“No need. I can handle myself.”
I turn back to watch him. “No need, but it’s always nice to have a friend.”
“True. Get out. You’re scaring my fish.”
I walk to join Jake. “Morning,” I call.
“Mornin’.” He bends to kiss me when he gets to my side. “You have a good night?”
“Busy baking for the market today,” I say. “And . . . I finished my book.”
Jake grips my arm to stop me. “Seriously? You finished writing it?”
“First draft, but yeah.”
“Oh my god!” He sweeps me into a hug. “I’m so proud of you. That’s a big deal!”
“Thank you.”
“We should celebrate. Want to go out tonight?”
I twist my lips. “What if we stay here and just have a picnic?”
I’ve been feeling this a lot lately: preemptive nostalgia. Knowing that this summer is a precious and fleeting thing, and wanting to grasp and hold every little thing about it so that maybe if I hold on hard enough, it won’t ever end. I can live in this weird working vacation from reality.
I’ve planted the seed with Maggie that I want to stay in the fall, but I know it won’t be the same. Bill and Maggie will be here, and Caleb and Becca will be gone. And Jake . . . I don’t know where he’ll be. Worst case, he’s a half hour down the road, but that’s only until January. Then it’s back to indecision.
So if I have the option to stay here instead of going to a bar, I’m going to do it.
Jake takes my hand and they swing between us as we walk toward the pasture. “However you want to celebrate, boss.”
“Maybe look at the stars or something?”
“Sounds perfect.”
* * *
“And you believed her?”
Jake and I are on a quilt by the pond. He picked me a bouquet of white wildflowers, a gesture that made me blush harder than any dirty talk ever could. He paid attention, and even though it’s small, I’m starting to think it’s the little things that make a person.
We’re both on our sides, lacing and unlacing our fingers. Our picnic is all picked over, basically just bread and cheese. Jake sent me into the store and told me to get whatever I wanted. Apparently I wanted to order a date with testing whether or not I’m lactose intolerant.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, he’s telling me stories about his sisters.
“Well, I didn’t want to be the one to find out the hard way!” he protests.
“Also, how did every pool in America have the pee in the pool turn the water green rumor?”
He shakes his head. “I wish I knew. More whiskey?”
I hold out my glass and Jake pours another slosh into it. I take a sip and set my glass to the side. Jake settles on his back and opens his arm for me to put my head on his chest.
His hand passes over my hair. He’s learned quickly that you don’t thread your fingers through curls, but patting over them is acceptable. “You want to tell me about your book?”
I sigh. “Soon. I need to figure out what I want from it first. You spend all this time making this thing, and then you’re not even sure what it’ll be next. I already know what I want to change, and that’s just the start of it.”
“That’s understandable.”
