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I have a thing for Gemma, and she’s trying to set me up with someone else? If I had my head on straight, I’d probably be offended.
But my head isn’t on straight.
It hasn’t been, since I first laid eyes on her in that adorable, way-too-big nightgown.
How could I say “no” to the first girl I ever fell in love with? A girl I still have feelings for, to this day? She’s looking at me with her big, green eyes.
“Fine,” I mutter. “For you.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and turns her face to the window on her right, like she has something to say to the glass. “And… if I—if I… um… gave you mixed signals back there at the high school, you know, flirting or whatever—I’m sorry. I guess I got sort of swept up in the whole thing. Being out there, goofing around.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“I guess I have some old habits. Habits that just won’t quit. I fall into my old ways around you, but I’m not eighteen any more. And you’re older too, and it’s—it’s just better if we don’t go down that road again… even if sometimes, against my better judgment, I want to, too.”
I take a turn onto the road that will take us up to the log cabin. The Chevy downshifts for the slow climb.
I knew it.
She wants to kiss me, too.
She just admitted it.
But in true Gemma fashion, she’s couched that statement in a tangle of other words that are mostly aboutnotkissing me.
What am I supposed to make of that?
I don’t know whether to be excited that she just admitted to wanting me as much as I want her, or bummed that her “better judgment” is getting in our way.
How does she know her judgment’s that good, anyway?
Human judgment is a funny thing.
Usually, it’s like tunnel vision. You can’t see out past the walls around you. You get trapped into one way of thinking.
Pretty limited, in my opinion.
She keeps her nose pointed toward the window, watching the dark woods as it passes. “I’m going to head down to central Vermont Monday afternoon. Okay with you if I leave Queenie at the cabin, and come back in the evening sometime?”
“You bet. The house is yours for as long as you need it. I’ll be careful opening and closing the door, now that we know we have an escape artist on our hands.”
“Thanks,” she mutters, as she studies more passing trees. “I’m going to be really busy with work tomorrow, but I’ll text you the details about your date. You do use your phone, right?”
“Sure, when it’s charged.”
“Okay, well, charge it up and check it tomorrow, if I don’t see you around. I’m thinking of finding a coffee shop or something to work out of.”
“There’s a good one down in town. The Steaming Mug.”
I can see my family’s cabin up ahead. The truck rattles as I pull into the driveway, as the rocks stuck in the wheel wells ping around a few last times.
“Great, thanks for the tip,” she says, all business. She collects her computer bag onto her lap and reaches for the truck’s door handle. At the last minute, before pressing the door open, she turns to look at me. “And, thanks for… um, for understanding. About back at the high school. I just forgot my priorities for a minute. No hard feelings about all this, right?”
“Right.”
She lets herself out of the truck.
I lean back against the seat’s headrest and groan.
