Page 19 of Wrapped in Winter
And boy, do I imagine.
We find a corner table and accept the menus from the hostess. She hasn’t said more than a couple of words since I picked her up and I know I need to get her talking.
“So tell me the complications of January Nilsson.”
“You want to jump right into it, do you?”
“Well, considering we’ve already met on a physical level, which I more than enjoyed by the way, I think it’s time we go a little deeper.”
Her lips twist, and she gets a sly look with a twinkle in her eye. “I thought we went pretty deep already.”
I have a laugh at her spicy comment and lean back in my chair. “I was trying to avoid that conversation, but since you want to go there.”
“You? Avoid that conversation? Doubtful.” She laughs, “One sarcastic comment and I want to go there?”
I lean forward, getting close to her on the table. “I want to go there with you over and over. At the risk of sounding like a virgin who just had his first piece of ass, I’ve never felt what I felt that night with you. That may scare you, and it’s not what I want to do, especially since I see you already have a wall up for me. But if I don’t tell you, I’ll regret it.”
Her eyes track me and her mouth forms a small ‘o’. A blush creeps up her neck, but a moment later the spell is broken. She rubs the back of her neck and drops her eyes from me.
But I continue to push.
“I believe in always saying what comes to mind. You may not have a chance to say it again. The truth is always the best bet whether it’s harsh or not. Don't you agree?”
“I do.”
“Then tell me you felt it too. You say you don’t do this, but you followed me that night. So I knowyou knowwhat I’m talking about.”
She begins to fidget and plays with the fork on the table while continuing to not look at me. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me the truth. Say what’s on your mind. Don’t hold back. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
She looks up at me again from under her eyelashes. “Just another sentence to provoke me?”
“No, it’s the truth. If you think you’re complicated, well, I’ve got quite the story too. I’ve always been open, but in recent years, that began to change. I tried to fit somewhere I didn’t belong, and I wasn’t being true to who I was. But seeing you? Well, it had me feeling like myself again, and it felt right. I let my heart lead that night. It’s been a long time since I‘ve done that. Something tells me you understand that as well.”
“You’re right.” She relents to my question and I see the moment the fight leaves her. Her shoulders drop down, her hands open wide on the table. “The last half of my life is definitely not the way I thought it would go. The first half was amazing, and then one day, everything changed. My path was completely different.” She gets quiet for a moment, staring at something over my shoulder before bringing her focus back to me. “And you try not to let it change you, you try not to let the world get to you. You try to still feel safe at home or with your friends, but it’s empty, and you know you’ll never get back the security you once had. So you think you can make your own security elsewhere and you leave.”
My heart beats rapidly at all she just said, and I’m excited she let it all slip out. “You left Wintervale?”
“I did, when I was eighteen. My best friend and I, along with her boyfriend, took off for New York City. Do you know Courtney and Jack?” She pauses, and I nod yes to her question. “It was fun for a while, until we realized the big city could swallow us whole if we let it.”
“I get that completely. I left my big city needing the opposite.” She looks at me, tilting her head in question. “I lived in Miami, Florida all my life. My parents come from a large, well-off background, and it was expected that I follow through with what they designed for me. They wanted big things for mysister and I, and we never fit that role for them. I did what they wanted me to for a while, but I wasn’t happy, and I knew I never would be until I actually took control of my own life and my own security.”
“So you just hopped in the car and left?”
“That’s exactly what I did. You met the bartender, right? Cole and I are friends from home. I went to him one day and told him if we didn’t leave now, I wouldn’t make it another six months. It turns out he felt the same.”
She watches me intently before asking, “What about your sister? Did she leave with you?”
This is the part I always hate talking about, because when I tell people my sister died, they look at me with such sympathy and sadness. I don’t want them to feel bad for me. I’ve done what I can to get over it, and though she isn’t here physically, she is with me every day.
“My sister died when she was eighteen. I was just fourteen.”
She gives me a look, tilting her head, but it’s not sympathy I see. It’s as if she knows exactly what I’m feeling by saying this.
We’re a part of the same club.
“You've lost someone too, haven’t you?” I ask quietly.