“I’ll do my best,” I agreed.
He smiled softly. “Okay, then.”
His words were so easy and agreeable. Like my best might actually, truly, be enough.
I could feel myself relaxing. All my muscles unclenched as my body was drawn toward Jack, like a flower toward the sun. I wanted more of this. More comfort. More honesty. More of Jack.
He hadn’t run away yet, I thought.
For now, these moments were enough.
I’d always been someone who’d held on a little too tight, clutching people and things with both fists for fear I’d lose them. I knew that whatever was happening with Jack was casual. I wasn’t under any delusions about that. But seeing him here, in my space, offering acceptance and comfort, being exactly what I needed ... I couldn’t help but think I might never want to let go.
Jack
I wasn’t sure what woke me, but I could tell from the moonlight filtering in through Bonnie’s bedroom window that morning was still a ways off.
Intent on getting right back to sleep, I rolled over. But when I reached out to wrap an arm around Bonnie, I found cold sheets instead.
I blinked into the darkness before sitting up.
The clock on the bedside table said it was just after three.
I didn’t hear water running in the bathroom or any sounds at all coming from the house.
So I slid out of bed to look for her.
I didn’t have to go far. She was lying down on the sofa in the living room, her head propped on a throw pillow, blanket draped across her legs, and the light from her phone screen illuminating her face.
As I entered the room, my foot pressed down on a creaky floorboard, and Bonnie glanced up.
She immediately turned off her screen and sat up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” I replied slowly, confused by her abrupt reaction. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I couldn’t see her very well in the dimness, but I could tell something was up.
I’d never gotten to this point before—with a woman or anyone, really. The place where you knew someone well enough to draw conclusions or make assumptions about their behavior. To be able to call them on their bullshit or ferret out the white lies they told everyone, including themselves.
Maybe Bonnie thought she was fine, but there was a reason she was out here on the couch instead of in bed with me, where she belonged. And I knew it. Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the quick way she’d apologized, like it was expected or she’d had plenty of experience doing it. She’d gotten pretty good atnotsaying she was sorry, especially since the muffin thing, but this apology had felt like a compulsion, completely out of her control.
Later, I’d think about what it meant to be in someone else’s head. To have more than just surface knowledge to work from. But right now I wanted to figure out what was going on and how I could fix it.
So I said, “Scootch,” and lay down on the couch next to her.
There wasn’t a lot of room. Bonnie lay on her side, partially draped across my chest, her smooth, bare legs tangled withmine. She was wearing one of my shirts, but it smelled more like her than me at this point, and I liked that in a way I couldn’t explain, even to myself.
After we finally got settled and no one was getting crushed or was in danger of rolling off the cushions, Bonnie huffed a quiet laugh. “You can go back to bed, you know. You don’t have to be uncomfortable out here with me.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I lied. My neck was at a weird angle, and my legs did not fit, but I wasn’t leaving her out here alone. “What made you get up? Was I snoring?”
“No, nothing like that.” Her fingers drew lazy circles on my bare chest as she spoke. “I was having trouble sleeping. I thought I’d read on my phone until I could fall back to sleep, but I didn’t want to wake you by moving around or with the light from my screen.”
“I’m not a light sleeper,” I reminded her, curious why she was so worried about waking me up.
I felt her nod, her soft hair brushing my cheek. “I know, but I’m used to?—”
