Page 66 of Chasing The Goal
“Then don’t kiss him,” she said. “Just keep letting him show you who he is.”
“And if he never does anything?”
“Then you’ll still have someone who brings you lemon sorbet and watches weird documentaries with you when you can’t sleep.”
I blinked fast, staring at the ceiling.
“I think he might be the safest person I’ve ever known,” I admitted.
“Then that’s a hell of a place to start.”
We fell into silence, which turned into the best nights sleep in over a week.
***
Jaymie texted around ten that morning, just as I was walking Dakota through the final stages of her haphazard suitcase re-packing.
Jaymie
Want me to drive you both to the airport? I’ve got time. And an excuse to grab pastries after.
I stared at the message, heart catching a little. He didn’t have to offer. But he had.
Only if you promise to get the almond cookies you love and not pretend they’re for me this time.
He replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a car gif that looked vaguely stolen from a Fast & Furious movie.
Dakota eyed me from the bed. “You’re doing that soft smile thing again.”
“Shut up and zip your carry-on.”
Jaymie was waiting out front in his truck, sunglasses on, one arm resting casually on the steering wheel. He jumped out to toss Dakota’s bag in the back like it weighed nothing and opened the passenger door for me like it wasn’t a habit he’d quietly built over the last few months.
The ride to the airport was filled with chatter—Dakota asking invasive questions about hockey schedules, Jaymie gamely teasing her about the city she left behind. It was warm and easy, and for a second I let myself pretend it was something else. Something normal.
When we pulled up to Departures, Dakota wrapped me in a hug so tight it made my eyes sting.
“Text me the minute anything changes,” she whispered into my hair. “And tell him what you feel, or I swear to God I will fly back and do it for you.”
I didn’t say anything. Just nodded against her shoulder.
Jaymie loaded back into the car and didn’t ask why I was quiet. He just handed me a napkin with a pastry bag wrapped inside and said, “Chocolate croissant. Still warm.”
I stared down at the flaky golden treat, the first bite nearly making me groan out loud.
We drove in comfortable silence, turning the corner near our building and pulling into the little bakery parking lot before heading upstairs.
Once inside his apartment—bigger, softer, always colder than mine—he toed off his shoes, grabbed the almond cookies, and gestured to the couch.
“C’mon. Rest your feet. You’ve earned it.”
I didn’t argue. I collapsed into the corner of his couch, my ankles already throbbing, stomach stretched tight and tired beneath my hoodie. Jaymie joined me, his body warm beside mine, the light in the room dim with winter’s early dusk.
Then he reached for my feet, pulled them gently into his lap, and started rubbing slow, firm circles into my arches.
“Oh my god,” I groaned, my head tipping back.
His hands stilled for a second.
