Page 50 of Jacob Michaels is Not Crazy

“I have coffee.” I shook my head. “But thank you. And I don’t need all of you doing things for me.”

“Kinda the thing, innit?” He headed towards the door. “We get to live ‘ere and you get your chores done. Fair trade.”

He turned in the doorway to look at me.

“Ya’ need anythin’ you just let me know.” He jabbed a thumb into his chest. “I know the ins and outs of this house better’in the rest of ‘em.”

I nodded, looking down at my feet.

“What’s botherin’ ya’ now?” He threw his hands up in the air.

I looked up at Ernst.

“I don’t know where I belong, Ernst,” I said lowly.

Why was I being so honest with…well, a Kobold…of all people?

“Well, I says if you don’t know where ya’ should be, ya’ should just stick where ya’ are.” He gave a firm nod. “No point in runnin’ ‘round like an idjit if you dunno what you’re lookin’ for, right?”

I smiled.

“’Sides…one place is as good as any. Longs ya’ got good food, a good bed, and someone to care for ya’.” He grinned proudly.

Obviously, Ernst, and probably the other Kobolds I hadn’t met yet, took a lot of pride in the place that they called home.

“That’s good advice, Ernst,” I said. “Thank you. And you can sleep in the bed if you want, but try to crawl in before the lights go out. When I’m drifting off to sleep and feel you crawl into bed, it’s a little jarring.”

The tips of Ernst’s ears, which I suddenly noticed were slightly pointed, like an elf, wiggled as he smiled up at me. It was precious, but I was smart enough to figure out that I probably shouldn’t mention such.

“Thank you for my laundry, Ernst.” I motioned vaguely at the dresser.

Ernst blushed and gave a slight bow of his head before he disappeared down the hallway. I shut my bedroom door and went to relax on the bed with my cup of hipster coffee. That was how I spent the rest of my afternoon, immersed in scrolling through my phone and sipping at my delicious store-bought coffee while the rest of the house silently existed around me. I didn’t see Ernst or any of the others for the rest of the afternoon and Oma didn’t come in to bother me either. It was a perfect afternoon.

Around five in the afternoon, Lucas texted, disturbing my immersive Pinterest experience—which I had just created an account—and told me that he was on his way over to Oma’s. The message was accompanied by smiley faces with hearts for eyes and a smiling face blowing a kiss. It was kind of cute but it also made my stomach sink. It was a little too familiar and presumptive. We hadn’t made plans to get together. We hadn’t even decided what it was we were really doing with each other. Was it too early in the relationship to be sending kissy faces and heart eyes?

When Lucas pulled up in the driveway, Oma was in the kitchen, banging around and fixing dinner—possibly with Lena assisting just out of sight?—and I was sitting on the porch in my heavier spring coat. Lucas’ truck slid to a stop in the slush at the end of the mostly cleared driveway, smiling at me through the windshield. I gave him a smile and waved as he put the truck into park and shut it off. Immediately, he was leaping out of the truck and practically skipping over to the porch. I stood from the chair and walked over to the steps to greet him. His arms immediately went around my middle as he ascended the steps to meet me, and he smothered my mouth with his.

Returning his kiss, I ran my fingers through his hair as his body melted into mine. My body wanted to react to his, but I held back, not wanting to make this meeting something that it wasn’t. Lucas must have sensed my reticence because when he pulled back from the lingering kiss, he had a confused smile affixed to his face. I let my fingers play in his hair for a moment before I spoke.

“We need to talk.”

His body deflated and he was frowning.

“This isn’t going to work out for you.” He stated blandly.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” I pressed my forehead to his.

Lucas closed his eyes gently as he held his forehead against mine. His whole body was somehow tense but also slumped against mine.

“I can feel you want to say something that is going to make me sad, though.” He whispered.

“You wouldn’t be much of a psychic otherwise.” I teased.

He opened his eyes and pulled back with a slight smile.

“I’m not psychic.”

I grinned.