacting in most things.
“I do. Clutter makes me feel out of control,” he admitted.
“That’s not something people normally admit,” I said before I realized how it might sound.
“Maybe not, but you already know all of my secrets anyway. What’s one more truth?” He seemed relaxed, which was good, because I did not feel at all relaxed. After my conversation with Alex the night before, it took hours before I felt even remotely tired enough to sleep. I was exhausted from the day itself, and from the emotional energy it had taken to be around strangers at the party, and then him when he was acting so differently around me. I was sapped, and yet my mind would. Not. Shut. Up.
“When I first moved here I thought this was all there was to it—tactical gear shops, payday loan places, and the occasional strip club.” I looked out the window as we drove along 41A, the older main drag of town.
“Don’t forget fast food chains and pawn shops,” he added.
“Ah yes, the essentials. What more could one need?”
“It’s pathetic, but that’s the kind of sprawl you’ll find outside any bigger Army post. It’s an unfortunately accurate stereotype to expect soldiers, especially younger ones, to frequent those places. They do, and they very often get in over their heads. But a little farther out, you can find some gems.”
“That makes sense. Alex told me about how cute the historic downtown here was, so I knew there was more to it. There are gross, rundown neighborhoods in Manhattan too—there’s just more to offset them.”
I thought about some of the grungier neighborhoods I’d wandered through over my years in the city. I remembered walking by an apartment building that was probably abandoned, although more upsetting, maybe it wasn’t. Spray paint littered the walls in layers, bricks were crumbling at the foundation, and the whole thing looked bereft. It was missing any sign of life or upkeep, and it made me immeasurably sad for the rest of the day.
“It is a nice little town,” he said and pulled into a parking spot. “I’m taking you to one of the four non-chain restaurants that serves normal food for dinner. I hope that’s ok.” He shut the door then walked around to open my door just as I was already getting out.
“I was hoping for the chance to sit down in a sticky booth at Wendy’s or eat in your very clean car at Sonic and smear mustard all over your dashboard, but… this’ll do.”
“Next time I’ll write up a proposed plan of action and you can approve or deny it before we ever leave the house,” he said and took my hand. My belly flipped, and I couldn’t stop the smile from taking over my face.
“Already planning on next time, huh? That seems confident.” I squeezed his hand.
“Yes, I am,” he said and kept walking down the sidewalk. I wondered whether he meant he was planning on next time, or that he was confident. Either way, I liked it.
But then, I felt a tug of doubt. If he was planning to go out with me again, here before we’d even started our date, that meant we’d be dating. I decided I’d ask him about it, especially since the whole nervous, does he like me or doesn’t he thing was getting old.
This was one reason I didn’t make time for dating. I liked surety. I liked being able to quantify things and know I could understand them. I hated feeling ignorant. I liked to hash things out, and then move on, knowing I’d covered my bases. But dating and relationships were rarely like that. With both of my former boyfriends I often felt like my life would be simpler without them. I’d never had the feeling I couldn’t live without someone. I’d never been invested enough to want to try to make something work beyond a certain point, and that point was not too far down the road of either of those relationships.
Granted, both of my relationships were when I was much younger—
one in high school and one the end of my sophomore and the beginning of my junior year of college. After that, I felt jerked around, tired of the lack of communication and ability to say what I was feeling, and so I just… didn’t date.
Well, that wasn’t true. I did date. I’d gone on six or eight dates, mostly blind dates with friends of friends, and two with fellow professors. These were all bad enough to guarantee no second date.
The hostess showed us to our table which was in the corner of a surprisingly cool room with exposed brick and big chandeliers. It was hard not to compare it to the unique eateries and restaurants that popped up (and often disappeared within the year) everywhere in New York, but this place had charm.
The waiter brought us water and we ordered drinks. I looked over the menu and then folded it back in front of me, only to find Jake watching me.
“What’d you decide?” I asked.
“Prime rib for me.”
“Ah, nice. I think I’m going to try the salmon, even if we are in a land-locked state.”
“Daring. Though this place is pretty reliable—or so I hear,” he said and leaned his elbows on the table.
“Can I ask you kind of a blunt question?” I asked, forcing my nerves and the awkward feeling welling up in me back down. I put my elbows on the table too and leaned forward a bit.
“Do you ask any other kinds of questions? You’re one of the most straightforward people I’ve ever met,” he said, the corner of his mouth curving up.
“Likewise,” I said. He was straightforward, and he struck me as pretty black and white. Literal. Sure.
He nodded, and so, there I went.
I willed my cheeks not to blush. I wasn’t fishing here but had to know. “Why did you ask me out?”
Chapter Twelve
He looked at me with a perplexed expression. “I thought that was obvious.”
“Last night you said you’re interested in me—got it. But I have to admit I’ve heard you say you don’t date. And unless I’m missing something, this is a date.” I looked at him, waiting for him to clarify. His face was expressionless for a moment as he looked at me, not giving me any sense of what he was thinking.
“I don’t date,” he said.
I blinked a few times, feeling exasperated by his response. “Ok…”
“I should amend that to say I have, historically, not dated.”
Good grief, this man should play poker. Nary a hint of what he was thinking showed on his face.
“Ok.” I wasn’t going to put words in his mouth, and I wanted him to explain.
“But yes, this is a date,” he said and then looked up to the waiter who set down our drinks. We ordered, then Jake looked back at me.
“You were saying historically, you haven’t dated, but this is, despite it being uncharacteristic and against your general policy, a date,” I reminded him.
“Yes. True.”
This man was maybe more stubborn than I was.
“So… explain.”
“I like you,” he said, his intent focus on me not breaking.
