Tastes Like Winter (12 page)

Jake sweeps my hair from my shoulder, and his fingers delicately
caress the bare skin of my neck. The feeling he ignites in me adds to the
emotional performance, and I am overwhelmed. I want to shut my eyes and lean
into his touch, but I force myself to continue watching.

I haven’t been to the ballet before, but now that I am here, I am in
love. The story they are able to tell using just their bodies is incredible. I
am a book girl. I am used to using words to convey meaning, but the way these
dancers are able to say the same things without uttering a single word opens my
eyes to a new method of communication that I’ve never before understood. With
Jake’s fingers still pressed against my skin, I want to know what his touch is
communicating. I rest my hand on his knee and use my touch to try to thank him
for bringing me here tonight.

***

“What did you think?” I ask. The ballet is over, and we are amidst the
massive crowd that is exiting the theater.

He blushes and looks down. “To be honest, I wasn’t watching most of it.”
He admits under his breath, whispering the words as if he doesn’t want anyone
in the crowd to overhear, “I was mostly watching you.” He lifts his head and
meets my eyes.

I return his look with my own blush.

“You couldn’t stop smiling,” he adds with a grin.

“Yeah, well I thought it was pretty incredible.” I frown and continue
walking. We distance ourselves from the horde of theater-goers.

A few minutes and several blocks later, he asks, “Then tell me,
kitten, why are you sad now?”

I let myself think for a while before answering carefully, trying to
find the right words.

“Sometimes I experience something so amazing—a dance performance,”—I
lift my hand and motion back to the theater, now small in the distance behind
us—“a song, a book, a place, anything beautiful. But instead of allowing
myself to appreciate its beauty, part of me can’t help but wish I had found it
sooner. I wonder what other amazing things are out there that I haven’t
experienced yet. I’m afraid I’m going to miss something.”

I bite my lip sheepishly, afraid of how I am coming off. Jake is
nodding, so I continue a bit stronger.

“What if my most beautiful thing, my absolute favorite thing, is out
there, and I never even find it?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

He gives me one anyway. “What if your most beautiful, absolute
favorite thing is right in front of you, and you miss it anyway?”

His words scare me, and I am not sure what they mean.

“Well, I’m going to try my damnedest to make sure I don’t. I don’t
want to miss a thing, and I’m going to try my hardest not to. It’s my goal to
spend my whole life seeing—exploring—everything, so I know that
when I die, I haven’t missed out on anything good.”

He wraps his arm around me, pulling me against him as we continue
walking. “Well, what if I say I want to be the one to show you everything?”

His lips graze my head, and his question surprises us both so much so
that we continue our approach to South Station in reflective silence.

This time when we reach the brick building, he doesn’t drop me off
outside, but instead he comes in and walks me all the way to the track. He
stands with me as I wait to board the train, and when it is time to part, he
touches my face gently, holding my head on either side. He runs a finger
delicately along my jaw, and his ocean-filled eyes crash waves against my soul.
His touch is reverential.

The conductor calls out final boarding, and without breaking my gaze,
he wishes me a goodnight. He leans in and lays a gentle kiss on my lips that is
sweet and worshipping. Not caring that we are in public, I wrap my arms around
his neck and open my mouth so our tongues can meet.

Once again, he tastes like winter, cold lips and warm spice, and
exactly the way I remember it. Better, even.

I revel in the taste, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. I am
desperate and scared, afraid that, despite such an amazing evening and
heartbreakingly good kiss, when I leave him tonight, he will disappear on me
again.

The conductor calls out once more—for our benefit, I am sure—and
I begrudgingly step back and release him. “Thanks for tonight, Jake. I had a
nice time.”

And I board the train. I walk down the aisle, watching him through the
row of windows, seeing that he hasn’t yet moved. I choose a seat and, facing
the glass, give him a small smile and wave. He lifts his hand and returns the
gesture, and while his smile matches my own, his eyes show a contradictory
weight that I refuse to notice.

