If it took another year to win Grace back, I would do it. I’d hate it, but I’d do it.
Grace
When I left class, my first thought was that I was still in bed dreaming, because Noah Jackson was standing there, leaning against the interior brick wall next to my classroom with his backpack slung over one shoulder. Even slouching, he was still taller than many of the other students passing him.
I let out an involuntary cry and swallowed it back, but it was too late. His head popped up and, as he straightened and looked right at me, I got my first full view of him. I wasn’t even surprised I recognized him. I couldn’t delete his image from my memory like I could from my hard drive.
Noah was older than most of the students. He had never revealed his birthday, even though I asked repeatedly. His excuse was that I would try to do something too extravagant, and he would feel guilty. But based on his years of deployment, I knew he had to be around 23. It wasn’t just his age that set him apart from my classmates, but the way he held himself.
I drank him in, mesmerized by the sight.
Even standing silently near the wall, he had presence and an innate confidence. He didn’t shrink in on himself, but stood there comfortably, arms loose at his sides. The crowd moved around him instead of the other way around.
He was shorter than my brother, Josh, who stood at 6’ 5, but was more solid. Dressed simply in jeans and a dark gray T-shirt, his body had not lost any of the muscle he had gained while in the Marines. If anything, he looked bigger than he had in the one picture I possessed.
I could see the veins in his forearms and biceps prominently displayed under the skin. Like the arms of a drummer in the marching band. Strong. Powerful. Capable. His eyes were deep-set but in perfect symmetry to his mouth and angular nose. His cheekbones were sharp and high, reminding me of a manga character. But where those characters had rounded baby faces, Noah’s jaw and chin were squared off, as if the sands of the desert had hewn that portion of his face out of rock.
I tried to move back into the classroom, but the collective force of the exiting students continued to push me outside. We stood there for a moment, just a few feet away; the distance seemed at once yawning and stifling.
I should’ve said something witty, like “where have you been all my life” or “long time, no see” because really did he expect he could show up and I’d fall at his feet? But my actual thinking capabilities were currently somewhere on the hallway floor.
It was like fate, or life, or karma hated me. I needed to be in a men-on-their-knees outfit, not dressed in my brother’s flannel shirt, baggy boyfriend jeans, and battered canvas Chuck Taylors. I hadn’t even showered today because I overslept, spending most of the night tossing and turning.
I wanted to run away before I broke down and completely embarrassed myself in front of my classmates. I turned away from him to head out the opposite end of the building. I couldn’t hear the sounds of dozens of students going from one class to the next. Nor could I see.
Anger, resentment, and, if I was being completely honest, joy filled my head and clouded my gaze. I moved down the hall by rote memory. I could see the rear entrance of the square building. The light filtering through the doors seemed like some kind of salvation, and I hurried toward it.
“Grace.”
I heard his voice behind me. I sped up. I may have been running. People moved out of my way.
I hit the metal release bar on the back glass doors with the flat of my hand, and the metal clanked loudly, I noted with satisfaction. I wished I had five more doors to bang through, but I guess that would’ve impeded my stomp toward my apartment.
Ordinarily, I would meet Lana for lunch at the campus café. Today I was going home and hiding in my apartment until I could decide what I was going to do. Like transfer out to another college or figure out how to avoid Noah for the rest of the time he was here. Problem was, I didn’t know why he was here or for how long. Transferring might be the best option. I could go to State University where my brother Josh went. It was only three hours away.
I had reached the edge of campus and could see my house just two blocks away. I was convinced that if I reached the porch of the old Victorian, I would be safe, like when we were kids playing tag. As I stopped for traffic, I felt Noah behind me, his big body throwing a shadow that swallowed my smaller one. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his hand hover over my shoulder. My whole body tensed. I didn’t know what I would do if he touched me, but it wouldn’t be good. He sighed softly and dropped his hand away.
“Grace, you’re mad. I get it. But can we at least talk?”
I had never heard Noah’s voice before. We never exchanged voicemail messages, never Skyped. We had just written to each other—World War II-style. I thought our decision to write only was impossibly romantic. Plus, I didn’t want him to see me over the Internet and decide I wasn’t attractive enough to write to anymore. I still had those damn letters in a carefully preserved state in an archival box designed, I think, for scrapbooks. But I had imagined what he would sound like. Low, because it seemed manly, and maybe a little gruff, because of all the sand in the desert. And look, I was right. His voice was low, gravelly, and panty-dropping sexy.