I huffed a little breath in both unexpected pleasure at his words and frustration. “I’m glad for that. But I can’t imagine I’m the only woman you’ve ever liked.”
“No, you’re not. That’s true,” he said, and even though I hated to admit it, I felt a little drop of disappointment. “But you’re different.”
The combination of hearing him acknowledge he’d liked other women—how dare he—and his calling me different, and what a mysteriously ambiguous statement that was, made the apples of my cheeks brighten. I was thankful for the low lights.
He took a sip of his drink, and I took one of mine. I felt no clarity based on his comments—none. I thought about pretending he’d answered my question, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t clarified anything.
“Ok, that doesn’t clear things up for me, sorry.”
“What are you worried about, Elizabeth?” he asked, and I felt myself flush with embarrassment almost immediately.
“Ok… ok. I’ll just say it. On the plane…” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled broadly at me, and my belly cartwheeled out the front door.
“Ah, yes. The plane. I was wondering how long it would take us to acknowledge the plane,” he said, smiling like I’d never seen.
“Yes, the plane, where we first met, and you got a small glimpse into the utter insanity flying on an airplane creates in me.” I smiled back at him. I’d been wondering the same thing since the day I realized who he was.
“Once I realized you weren’t going to pass out or throw up, it wasn’t so bad,” he said, now smiling full-on again. If I’d known talking about the plane would make him smile all along, I would have done it much sooner. I had studiously avoided it both for fear he didn’t realize it was me and because he was returning from his father’s funeral at the time, and I knew that was a painful, confusing time for him.
“Good. I’m glad. I don’t even feel bad about it, except that I grabbed your hand and didn’t realize it. That was some truly terrifying turbulence.”
“My hand was happy to be of service, and I agree—it was pretty bad.”
“Anyway, at one point you said ‘marriage and kids aren’t in the cards,’ or something,” I said, ready to get to the point.
“I vaguely recall something like that,” he said, his eyes narrowing just a bit.
“Listen, I’m not trying to propose to you or anything even remotely close. But I have to tell you I have no interest in dating someone who’s decided he doesn’t want to get married or have kids. I do want those things, and I don’t want to waste time with someone who doesn’t. The night after the memorial, you said something similar. I don’t want to know a relationship is over before it even starts,” I said, feeling a rush of adrenaline shoot through me as I realized I’d been very honest with him. I’d meant to be, but now, whatever came next… well, that’d be it.
I took a drink of water, my wrist shaking as the adrenaline dispersed through my body the way it did whenever I did something remotely daring, and watched him over the brim. He looked down at his hand resting on the table, his fingers on either side of the stem of his water glass, and I could see his eyes were crinkled.
“I am interested in those things, Elizabeth.” His eyes lifted to meet mine as he said my name. His voice was smooth like an all-day hipster cold-brew coffee over ice, and those unexpected words floored me.
“Oh.” I wanted to prompt him to say more but didn’t know where to begin. Then, he saved me from my madness, my mind’s frantic efforts to grasp onto a cogent thought, and spoke again.
“I always thought I’d be out of the Army before I dealt with any of that. That’s always been the plan. I don’t date because I’ve always known I don’t want to get involved and have to do the long distance and deployments and all that. And I don’t want to do what my dad did to my mom…” His voice was calm, his posture unaffected, but I could see a change in his face, a faint, shadowed look that wasn’t there before.
“I can understand why you’d want to plan things out that way,” I said, my heart clenching in my chest at the thought of his loss and the way he’d been deliberate with every aspect of his life since he lost his mother.
“I figured if I got married in the future, the right person would come along after I retire and that’d be that. Then I wouldn’t have to mess with any of the other crap that comes with Army life and the pressures it puts on a marriage. So far there hasn’t been anyone who has made that plan difficult to follow.”
I waited, not letting the eighty-five follow up questions show on my face. He was telling me what I wanted to know.
“Until you. Obviously.” He gave me a chagrined look, and I melted like butter in a hot pan.
I’m sure I had a look of severe confusion on my face.
That’s what we’ll call it. Not wanton desire. No, not that.
I looked down at my water and counted the melting ice cubes to avoid his attention.
“I just… it seems unlikely that after what—when do you retire?”
“Three years, give or take.”
“After more than, like, at least fifteen years of knowing how you felt about this, you’d suddenly change. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
He watched me as I swirled the shrinking ice in my glass and then took a drink. I wasn’t sure what I felt, but I knew I didn’t believe what he was telling me. Not that I had any reason to doubt him, but it was illogical and unlikely on all levels.
“I’m not an idiot, Elizabeth.” His face was serious, but it felt like a joke.
“No. That you are definitely not.” He was looking at me, locked onto me. He must have seen I didn’t understand what he meant. His lips pursed together just barely, and he leaned back from the table a bit.
He looked like he was formulating a thought, but before either of us could say anything, the waiter arrived with our food. He set the plates down, rotating them just so, so they’d be facing the right way according to the chef’s preference. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but our waiter obviously took pride in his job.
“Anything else I can get you two?”
“No, we’re good,” Jake said and the waiter disappeared.
Our forks and knives clinked against our plates as we dug into our food. I figured we both needed a minute to absorb what he’d said. Was he saying I had somehow changed his mind about all of those things? I wasn’t a shrinking flower who had no self-esteem—this wasn’t a scenario where I thought I didn’t have worth so there was no way I could deeply affect someone. But truly, I didn’t see how I could have changed his mind on something like this. And his mind, particularly.
“This is surprisingly good. Thanks for bringing me,” I said, looking up at him over the candle flickering between us. They’d lowered the lights even more since we’d arrived and it felt more intimate, like we were the only ones in our little dinner table world. The energy between us had shifted, that charged field of magnetism and frustration pushed away by the waiter.