When he is out of view, I breathe out hard and sink into the plastic
seat. My heart refuses to slow its rapid beat, and when my phone buzzes in my
pocket, I barely notice it over the pumping blood in my ears.

I reach
into the
pocket of my black woolen pea coat, pull out my phone, and open up the text.
It’s from Genna. The message is nothing more than a slew of question marks and
exclamations points. She must be dying to find out how my evening went. In
fact, I’m surprised she held off on messaging me this long.

Instead of responding back via text, I press send and call her. She
answers on the first ring, and I can picture her pacing in her room, impatient for
an update.

“Details, now!” she barks, without even first offering a hello. “Did
he love the dress? The silhouette of that A-line on you was sure to be a hit!”

I pause, unable to think clearly. Her desperation for details comes in
waves, and unable to hold back any longer, I settle on, “Wow.”

“That good, huh?”

“
Mmm
-hmm.” Words continue to escape me.

MARCH

Exactly as I feared, “WOW” shifts back to “WTF” all too quickly. But,
this time, he hasn’t disappeared completely. The ballet was incredible. The goodnight
kiss after was knock my socks off good, and when I lie in bed at night in the
dark, I swear I can still feel his mouth on mine. I can taste him, and it does
crazy things to my insides that I still haven’t fully wrapped my mind or heart
around.

In the weeks that have passed since that night, Jake and I have
continued messaging. We have even spent a handful of shifts together at the
bookstore, and while flirting between us has increased since the ballet, I
still can’t shake the suspicion that he is holding back. Maybe it’s me and this
is the way guys are, but I still can’t get him to broach the subject of an
“us”. I have never had a boyfriend before and never dated an older guy—never
dated, period—and my lack of experience has me all mixed up about what a
normal relationship is.

Honestly, at the end of the day, are we even dating? And is it crazy
that I can’t even answer such a simple question?

At this point, Jake and I are two people who talk and flirt and kiss.
Mmmm
, the kissing part is good, and I don’t want that to
stop. But is it worth the frustration? I am trying so hard to play it cool and
act strong and confident, but some days I want to yell at him and beg him to
tell me what he’s thinking and feeling. Do you even like me, Jake? Because I
like you so very, very much!

The back and forth still hasn’t stopped either. Some days he’s
playful. Some days he’s serious. Then some days he comes across as too cool for
school—“school” being me—and those days are the worst.

Last Friday, we spent a whole afternoon shift together. I was at the
front counter manning the cash register while he stocked the shelves with the
new spring shipment that was delivered that morning. He came in after me, said
hello, and then didn’t utter another word to me all afternoon. I watched him
for hours as he carried heavy boxes back and forth from the storage room to the
various shelving sections up front. I’m not going to lie; watching him act all
manly carrying heavy things was sexy and made me that much more desperate to
talk to him.

But I didn’t want to come across as needy, so I let him do his thing,
thinking—hoping—that eventually he would tire of work and want to
take a break and spend some time with me. But why would he want to spend time
with someone he has shared both deep conversation and saliva with? What a silly
concept! He was still there after I closed up the shop, and when we found
ourselves in the back room together, he had no choice but to acknowledge me.

“Any plans for the weekend?” I asked nonchalantly, to see if I could
get him talking.

He moved another box and paused to wipe his brow before saying, “Not
really. The usual.”

“What’s the usual?”

His response this time was a shrug before moving another box.

“Jake, stop. Look at me.”

While still bent over, he turned his head in my direction. At last, a
little eye contact!

”Hi! Remember me?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped from my
voice.

He laughed abruptly, “Ha! Like I could forget you,” then went back to
stacking boxes, boxes that I was pretty sure didn’t even need to be stacked.

And that is exactly the sort of mind-screw that has me shaking my
head.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” I added with less steam.

He stared at me long and hard before repeating, “Funny way of showing
it?”

I nodded feebly, and I could see his mind working out a decision
before he stalked—and I mean stalked—over to me, pushed me against
the wall of cubbies, and took my mouth, along with all the air in my lungs,
with his.

