Page 30 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

I retreat to the safety of my living room, from where a moment later I hear, “Um, Colby? Yep. Definitely need your help.”

Inside the small bathroom, the air turns intimate. Josie smells nice, even before her shower, like dreamy sleep and woman. The soap remnants from her shower last night linger on her skin, and even though it’s the same kind I’m using, it somehow smells more delicate, more feminine, on her. My nose seeks out the comfort of her scent, but I stop myself.

She turns her back to me, facing the wall, and I start to tug on the strap. “Christ, what is this made out of? Spandex stitched inside a wetsuit?” I say with a chuckle, because oof, my heart is thudding in my ears, and I need to keep talking. Do not touch her any more than necessary. Maintain your cool. My fingers drag against the strap, and I lick the corner of my lip. Thank God she’s facing the wall, not the mirror, and can’t see me.

Yes, I’ve seen the fireplace cast a glow over Josie’s naked body, felt her smooth bare skin, and even though my fingers are itching to do it again, I force myself to tackle this sports bra straitjacket removal as clinically as possible. When I grip the fabric and lift from the back, tugging up to her neck, I see her throat roll with a swallow. Her fingers touch mine, soft, and a heavy moment passes. “Thank you,” she says as she clears her throat. “I can take it from here.”

Something in me is as disappointed as I am relieved. I nod and step outside the bathroom door. The moment it clicks, I press my forehead against the wooden frame, pull in a deep breath, and debate about knocking.

EIGHTEEN

JOSIE

Did Colby feel that? The surge that went through my skin when she touched me? Yes, I was in pain, but she was so delicate, taking long, smooth strokes, and making me feel so comfortable and not embarrassed even though this is super freaking embarrassing. I seriously need to work out more. My muscles are dehydrated and angry, and feel like someone’s roasting them over a fire.

But now, after sharing this moment with Colby, there’s more embers burning than just the ones in my deltoids.

Shit.

The heat from the shower water does little to ease my muscles, and even less to soothe my mind. Something is shifting between me and Colby. Something tangible, that’s both heavy and light. An electric current that hums in the air, mixed with a comfortability like this has always been our state of being—living in this house, snuggling on the couch, playing with Kona. It’s reality nested inside of a fantasy, and it’s warm and tingly, as much as it’s pretty damn terrifying.

My body is marginally better from the shower. I step out from the bathroom and whoa… Something hearty, like bacon or sausage, funnels through the air, and I instantly salivate. God, she’s a good cook. Yesterday Colby made crepes for breakfast. Freaking crepes. She was not joking that first day that she’s fully prepared and stockpiled with goodies in case an apocalypse happens. Is it terrible for me to wish for an apocalypse? Probably.

I grab my one fresh pair of underwear, scoop up my other pair and the devil bra to throw in the wash, and toss on the new clothes that Colby left out for me last night. When I slip on her shirt, I sniff the collar. When I leave here, I might see if I can take one of her shirts home with me. They feel good on my body, they’re cozy, they carry her scent…

Everything feels like it’s becoming a routine. The clothes, the laundry, the eating together, playing with Kona, washing dishes. A casual, easy, seamless routine. And I love it.

I don’t think I ever realized that maybe I needed a little bit of a break from my frantic after-hours life. Nothing about my world was routine. I think I’ve been pushing for anything that’s not routine. Drumming classes, Pilates, art… these hits of dopamine I was seeking to find something new, to give me a spark, to find my passion, bled into all aspects of my life.

And not only did I need a break from that hustle, I think I needed a break from my job. I love working at the clinic, truly. Being with the animals touches a piece of me that helps me as much as it helps the animals. But I don’t even remember the last time I took more than a weekend off. My mind has shifted somehow, relaxed in a way, and it feels like this purgatory-style hunt is reaching the end.

I’m still nervous that I’m leaving the staff shorthanded, though. I’ve been checking in every day with Leo, who assures me that things are fine and, with the blustery weather, most people have cancelled their appointments.

Colby, on the other hand, does not seem to have that same fear. She hasn’t even so much as pulled up a laptop since I’ve been here, at least not that I’ve seen. I still don’t understand the nature of freelance work. Maybe she has one of those jobs where she has an assignment and has until the end of the month to complete.

Braless—and will probably remain as such because I am never wearing a sports bra again—I follow my nose down to where Colby is standing over the oven, stirring. “Hey, do you need some help?”

She’ll say no. She’s said no for the last fifteen meals. I’m keeping this as a running tab of everything I owe her. Food, cooking time, utilities… probably even some therapy sessions thrown in there, too.

“Nope, I’m good,” she says and flips the bacon.

I remove Kona’s cone of shame and stroke her fur before I wash it. “Just one more week, baby girl, and you can take this thing off forever.”

“She will be so excited. Poor thing. That has to be so miserable.” Colby gives Kona a small piece of bacon from her palm and sets down a bowl of scrambled eggs in front of her.

No lie. Kona eats better than me most days.

At the table, Colby hands me a plate. I really do feel bad about not getting my own food, but after eating over a dozen meals here, I realize that she likes cooking and serving. It’s a bit of a foreign concept to me, but every time she sets down a plate, her soft gaze focuses on me until I take a bite.

“So, I’m thinking if you want, we can go in the hot tub later,” Colby says and scoots up her chair. “Might be good for your limbs.”

“Oh God, I was hoping you would say that.”

“Josie. If you want to go in the tub, you need to just say something.” She hands me the salt, and I hand her the ketchup—gross—for her eggs.

I take a huge bite and grin into the food. “I’m already putting you out so much. Look at you. You’re housing me, feeding me. I’m using your washer every day. The list goes on.”

Colby reaches her hand out and puts it on top of mine. And she leaves it. She’s trying to transfer a message, a warm one, firm one, and I’m so close to absorbing. “You are not putting me out. At all…” Her eyes dip to the table. “I really love having you here.”