Henry dabs at his mouth with a napkin and chooses his words carefully. “I very much enjoy my career, but if the right person came along, of course I would be open to settling down. I supposethe opportunity just hasn’t ever presented itself to me.” He gives me what I think is a meaningful look.
“And how would that work with your current job and travel schedule?” I ask, trying not to sound like I’m interviewing him when that is exactly what I’m doing.
He considers the question. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to give up traveling and filming entirely. I imagine I’d still travel quite a bit. I know others in my profession who manage to juggle family and career if they have a partner who doesn’t mind solo parenting, keeping the home fires burning, so to speak. I suppose I’ve always assumed it would have to be a situation like that.”
I’m surprised by my internal reaction to his words. I feel myself recoil slightly. What Henry is describing seems like a bleak picture of a marriage to me. I’m already single parenting. The idea of a partner is appealing precisely because I want someone to share…well…everything with. I long to wake up next to someone every day, maybe work with them in business or at least come home to them at dinner every night. The image Henry presents feels…lonely. I don’t know what to do with how much I don’t like the idea. This feels like a red flag or at least a yellow one, and that brings me up short. I expected all green flags with Henry, but perhaps that is unrealistic. No one is perfect. Every relationship takes work. I know this, but I guess I just expected that I’d be in the same hemisphere as my partner most of the time.
Henry turns the conversation to other things—asking about my time in Europe, sharing about his childhood in Cornwall, pranks he and his brother played on their strict headmaster, his beloved pet rabbit Crumpet. Before we order dessert he asks me if I’d like to dance, and we join a handful of other couples on the dance floor. Henry is a good dancer (he tells me his mother madehim and his brother take dance lessons when they were younger), and he guides me confidently around the space, his hand strong and sure on the small of my back. We sway and glide and turn to a slow jazz song, and everything should feel perfect. I’m living the dream, the fairy tale. What I saw in my vision is starting to come true. I see how Henry looks at me, with care and interest and respect. I wonder if he can see a future together, or the possibility of one. I suspect perhaps he can. Which is why my ambivalent feelings this evening are so unexpected.
He’s everything I’ve ever said I wanted, but there’s just one problem. Now that I’m here, in his arms, being wooed and won, I find myself lukewarm. I feel affection for Henry, and respect and admiration, but I am beginning to worry about our compatibility. It seems like perhaps we do not fit in each other’s worlds. What if Henry and I aren’t actually all that great for each other? This thought shakes me to the core. That would mean my vision is wrong, but how could that be? The vision is always right. It’s a core truth I’ve grown up with all my life. We stake our future happiness on those visions. How could mine be wrong? It’s impossible.
I’m just tired and overwhelmed, or I’m getting cold feet, I tell myself. I have to focus on what I saw in my vision. It’s all coming true, my purpose in life. How could it not be the best fit for me? But as Henry pulls me a little closer and I rest my head on his shoulder, I can’t help but wonder. If this is my destiny, why do my thoughts keep straying to someone else entirely? As I turn and sway in Henry’s embrace, why am I wondering what it would feel like to be held in Jakob’s arms instead?
Chapter 27
It’s late when Henry drops me at my car after we catch the ferry home from Seattle. He ends the night with a single sweet kiss, lingering on my lips for a moment before pulling back and thanking me for a wonderful evening. He brushes his thumb down my cheek, gazing at me admiringly in the warm glow from an overhead streetlight. I tell him it was one of the most magical evenings of my entire life. And it’s true. It was a magical night that has somehow knocked me off-kilter.
After Henry drives off, I turn and head for the shop. I need to grab the things I left there earlier. As I walk along the quiet, deserted main street of Poulsbo, my mind is whirling. What does it mean that I am doubting if what I saw in my vision is really what I want? How could my traitorous heart play tricks on me like this? The visions always show us our true purpose in life. So how can I have such grave doubts about mine?
Wincing in my pinchy heels, I quietly let myself in the kitchen door of the shop and click on a dim light over the sink. I gathermy work clothes and my big mom purse from the office where I stashed them. It’s almost midnight, and everything is silent. The town slumbers around me, but I am buzzing with energy and anxiety. Setting my purse on the counter, I take a Tupperware container and start to transfer the chocolates I was working on earlier so I can store them. The espresso ganache truffle is coated in ground espresso beans from a local coffee roaster, and then I finished each one with a few of the gold sprinkles. The result looks and tastes posh and decadent.