He then quickly stepped back. “Now please let me finish with these
boxes. I’ll lock up.”

His eyes looked desperate, so I let it go.

I didn’t hear from him again for three days. I counted, believe me.

I can only describe what he is doing to me as equal parts excitement
and pure torture. The scary part is I don’t know if, deep down, I am enjoying
the chase.

It’s a game, a cruel, insanity-inducing game. I should be smarter than
this and stop playing along, but I cannot help myself. He makes me feel things an
awful lot like love, but he also makes me feel weak. And when I think about
weakness and I think about love, I think about my mother and everything she
went through, and it terrifies me.

But no matter how scared I am, he’s an expert game master and has the
uncanny ability to keep me playing. He fills my soul and makes me confident,
then cruelly turns on me and pulls back until I am on the verge of madness,
ready to throw in the towel, before coming back and whacking me with something
amazing, an unexpected kiss or a surprising response that I’m sure carries a
hidden message, and he sucks me in again.

Tonight is another perfect example. We have been sitting for a couple
of hours, hunched over the computer housed in the small office area in the back
of the shop’s storage room. A few nights this week have already been spent in a
similar fashion. At first, I thought it was a cute bonding experience, close
together, sharing in his interests in the semi-dark of the small, enclosed
space.

I thought it was romantic, but now I am growing tired, frustrated, and
bored. “As much as I would love to sit around watching you surf the web, I
should get going, Jake.” My arms are crossed over my chest and I am clearly
annoyed, but he doesn’t notice.

“No, don’t. Stay. Check out this video.” He pulls my chair closer to
him so I can get a better view of the monitor. It’s one of those indie-band
music videos, the type of do-it-yourself production that includes homemade
puppets doing the most unusual things. The more random, the better. The video
quality is about as good as the sound quality, and, while I love music, there
is only so much I can take. Jake bounces his head to the music and, when the
video ends, begins searching for another.

He smells so damn good, and watching YouTube videos together isn’t
innately wrong, but I want something more, I want something deeper, and after
another week of this surface stuff, I again find myself on my last leg.

“Well, Jake, thanks for a lovely evening,” I say sarcastically as I
push away from the desk, “but I’ve grown weary of being ignored yet again;
besides, my bed is calling me.”

He perks up. “Can I come?”

I screw up my face and give a quick, rough shake of my head. Reactions
like that make me crazy.

“Why, so you can ignore me there, too?” I reply, my tone full of bite.

I walk out of the office area to the cubby that holds my bag and coat.
I double-wrap my scarf around my neck and zip myself in before slinging my bag
over my shoulder and exiting through the swinging doors. I yell a good-bye over
my shoulder but don’t bother waiting for him. Let him chase me, this time.

“Hey, what’s up? What did I do?” He is
behind me, and I can hear concern in his voice, but I keep walking. I push
through the outside door, and the cold wind whips my face, stinging my skin. He
follows behind me a second later. I can hear him curse the cold as he leaves
the warm comfort of the shop. He hasn’t had time to throw on a coat, and he
shivers beneath his long-sleeved tee.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Maybe your definition of hanging out is a
little bit different from mine. Don’t act so sad to see me go when you’ve paid
me little to no attention for the past two hours.” I reach the car and pull
open the driver-side door as he catches up to me.

His hands grip the top of the window between us, and he holds it open,
preventing me from shutting it. “Sorry. I should remember that you’re a girl
and like to do girl stuff.”

The comment hurts, but he has delivered it innocently enough and free
of any sarcasm or malice.

Regardless, I reply, “Don’t say it like that. It’s not like I want to
give each other manicures and talk about shopping and celebrity gossip, but the
occasional acknowledgement of my presence would be appreciated, so I know that
you actually care whether or not I am there.”

He frowns. “Trust me. I care that you’re there.”

I playfully pout back. I wish I didn’t have to pick fights to get a
nice response out of him, but I am glad when it comes.

“Come shopping with me tomorrow. I need to get a birthday gift for
Betsy, and I have no idea what to get,” he says.

