Page 20 of Floored

"What a dork," I muttered. And what exactly did I want to say to him?

It wasn't like I wanted to adopt a British boyfriend. My time across the pond was finite. I sat up quickly, propping my back against the headboard, fighting a spinning sensation that rocked my head when I did.

Okay. That was weird.

Once that passed, I chugged some water because I did not have time for head spinning shit on my Brontë immersion week. Water back on the small nightstand and head clear, I fought the impulse to text one of my sisters about how to handle Jude.

Molly, the oldest, was always a solid choice for advice.

Exhibit A- her solid as a rock relationship with Washington Wolves football player, Noah Griffin. They'd been together for closing in on a year now, and if Paige didn't get a wedding to plan soon, hell would reign. Molly was the romantic. She'd swoon all over the place if I told her about Jude.

Isabel, the middle sister, might've been the single one, but she had a zero-bullshit policy when it came to men. Her sensibilities about romance were along the lines of “If I pretend it doesn't exist, maybe it won't find me.” But she'd still ring my ears if I didn't text him back and see what happened if I met up with him again.

Claire—while she was the other half of my soul—would tell me to be careful. Yes, she was head over heels in love, but she was also the cautious one. It was so easy to hear her voice. Just make sure you meet somewhere public. Text us his picture. And don't forget protection!

A fleeting ache behind my chest blossomed at the thought of my sisters. But part of this whole Oxford thing was being able to get through minor situations like this without them holding my hand. My thumb tapped along the edge of my purple cell phone case.

Me: Apology is accepted, but I certainly hope that's not your best attempt at an excuse. You should go for "my goldfish died" or "I had to vacuum every day."

Me: I wouldn't mind seeing you again either.

I tucked my phone away, refusing to watch for a reply. And it set the tone for the next few days. Jude never responded immediately, but it was always within a few hours. Interspersed with exploring Brontë County, reading books, scrawling an outline in my notebook, and small updates for my family, I found an entirely different pattern to my day than I'd found in Oxford.

Jude: Haworth, eh? I grew up not too terribly far from there, but I don't get home often. It's a beautiful place.

Me: London isn't a terrible backup, though.

Jude: I don't actually live in London. You just caught me on a night in the city.

Me: Where do you live? (Asks the girl who has very hazy geographical knowledge of anything other than the biggest cities in Britain)

Jude: Ha. I live in Shepperton. Takes me less than an hour to drive into central London most of the time.

My thumbs itched to google Shepperton, but I refrained. The guy hadn't even asked me out again. Between texting with Jude, I found myself wandering the same parts of Haworth over the next couple of days, saving some of my favorite places for the last days—to end on a high note, so to speak. I spent a lot of time outside, reading through Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Agnes Grey, trying to determine which sister would get my focus. I found quiet spots to sit and stare at the countryside, scribbling furiously in my journal as I put myself in their shoes. I napped ... like three times a day, but whatever.

And it was upon waking from one of those naps that I felt my first unpleasant wave of nausea. Hand pressed to my stomach, I took a few deep breaths until it subsided. Food. I needed food.

I broke off a piece of a granola bar I kept stashed in my purse and heard my phone ding.

Jude: When do you return from your epic adventures?

Me: I have two more days here. I'd like to have a rough outline of my project done before I leave, but someone keeps distracting me.

Jude: Ah, yes. What a prat. Don't worry, I need to go kick a ball for three hours anyway.

Me: Someone punishing you?

Jude: That mouth of yours, American ...

I bit my lip. This was something we'd danced around. I snuggled back under the covers and let the sensation wash over me. By this point, it had been over three weeks since I'd seen him, and based on the amount we'd texted since I'd arrived in Haworth, I'd see him again when I got back, if we could manage it.

Me: Yes, I remember how much you enjoyed it, Brit.

Jude: Immensely. Wish I could've enjoyed it again upon waking up.

Jude: And because I have horrible time management skills, by the time I work up a more polite way to ask, I'd like not to wait another month before I get to see that lovely mouth in person.

Me: I think we could manage that.

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