I’m so busy with my thoughts that I must not hear the soft knock at the kitchen door. I glance up to find a large, dark figure looming in the doorway in the dim light. With a shriek, I stumble back, knocking my purse and a handful of truffles onto the floor.
“Sorry, Emmie, it’s just me.” Jakob steps into the room and holds up his hands placatingly. He’s dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair pulled back in a little man bun.
“What are you doing here? It’s late,” I chide him, scooping up the chocolates and my clothes and purse, the contents of which are strewn everywhere across the kitchen floor. Jakob crouches down to help. My heart is pounding, and not just from fright. I’m hyperaware of Jakob’s nearness as I stuff tampons and lip balm and a pack of tissues back into the purse willy-nilly. I can never find anything in this purse. Everything that goes in it seems to mysteriously vanish, as though my purse is a black hole. Gus would like that analogy. I need compartments. I need to get organized. I need to stop thinking about Jakob Kristensen, which is difficult because he keeps popping up everywhere. Case in point.
“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get some work done at the bakery. I just stopped by to leave these.” He straightens and holds out a small green plastic berry basket. “I found them when I was mountain biking today.”
I take the basket and get to my feet. “Salmonberries?” It’s early in the year for the berries that grow wild in the Pacific Northwest woods. They look like bright orangey-yellow raspberries. They’re rare, with a mild, delicate flavor.
“Thought maybe you could use them for your chocolates,” Jakob explains, his tone clipped. For some reason he won’t meet my eyes.
“Oh.” I’m touched by the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you.”
I touch the fragile berries gently with a fingertip. What if I replaced the huckleberry gelée with salmonberry in my dark chocolate and huckleberry bonbons? And maybe add ginger? Crystallized ginger for a crunchy little kick? It would be unique, and very Northwestern. I glance up from the salmonberries, and realize we’re standing quite close together. Jakob doesn’t move. Neither do I.
He clears his throat. “Guess I’d better get going.” He seems ill at ease. He still doesn’t move.
I nod and set the salmonberries on the marble slab. I’ll figure out what to do with them tomorrow. It was kind of him to bring them to me. “I should go too. It’s late.”
Neither of us leaves.
“Want to try my newest experiment?” I ask him, handing him one of the truffles that did not fall on the floor. I take another one, savoring the rich ganache as it melts on my tongue. I can taste the gold sprinkles too. I watch him roll the truffle around in his mouth and feel the sparks of anticipation and courage and desire low in my belly. Why did I choose to eat courage sprinkles now? What do I need courage to do? The smart thing would be to march out of here and take myself home right now. I don’t budge.
Jakob is watching me, his expression difficult to read. He has a little gold sprinkle stuck to his lip. I almost reach out and brushit away, then stop myself.Cut this short, Emmie, I instruct myself firmly. It can only lead to trouble. I’m so aware of him in the darkened kitchen space with only the hum of the refrigerator and the dim glow of the light over the sink. I can almost feel the warmth of him radiating toward me.
“I’d better go.” I make myself move, grabbing my purse and brushing past him, heading toward the door. He reaches out and grips my elbow.
“Emmie, wait.” The words stop me in my tracks.
I turn, looking up, up. He stares down at me with a potent blend of frustration and longing that makes me shiver. I should not be here, with him. This is too tempting. He’s too tempting. My eyes stray to that gold sprinkle perched on his lip like a little beacon. My fingers itch to trace the shape of his mouth.
“What are you doing?” he asks gruffly. I can’t tell if he means what am I doing to him, or what am I doing here so late at night, or maybe what am I doing with Henry.
“What do you mean?” I whisper. I don’t even realize I’m doing it, but I find myself moving closer to him, pulled as if by a magnet. He smells like sawdust and fresh-baked bread, a woody, yeasty scent that makes me hungry for him.
“Emmie,” he says again, half groan, half warning. And then his arms close around me and I push myself up on tiptoe, wincing at the blisters on my heels.