Before I can answer, he leans through the window and takes both of my
cheeks in his hands. He stares briefly at my lips and licks his own in
response, moistening them against the harsh wind. He moves in.

His kiss is soft at first, but it quickly grows in intensity. The
warmth of his mouth is inviting, and the contrast against the frigid air is
enticing. I lean into him and wrap my arm around his neck, bringing my hand
into his hair. The softest moan escapes him, and I smile through the kiss. How
can I go from neglected to completely desired in an instant? My head swims.

He reaches his cold hands into my jacket, and his fingers nimbly pull
up the hem of my sweater, seeking warmth from my skin. The coldness sends
shivers up and down my spine, and the sensation is delicious. Several minutes
pass, lost in bliss, with his rough fingertips dancing across my skin before
our lips separate and he presses his forehead against mine. My eyes are still
shut, but I can feel him smiling.

“I’m afraid eventually all good things must come to an end.” I don’t
know if I am talking about tonight or something more.

“Are you sure? You can always come back in.” He beckons.

I sigh. His offer is tempting, but I’m afraid of what will happen if I
do, of what message I’ll be sending him if I allow myself to come and go whenever
he wants. “I really should be getting home. My shift ended hours ago, and my
mom will wonder…”

I leave it hanging, half-heartedly hoping he can convince me
otherwise.

“All right. Tomorrow, then?” He pulls away.

“Tomorrow.” I force myself down into my seat and, with a turn of the
hand, unwillingly start the engine.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He winks.

I smile back, but as always when leaving Jake, I’m sad to go and I want
to frown instead.

***

I pick Jake up the next day, and we head over the mall in search of
the perfect gift.

“Did you have any ideas in mind?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, but I want it
to be something nice. Something special. Aunt B has done so much for me, and I
want her to know I’m grateful.”

I’m taken aback by the sentiment in his
voice. After always being so careful with his emotions, it’s nice to see his
guard fall and to see how much he cares for her.

“I’m sure we’ll find something perfect. A nice sweater maybe or a
pretty scarf.” I lead him over to a storefront window with beautifully styled
mannequins. “I can picture Betsy wearing that.” I point to a pink silk blouse.

He stares up at it for a moment in
consideration before shaking his head. “No, not special enough.”

We keep walking, pausing at each
window. I point out items along the way, offering ideas, all of which Jake is
not sold on. This means a lot to him, I can tell, and I want to help him pick
the perfect thing. I’m happy he asked me to help with something so important to
him. It feels as if he’s letting me in.

We pause in front of a jewelry store. Jake takes his time looking at
the display, and thinking we might have a winner, I suggest we go in. We stroll
around the store, examining each case.

After more than five minutes of browsing, Jake calls me over. “How
about this one?”

I move to the case he is standing in
front of, and he points out a necklace. He has found a delicate heart pendant
with a smaller heart inside, covered in tiny aquamarine gems and attached to a
thin chain.

“It’s beautiful, Jake.”

“That’s her gemstone.” He sounds proud to have remembered.

“Then it couldn’t be more perfect. I think you should get it.” I motion
for a sales associate to help us.

The necklace is a little pricey, but Jake doesn’t seem to care, and he
tells the lady he will take it. After hearing that it’s a birthday gift, she
goes the extra mile and wraps it beautifully in a box, setting it in tissue,
and places it in a gift bag. Jake holds the bag gently, acting as if it’s a
precious treasure. Seeing this side of him causes my heart to flutter, and I
lean close into his side, threading my fingers through his.

We continue through the mall, and I decide to pick up a card and a
pack of monogramed stationary to give to Betsy, myself. She is a great boss,
and I’d like to show my appreciation as well, even if it is something small.
After that, we grab a couple soft pretzels before heading out.

“Let me take you out next week,” Jake surprises me by asking as we
exit the mall and head for my car to drive back home.

“Okay. I’d like that,” I say while my insides do a flip. “Did you have
anything in mind?”