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After a few rounds of measured breaths, my heart rate slows and the shaking in my hands dulls to a gentle tremor. Adrian isn’t like my parents, he’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. He said he wouldn’t judge me, so I should believe him until he proves otherwise. My lips lift into a faint smile.Innocent until proven guilty.If all else fails during the event, at least I’ll entertain myself with court comparisons.
With my cold groceries put away, I abandon the pantry items and rush to change. When my anxiety is high, I find being in comfortable clothes helps. Besides, it’s not like Adrian hasn’t seen me in pajamas before. He’s seen half my pajama drawer at this point. My skin flushes with heat at the thought. It’s strange that he’s seen me so vulnerable, even coming inside my house.
All of our boundaries are drawn in strange overlapping circles instead of one hard line. He’s had tea in my house, seen me in my pajamas, bought me things, and we’ve even–sort of–held hands. But we’re placed firmly in the friend category still. Though, I suppose only the hand-holding would bring us out of the friendzone. I’m probably confusing myself more than our situation warrants, but this is what I do best. Overthink until I spiral.
I blow out a sigh as I tug on my most-loved sweatshirt. It’s from California–as the bold letters across the front suggest–a gift from Caroline. She sent it to me in a care package years ago filled with teas from my favorite local shops over there. It had been hard to give up the comfort of familiarity for the necessity of freedom. I think Caroline knew that, so she sent me something from home to help balance out those warring emotions.
After changing into leggings and pushing my feet into my moccasin slippers, I stop in front of Murphy.
“We should probably take you over to Adrian’s so you get used to where you’re going to stay tomorrow night,” I tell him. He looks up at me with lazy eyes. “Come on, let’s go outside.” This changes his tune fast. He hops up, wagging his fluffy golden tail.
We walk out the front door together and cross the yard to Adrian’s front porch. My anxiety rears its head again, making it hard to knock properly on the door with my shaking hands.
Adrian opens the door and suddenly I regret my choice of attire. He’s still in his clothes from earlier–a grey suit with a white button down underneath. The only thing he changed was the removal of his tie and an undoing of the top two buttons of his shirt. My mouth goes dry. He looks like a debonair spy, while I look like the girl in the romance movie who’s given up after being broken up with.
“I feel underdressed,” I say and his eyes rove over me. His assessment is cut short though when his eyes catch on Murphy. “I thought it would be good for him to get acquainted with your house before tomorrow. If that’s okay?”
“Of course, come in.” His tone is all business, reminiscent of when we first met. The teasing warmth from just minutes ago has left his expression. I follow after him, wanting to indulge my curiosity about his home but end up studying his body language instead.
I don’t know what kind of training he’s been through, but the man is good at concealing his emotions. He’s not perfect though, which helps me decipher him. His movements are a tad too stilted and when he sits down, he doesn’t look comfortable at all. One of his arms is draped over the back of his couch, but it’s stiff instead of relaxed.He’s nervous too.That knowledge helps ease some of my own torturous thoughts. If this awkwardness isn’t one-sided then maybe I won’t descend into total embarrassment by the end of it.
“You can sit down,” he says.
“Right.” I sit down in an abrupt manner, leaving a cushion of separation between us. Murphy investigates the living room with his nose, the soft sound of his sniffing the only thing breaking our silence.
I let my eyes follow Murphy, investigating along with him. Everything in his home is beautiful and well-crafted. All of the furniture is carved out of dark wood that feels masculine, but there are ornate touches of design that balance out the harshness. There’s a TV hanging above a bookshelf. I study the spines, my eyes catching on a few familiar titles of classics I know and love. The rest have titles that lend to mystery or suspense–something I stay away from.
The kitchen light is on, illuminating the gorgeous apothecary cabinet I saw him and Grayson carry in. On top of it are a collection of white diner-style mugs and an expensive-looking electric kettle. He uses the cabinet as tea storage, that’s brilliant. I have the urge to go open every single drawer.
Adrian clears his throat, dragging my attention back to him, but not before I notice the plant I gifted him sitting in his windowsill. It looks bright and green, so he must take care of it.
“Sorry,” I blurt and tuck one of my legs underneath me in an effort to relax. A burgundy blanket falls off the back of the couch into my lap, wafting a sultry scent of amber and spices.
“I’ve been curious about your house so I was taking it all in,” I admit. It would be wonderful if I could learn how to filter myself around this man. Next I’m going to blurt out that I dreamt of kissing him.
“What do you think of it?” he asks, nothing in his tone betraying what he might be feeling.
I scan the space once more. “It’s very … you.” He huffs out something reminiscent of a chuckle.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He pauses, but before I have time to demand he elaborate, he speaks up again. “Does this event you’re going to have a structure?”
Prickles of anxiety dance across my skin. The event is the reason I’m here, but I’d much rather snuggle up under this delicious-smelling blanket and read the copy ofEmmaI saw on Adrian’s shelf. What does it say about him that he owns multiple Jane Austen novels? Is he secretly a romantic? Are they just for show?
“Juliette.” The velvety way he says my name pulls me out of my thought whirlpool.
“Sorry, just nervous.”
“New rule: don’t apologize so much. It’s okay to be nervous.”
“Sorry,” I say again and then cringe. The look he gives me is soft though, easing the pain that usually comes when I mess up around someone else.
“It’s okay.”
After a beat of silence, I answer his initial question. “There’s not really a structure. You check in, get a name tag, then wander around the hotel ballroommingling.” I can’t help but twist up my face on the last word.
“Okay, then we can just practice conversation.”
