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“You did not make me cry.”
Jack gave a little have it your way pause. Then he said, “Also, it’s fun.”
“So you’re really not going to put me down?”
“I’m really not.”
Of course, as we went, I couldn’t help but assess safety aspects of the property. That was my brain’s default activity. I made mental maps of the layout, including potential hiding spots for bad actors, potential escape routes in emergencies, and areas to monitor.
All, of course, before Jack told me that his parents never locked their doors at night.
“Oh my God, you have to make them do that!”
“I’ve been trying to for years.”
Not good. I’d be highlighting that in tonight’s log.
And yet, a lot of my usual anxieties felt unusually muted, there on Jack Stapleton’s back. Maybe it was the rhythm of his walking. Or the velvetiness of his flannel shirt enrobing me. Or the solidness of his shoulder under my chin. Or that cinnamon scent that seemed to follow him everywhere.
Or maybe it’s just objectively hard to worry about anything when you’re getting a piggyback ride.
I could feel the muscles in his back shifting and tightening with each step, especially as we made our way uphill. I could feel him breathing through his ribcage. I could feel the warmth of his body where we were pressed together.
I won’t lie. It was nice.
Too nice, maybe.
“You really can set me down,” I said.
But nothing doing. “We’re almost there,” Jack said.
So I guess I had no choice but to stay there and enjoy it.
