The humor waned from his expression and was replaced with a contemplative frown. He was considering it, I could tell. He just needed a little push.
I scootched my chair closer so my legs were between his, placed my hands on his knees, and leaned forward. “Two Thanksgivings. Two Christmases. Two New Year’s Eves. Think of it, this year I won’t even know what to get you for Christmas. But next year…” I hoped I was giving him a winning grin.
He sighed, his almost smile returned, and I nearly jumped out of my seat to do the moonwalk when he conceded, “Fine. A year from January first.”
I didn’t do the moonwalk. Instead I squealed, jumped into his lap, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him. I made it fast, just a quick couple presses of my lips to his, then leaned away so I could see his eyes.
He was smiling at me now—full on, white teeth, happy face smile—and his arms had come around my waist, his hands on my hips. My stomach and heart were trying to out flutter each other as I grinned down at him.
This was good. This was a good compromise. Sure, I might’ve been in denial. Sure, I might’ve been setting myself up for heartache in the long term. But…whatever. I could deal with all that later. Much later. Like, over a year from now later.
Right now I was sitting on Duane’s lap, and had just been given a free pass to kiss him as much as I liked for the next thirteen and a half months.
CHAPTER 13
“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”
― Marcel Proust
Jessica
Yesterday we’d sealed our deal with a kiss at the community center, and this morning he’d texted me:
Duane: I’m taking you out tonight.
Me: Where?
Duane: Someplace where we can go fast.
Me: What time?
Duane: 5
Me: Sounds good. ?
I was ready to go at 4:30 p.m. even though I’d changed outfits ten times. I might have been a tad excited. Just a tad.
I decided on a white sweater dress with a built-in slip, long sleeves, and a short, flared skirt. Because of how fitted the slip was over my ribs and chest, the dress was a pain to put on or take off. Not helping matters were about thirty little buttons running down the back, but I loved how it looked on me. I paired it with my tan boots and wore my hair down and wavy.
Duane was ten minutes early, and this time my daddy was home. Thankfully Jackson was not. Daddy invited Duane in, offered him a beer (which Duane refused in favor of sweet tea, because he saw the offer for the trap it was) and they discussed sports, local politics, and cars for about twenty minutes. Then Daddy waved us off, giving me a small smile, and Duane a firm handshake and squinty eyes.
Once again, Duane was driving his Road Runner. This time I was able to ogle the car as we approached, appreciate its simple, elegant lines before he opened the passenger door for me.
Even though this was our second date, everything felt different. Better. The weight of my dishonesty had been lifted. I was all in. Everything was out in the open and we had a deal. Therefore it felt more like a true date. Like I could relax and just enjoy his company, because I knew we had thirteen and a half months together.
Once we were settled inside we grinned at each other.
Feeling downright giddy, I asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he answered mysteriously, his eyes sliding over my body with blatant appreciation.
That got me warm. Yes, it did.
I really, really liked how Duane Winston looked at me. He employed every ounce of his attention and focus, like he was making plans.
Then his gaze snagged on my bare knee. “Are you going to be warm enough in that dress?”
I shrugged. “I hope so. But since you won’t tell me where we’re going, I guess we’ll see.”
Duane gave me another once-over as he brought the engine to life and we were off.
At first—for the first two minutes or so—neither of us said a word. I’d wondered about this, worried that our agreement might make things strained. Not willing to sit in silence any longer, I resolved to speak.
“So—” I said.
“So—” he said at the same time.
We both laughed, and I offered, “You go first.”
Duane cleared his throat, his expression suddenly somber, and began again, “So, about that syphilis diagnosis…”
I threw my head back and laughed, was pleased when I heard his answering rumbly laughter join mine, and felt him place his hand on my knee and squeeze. I was happy when he left it there.
When I was finished with my giggles, I hit him on the shoulder and tsked, “I can’t believe no one thought that joke was funny last night. That joke was way funnier than they gave it credit for. STD humor is just lost on some people.”
“It was funny, but I think maybe—given the fact that Kip Sylvester is your boss and his daughter was present—it wasn’t surprising he didn’t laugh. And don’t mind Billy. He can’t laugh at anything in public. I bet he was dying laughing on the inside.”