Screamed for the unfairness and the rightness of it all.
Unfairness because I’d found the man who fit me above all others.
And rightness because we were friends, and if my only purpose was to help Jacob remember how to have a companion, then I was doing everything he needed.
My wish of helping him was coming true.
He was learning to trust me.
He was learning to like me.
And I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise that.
I wouldn’t swim over and touch him.
I wouldn’t hug him from behind and plaster my wet bra to his back.
I definitely wouldn’t try to kiss his gorgeous face with hair messy and five o’clock shadow framing the most perfect lips.
Because that would be about me, not him.
And I was done being selfish.
Instead, I tucked up the heartbeats of my pain and stored them deep in an aching chest. I did my best to keep love from my eyes and desire from my voice and stayed perfectly platonic.
The rest of the day was as idyllic as the morning.
Our clothes dried, thanks to the hot sun, and we dressed, his eyes carefully away from my body while mine couldn’t stop roaming over his. Damp but refreshed, we continued weed maintenance in ease and contentedness.
Later that night, we arrived home to a delicious barbecue that John had put together.
Fresh bread, cool coleslaw, smoky sausages, and fried onions, along with salads and chicken wings and icy soda.
Everyone joined in, milling together around the old picnic table overlooking the willow grotto.
It was one of the best moments of my life to be surrounded by family and love, but it was also one of the saddest not to be surrounded by my own mother and father.
As much as I cared for these people, they weren’t mine. They’d never be mine. I was just a visitor, a girl passing through, a side character who would be gone soon and forgotten.
As the evening wore on, I stood slightly apart, smiling in happiness to see Jacob’s family not tensing before they talked to him or flinching if they brought up Ren. The stiffness between them softened, and John pushed his luck by touching his grandson more than anyone.
I hadn’t asked, but I didn’t think John had told Jacob his diagnosis yet. He probably didn’t want to ruin this wonderful summery moment when his grandson was willing to laugh and be a part of his family instead of a loner locked in a cabin on the hill.
Della found me when the strawberry shortcake was passed around.
We stood quietly beneath a tree with sparrows roosting loudly above us. Her presence was once again comforting; a medicine to the illness her son caused.
We ate the sugary dessert in silence, watching Jacob as he discussed turning the back meadow into a full orchard with peaches, plums, and apples with John.
As the sun set on such a brilliantly flawless day, Della turned to hug me.
And I buried my face in her neck, shuddering with the unbearable need to tell her how much I’d fallen for her son. How much he meant to me. How much his happiness cost me because I could never jeopardise this new Jacob. I could never tell him how I felt because all he asked for was friendship and friends were all we’d ever be.
But I didn’t need to tell her because she knew.
Her touch told me she understood the agony of unrequited affection.
Her kiss told me to be brave, to be patient, to weather the suffering because…who knew…perhaps one day, I’d get my happily ever after.
Maybe one day, Jacob would fall for me, and then it would be me begging death not to take him. Me fighting the fear of losing him. I’d regress to that tiny kid who’d clutched a stupid piece of lace after her mother committed suicide.
A silly, pushy girl who wasn’t worthy of being loved.
A girl who wasn’t allowed longevity of such a thing.
That night, I went to bed exhausted and in more pain than ever.
And it wasn’t the only night of agony.
There were so many exquisite moments of togetherness. Working with Jacob was my favourite place to be, but hanging out with him at the dinner table, hearing his husky, melodic laughter, seeing him be so gentle with the horses, watching him tend the land as if it were a much-loved family member—it all chipped away at my defences.
By day, I behaved perfectly. I’d smile but not too broad. I’d laugh but not flirt. I’d keep my eyes above his belt and my desire hidden.
But I couldn’t stop my physical reaction.
Couldn’t stop the quickened heartbeats or hitched breath if he came too close; the tingling over my skin or the prickles along my scalp when he gave me a lopsided smile goodbye and tipped his cowboy hat.
I didn’t know how much longer I could love him and not tell him.