Page 34 of Curveball: The Baby and the Grump

“See! I knew you’d get there!” she says, pulling me into a hug. Reluctantly, I let her, trying to be in any way as enthusiastic as she is.

It’s hard when, by the time we dump our balls by the seemingly misplaced Mount Washington, she’s well and truly won. As we walk away, I don’t even bother to hide my scowl and just hope she doesn’t draw attention to it because my emotions are already feeling a bit too tender for that conversation.

She doesn’t, though. I guess one look at my face says it all.

I’m exhausted by the time we get to the restaurant. After a busy day of therapy and then the epic highs and lows of mini golf, I almost want to blow the whole thing off and go to sleep until I feel better. And even better if Freya would come to bed with me. I’ve never slept more deeply than I did with her in my arms.

But I promised her dinner and, pained as I am to admit it, I have been looking forward to this for a long time.

We get seated, and Freya smiles wide at me when the drinks come. “Thank you for today,” she says. “I had a good time.”

I almost say, Did you? Why? But stop myself before I do. I don’t feel like bickering. Instead I say, “Me too,” and let myself smile. She looks deep into my eyes, and I realize that I would give anything to know what she is thinking about.

“Are coming back to mine after this?” is the actual question I end up asking.

“Do you want me to?”

It’s slightly too loaded, so I shoot back another question instead of giving a simple answer. “Will your brother be expecting you?”

She tilts her head ever so slightly like she’s thinking the problem through, or possibly trying to decide why I’m dicking her around. “As long as I tell him where I’m going to be, he won’t have any issues at all. He’s old enough to look after himself for a night.”

“So, do you want to come back with me, then?” I ask again. “My door is wide open to pretty young women.”

The joke falls flat, and she doesn’t laugh. “Yeah,” she says finally in a way that’s not entirely convincing. She lays her hand on the table, and it takes me a second to realize that she’s inviting me to take it.

I stare at it for a long moment, then extend my fingers towards her. It’s kind of awkward, and I feel like every single person in the restaurant is looking at us — even though they probably aren’t. But still, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable at the affection.

Even though it does feel good to hold her hand, I can’t wait to get home and feel her nestle her body into mine, so I can squeeze her tight and caress her skin. That’s what I’m good at. Private affection. Small shows of love that really mean something. I don’t have patience for overblown PDAs.

Wait. Love?

“What are you going to get?” Freya asks, changing the subject and snapping me out of my thoughts.

I shrug. “The sea bass here is pretty good. What do you feel like?”

“Wine,” she says simply. “Lots of wine.”

“Great idea,” I say and order us a bottle. The waiter cracks it open, and we get through it fast, the faint buzz of tipsiness unwinding the tension that’s been growing in my chest and between us all day, like there’s an invisible barrier that we can’t seem to cross.

When we finally do head home, the night has been good after all. Still, we sit in the back of the cab in silence, and as I watch Freya stare out the window, yet again I find myself wishing I could know exactly what she’s thinking.

CHAPTER 18

FREYA

TWO WEEKS LATER

Iclap my hands together impatiently, looking left and right again in case I missed him. Jackson was supposed to be meeting me here today — right now in fact — so we could go for a walk together. It’s been ages since we did that, and I was looking forward to spending a little quiet time with him.

My shifts haven’t lined up very well with hanging out with Jackson lately, and that on top of feeling bad for not spending as much time with Matt as I should have done recently, Jackson and I have only seen each other on a handful of days over the last two weeks.

I mean, it’s been good to spend that time with him, even when he’s being awkward and weird and says the wrong things because he doesn’t seem to have a single shred of emotional literacy in his body. All those things kind of add to his charm. It’s usually not hard to tell when he’s gone and embarrassed himself.

Besides, he’s usually so thoughtful in his actions that I can that I can get over clumsy words and emotional fumbles. Just because the way I express emotion is through words, doesn’t mean he has to be the same. I understand all that.

And when I’m in his arms, so close to his frankly amazing body, and losing my mind with the endless pleasure that he gives me, or doubling over laughing until it hurts because of his jokes and stupid stories, or letting him take me out for dinner and other things and not even batting an eye at the price, I know he cares. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t do all that stuff. He would have let me go a long time ago.

Doesn’t stop how guilty I feel that he pays for everything, though, but he refuses to let it be any other way. I accused him of being too chivalrous the other day, and he just shrugged it off, telling me he would do exactly the same for any of his friends. And I believe that. He’s so generous and giving, and he never expects anything in return.

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