“Kit.” That gravelly, soft voice. “I’ve been praying, and?—”
“Did you hear a no?” I blurt.
“No. I didn’t.”
“Me neither. It’s not going to be simple, but …” Let him make his own choices. “I’m in if you are.” I’m resolute. I’m not my own protector. This is the new Brave Kit.
I don’t have everything figured out. I don’t have much of anything figured out. But I won’t be Stella another day. I think this is the next step, so I’m taking it with gumption, with enthusiasm, with hope. God’s got this. God’s got me.
Levi rocks his head side to side like he isn’t sure. He’s clearly messing with me because my favorite hazel eyes lock onto mine, full of awe and amusement and growing wet.
Is this really happening?
Oh, I’m so thankful. I can’t do this without you. I can’t do anything without you. You’re right here with me, right?
I study Levi’s drumming hand. He knows why I never hold that hand, and he wants me anyway. But I want to. What if I can? I lurch out and slip my fingers into his palm. His fingers close around mine, and the dark clouds in my mind swell and cut a pit of dread in my stomach.
When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
My breathing turns ragged, but I refuse to despair.
Help me. Protect me. If you won’t take this away, teach me to fight it.
I’m always here.
Though the surging fear, I fight the instinct to run, to cower.
You want good for me and you never waste the bad. You “put my tears in your bottle.” You care. You love me. I can trust you.
I shuffle a step back, still gripping his hand, retrieve the Tic Tac box from my pocket with my free hand, and concentrate on it. My counselor taught me about using grounding objects.
Set my shoulders. Time to face my fears and try what I learned. I pull in a shaky breath and focus on the feeling of the plastic on my fingertips, the sound of Tic Tacs falling, the texture of the label, the weight. I picture the day I stole it from Levi and ran off, undone not by fear but by closeness to him. An okay undone, a good kind, not the same as before. The darkness consuming my mind dissipates. Relief and gratitude flood into its place. A shuddering sigh tumbles out.
Thank you, God. Thank you … thank you.
I intertwine my fingers with Levi’s and sheepishly peek at his reaction to it all.
Surprise and tenderness mix in his expression. His warm hand squeezes—he’s gentle and attentive as ever—and his thumb moves down mine, sparking a zing along its path.
“So … can I talk you into a date tonight?” I ask playfully. “I want to hear about your week. And I have so much to tell you.” I hold up the Tic Tac box to imply its relevance and hide it in my pocket, embarrassed to be copying his habit.
The creases at his eyes reappear in the dreamiest way. “Absolutely.”
“Everett has the ‘grinders’ on the sailboat memory, but I was thinking barbecue in a canoe might be a fun Texas twist. I found a good place.”
He’s been pursuing me with vulnerable abandon. I hope he can see that I’m in this too, that it’s not going to be one-sided between us.
“Sounds like a daydream,” he says.
You made this possible. You said yes to all of those prayers. Thank you.
He slowly lifts his free hand to tuck my hair behind my ear. I close my eyes and feel his thumb brush down my cheek and under my chin. Tingles down my spine. My lips part.
When my eyelids flutter open, his head is moving toward the side of mine. He moves inch by inch, looking for a yes which I provide nonverbally though wholeheartedly. He kisses my temple, my cheek, my jaw, my neck, and back up. My heart hammers. All I can think is Jane’s line inPride & Prejudice, “Can you die of happiness?”
My free hand goes rogue and combs through his waves. It feels as good as I thought it would, soft and thick with the slightest stiffness. It’s all I can do not to destroy his hairdo. His eyes drop to my mouth.
Ohhh-kay. I’d better tell him before I sabotage my own plan. Or maybe I shouldn’t. It suddenly sounds like a terrible idea.
