― Marcel Proust
~Sienna~
Everything was different.
I felt a shift the moment I saw him the next morning, leading me to suspect the dynamic between Jethro and me had completely changed overnight. I hesitated a half second, my stomach falling, then stepped off the porch and crossed to where he waited by his truck.
He opened the door for me, as usual. And his smile was still just as easy as it had been previously, just less open and considerably less interested. He’d erected a wall. I felt like crying.
“Morning, Sienna,” he said, sounding just as he always had and offering me his hand like he usually did. But instead of allowing our fingers to tangle, he withdrew immediately and shut the door once I’d climbed up.
I watched his unhurried strides as he crossed in front of the truck, admiring how he walked, how he carried himself with unaffected self-possession. I decided—meaning, I desperately hoped—that perhaps I was overreacting. Maybe I was allowing my worries and insecurities to color my perception.
Because I hadn’t erected a wall last night. I’d collapsed on my bed and cried after the doctor left. And no, I wasn’t being overly dramatic. Perhaps some of the tears were caused by mental exhaustion. Sleeping less than six hours a night and working every waking moment for the last four years would do that to a person.
But, I liked this guy. A lot. More than I’d liked anyone. He was already special to me because our brief moments together thus far left me feeling invigorated and energized. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone made me feel this way. Maybe never. He was like a battery charger for my heart and brain. I wasn’t ready to let go of that, of him.
“Sorry I’m a little late,” he said, slipping to his seat with the grace of a man who used his body daily. “I think two of the high school teachers from last night were trailing me this morning. I had to lose them.” He chuckled and it didn’t sound at all forced.
And that—the real amusement, the joke about losing his neighbors on an early morning car chase, more than any other physical cue thus far—felt like a coffin being nailed shut on the possibility of us.
I stared at his profile as he started his truck, aware I’d said nothing thus far. I was being weird, but I didn’t care.
Jethro cleared his throat, his eyes darting to mine then away. He motioned to the cup holder between us with his chin, his tone conversational. “You keep leaving your thermos in my truck. I stopped by Daisy’s and filled it up. I, uh, also grabbed a doughnut for you.”
I glanced at my Hello Kitty travel mug and the small box next to it.
“Thank you,” I said, frustrated with myself, and him, and the situation.
“No problem,” he said, frowning.
We passed several minutes and miles in silence. I sipped my coffee but left the doughnut untouched. I stared at the lid of my cup, deciding I was going to continue my pity party from last night for the rest of the day, at least. Maybe it would last until Halloween. Then I could dress up in a sexy Eeyore costume and make people pin the tail on me.
I was such an ass. I should have told him everything from the beginning.
He stopped at the flashing red light and glanced between the doughnut and me. “Don’t you like doughnuts?”
“This is not how I envisioned eating my first Daisy doughnut.”
I felt the smile in his words as he asked, “And how did you envision eating your first Daisy doughnut?”
I shrugged dejectedly, answering with a stream of consciousness. “I guess I imagined eating it with you, but you were also eating a doughnut. And maybe I get a little cream or strawberry jam on my lip. So you tell me and I try to wipe it with a napkin. But then I don’t get all of it, and you cup my face, the camera cuts close—like you’re going to wipe it away with your thumb—but instead you lean in and lick it away with your tongue.”
The car descended into a heavy silence as I finished relaying my fantasy, the click-click-click of Jethro’s turn signal the only sound. It felt thick, meaningful, unmanageable.
So I broke it.
“Sorry. I think in movie scenes sometimes.”
He cleared his throat again, making his left turn. I hazarded a glance at him. He was scowling at the road like it ruined his best pair of cowboy boots.
“Sienna, I think we need to talk.”
“I agree.”
He sucked in an audible breath, but before he could talk, I said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest about who I was from the beginning. When you didn’t recognize me, it was, well . . . it was really nice. To be just Sienna—or Sarah, I guess—instead of Sienna Diaz. It’s rare, meeting someone who doesn’t feel like they already know me. I liked it and I like you and I know that’s not an excuse for my behavior. I’m sorry.”