I pause. I don’t normally talk about this stuff; too heavy when there’s fun to be had. “My dad died when I was a kid,” I say, surprising myself. “He left the three of us plenty, and Mom invested it smart. That’s what I used to start traveling. Now I make enough that I hardly have to touch it.” I don’t know why I told him, but it feels right that he knows.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says quietly. “It must be tough.”
I nod. “I’d rather have grown up with him and worked a million crappy summer jobs to afford flights, but… it is what it is.”
“He’d be proud of you,” Jacob says, tone suddenly firm. I look over; it’s the most certain I’ve heard him sound. “And not just because you used his gift to live a fantastic life. It’s more. It’s your confidence. The way you’re… free. Just completely unbound by anything.”
Warmth sparks in the middle of my chest. “I’m no hero,” I say. “Just a nomad who can’t imagine life another way.”
“And it’s awe inspiring.” His Som Tum sits forgotten in his lap. “In the literal sense. It fills me with awe, listening to you.” He swallows. His jaw tightens. “And I… I want to thank you for pushing me towards diagnosis. It’s changed so much, I can’t even explain.”
My heart jumps. “You got it confirmed?”
He nods. “Autism spectrum disorder. I got the report faster than expected, and it’s… shining a light on everything. My past. My present. It’s such a relief. I’ve got another follow-up at the end of the week to talk about adjustments. How to workwithautism instead of against it.”
“Congratulations.” I lean in and kiss his cheek. He turns at the last moment so our faces brush.Hello, moment.We’re having one. Neither of us moves for a beat, and then the world creeps back in.
“Tippi…” He hesitates. “If it’s OK with you… I’d like to see you every day before you move on.” He stares at his food as he says it. His fingers are white-knuckled around the container.
“Sounds perfect,” I murmur, smiling. When he looks up, something in his expression melts, and it feels like it’s just for me.
“You don’t have to,” he begins, but I run my thumb along his jaw, shutting that down.
“Iwantto. I wantyou.” He surprises me by catching the pad of my thumb between his teeth, giving the tiniest nip.
“Oh, god,” he mutters, eyes roaming my face, “you have no idea how mutual that feeling is. And… can we talk about stuff? About the… s-sex.”
I blink. “Sure.” I was not expectingthat, but damn if it isn’t hot that he asked. He keeps me on my toes, this tall, dark Brit with an ass that won’t quit.
“Because I want to be more like you inthatrespect as well.” The words tumble out of him at the speed of light. “In the interest of honest openness... I lie awake thinking about your blog posts and… wishing that had been me, or that I’d been there.”
“Like what?” I ask gently. When silence stretches, I add, “We can pace ourselves. You don’t have to jump in -”
“I don’twantto pace myself.” He cuts me off, eye contact hitting me like a truck. “I’ve been thinking about being undiagnosed my whole life, and what it’s cost me, and it’s… heartbreaking. I’ve spent years chasing my father’s approval, trying to keep him happy and not shouting, and in the process I barely know my own family. I wasted my youth on an impossible goal and I’m only just getting to know my siblingsnow. That’s terrible. And it’s time I can’t get back.” He takes a shaky breath. “Hell, I don’t even knowmyselfthat well, and you can’t imagine how dreadful that feels. So I’m done being cautious. I’m done bending myself around someone else’s idea of the right thing, the smart thing, the sensible thing. I want to live. I want to jump in and just see what happens. I need to make up almost four decades.”
Wow.
The depth of his self awareness floors me. It’s one of my favorite traits in a person, and on him it’s sexy as fuck.
“And…” He presses on. “I want to be unequivocally, inescapably clear about something.” Add “solid vocabulary” to the list of Jacob related turn-ons. “Even though you make me feel like William Miller -”
“William Miller?” The name’s familiar, but my brain is full.
He nods. “FromAlmost Famous.”
“Oh, yeah! I love that movie.”
“Me too. But listen.” He takes my other hand, and we both ignore our containers precariously balanced on our knees. “You make me feel like William Miller, getting swept up in Penny Lane’s magic,but you arenota manic pixie dream girl. That trope is rooted in misogyny and makes my skin crawl. You’re not here to save me or fix my life, even though youarechanging it. It’s not your job to take on emotional labor, and I don’t expect you to. I want that understood.” He closes his eyes briefly, grimacing. “Honestly, I’d be asking your advice if you were a man, because your insight is…” He winces. “But then if you were a man, we wouldn’t be - FUCK, I’M INARTICULATE!”
He blurts the last part loud enough that a couple of people by the fountain glance over. His face drains. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry I swore at you, I promise I have the utmost respect -”
“Pause.” I put both hands on his shoulders. He obeys instantly. “When Sadie says ‘motherfuckety what’ to you, do you feel offended?”
Jacob lets out a reluctant chuckle. “That’s a decent impression.”
“Thanks.Doyou?”
He hunches a little. “No…”
