Page 39 of Journey to Love

As I sit in the kitchen, savoring the last sips of my coffee and nibbling on breakfast, a sharp knock interrupts the quiet morning. Instinctively, I rise from the table, ready to answer the door, but my grandmother's outstretched hand halts me in my tracks.

"Ladies do not open the door to their gentleman callers," she declares with a mischievous glint in her eye. I roll mine in response. "Nana, this isn’t the 1940s anymore. Women have become more independent," I retort, trying to reason with her.

With a playful glare, she corrects me, "I was born in the 1950s, thank you very much. I am not that old." Her smirk tells me she's enjoying this little banter. "Pops is in the garage, I am right here," I counter, hoping to sway her.

But she remains steadfast, gesturing for me to return to my seat. "Then he will wait, because you are worth waiting for," she insists, her words hitting home. She's right—I need to start asserting myself, not bending to every man's expectations.

I settle back into my chair, silently acknowledging the truth in her words. I am my own person, deserving of respect and consideration. If someone wants to spend time with me, they'll have to earn it. So, with newfound resolve, I wait patiently as Pops opens the door for Jacob.

As Pops swings the door open, he adopts a mischievous grin and quips, "Yes? May I help you?"

Jacob, standing on the doorstep with a hint of nervousness in his voice, responds, "Yes sir, I’m here for Anya.”

Pops continues his playful banter, feigning ignorance, "Anya? Anya who?" His teasing goes unnoticed by Jacob, unfortunately.

I can't help but stifle a laugh at their exchange. Poor Jacob must be internally panicking, wondering if he's at the wrong address. But Pops's playful demeanor adds a light-hearted touch to the moment, making it impossible not to find humor in the situation.

Jacob nervously stammers, "Uh... umm... I don’t know her last name."

Pops, still enjoying the teasing, responds with a smirk, "Well if you don’t know her last name, then I can’t help you, son."

I can see the anxiety on Jacob's face through the side window, and I realize I need to intervene. Not only are we running late, but poor Jacob must be on edge after his three-hour drive, thinking he might have the wrong address.

"Okay, Pops, that’s enough," I say as I step around the door, revealing myself to Jacob. His face lights up with relief at the sight of me, and I can see the tension melt away.

"Hey! Sorry about that, come on in," I say, opening the door wider to welcome him. As he steps inside, I give him a polite hug, and he responds by wrapping his arms around me tightly, as if we've been separated for years instead of weeks. It's a level of affection I'm not used to, and I'm not quite sure how to react.

"How was your drive out here?" I ask as I grab my bag and sweater.

Jacob looks at my sweater and then back at me, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "It was good, quiet," he responds, then glances at the sweater again. "You do know it's July, right?" he teases.

"Yes!" I reply, matching his playful tone. "I also know that the church blasts the A/C, and it's freezing inside the sanctuary," I explain, giving him a playful glare.

"I guess we have a reason to sit extra close to each other then," he says, flashing a playful grin as we wave goodbye to my grandparents and head out the door.

I smile widely, a shocked grin spreading across my face, and playfully hit his chest. God, his chest! I'm immediately transported back to those moments when our hands were all over each other, and the muscles in his body flexed with each movement. The thought sends an electric jolt right down to my core! Shaking off my thoughts, I remember what I was about to say.

"There will be no groping or anything of that nature happening at church!" I declare, pretending to have a stern look on my face, like a mother scolding her child and reminding them to behave.

He chuckled as he guided me to his car, gallantly opening the passenger door for me. "I can drive, you know. We could take my car," I suggested, though I had already settled into the passenger seat. His expression shifted into one of playful incredulity. "And why would I have you do that?" he countered.

I grinned, enjoying the banter. "Because you just drove three hours!"

"Anya, I don’t care if I drove for ten hours. It's my duty as your boyfriend, a very handsome one I might add, to help fulfill your passenger princess dreams," he teased, flashing me a mischievous grin.

I rolled my eyes with a smile. "Who says I want to be a passenger princess?"

He shot me a knowing look. "Please, Anya, you and I both know you want to be the passenger princess," he teased as we headed toward the church.

I couldn’t help but laugh. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Uh huh," he replied, his smirk growing wider.

"I was just trying to be thoughtful, plus I am not a princess," I insisted, trying to keep things light.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling. "You know you’re right! You are not a princess. You deserve to be treated like a queen. So, I am renaming it the queen passenger," he declared, teasingly.

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. "Oh my god, that was corny," I said, shaking my head in amusement.

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