I come home from work on Friday afternoon to a note on my bed beside an empty duffel bag that reads: Be packed by 5:00. Plane leaves for Chicago at 8:30, and we’re going to be on it. I took the liberty of starting your packing for you. You’re welcome.
I peek in the bag and realize it’s not totally empty. It looks as if Ryan pulled out my lingerie drawer and dumped the entire contents into this duffel bag. Ha! You wish, buddy.
After I’ve removed over three-fourths of the options Ryan and his liberty chose for me, I pack a few of the winter items I never get to wear in Charleston. Honestly, part of me thought Ryan forgot about Chicago. It’s been a few days since he mentioned it, so I assumed it was on the back burner. Or not happening at all. Which was fine with me, considering how amazing our time here has been together.
Ryan has been staying with me all week, doing lots of things that feel suspiciously like dating, although he always swears it’s not.
Me: Let me get this straight. You want to take me to dinner, but it’s not a date?
Ryan: Right. We just both need to eat, and you’re out of food. (I had plenty of food.) And I’m going to pay for you too. Easier than making the waitress split the bill.
And then my personal favorite is when we snuggle before bed and watch a movie.
Me: Is this still not a date? (He was literally lying horizontal with me on the couch while we made out off and on.)
Ryan: Nope. I do this with all my friends. But usually Logan makes me be the little spoon.
After I’ve finished packing and freshening my makeup, I have ten minutes to spare. I feel an undeniable need to keep moving, though, so I go in to clean my kitchen. Except, Ryan must have already done it earlier, not anticipating my need to stress-clean every surface in my house. How dare he be so thoughtful and clean my kitchen! That’s fine. I just need to get some blood flowing (a phrase I’ve never thought in my life, but that I always hear Jake say when he’s stressed).
So I do jumping jacks.
Now, I know I’m being absurd—that was never in question—but I have to keep moving, because if I sit still, I’ll chicken out. I think that’s why Ryan went ahead and booked our flights for tonight. He knew that if too much time passed between me agreeing to go with him and the actual departure date, I would pack up my whole house and move to Hawaii just to avoid taking this trip with him.
I’m very mature in relationships.
I’m midjump when my phone starts ringing. “Talk to me!” I say like one of those overly confident people on sitcoms, because I’m trying to pretend that I am one.
“Did I just…interrupt something?” asks my brother, letting his horrified tone convey exactly what he suspects that something to be. Messing with Jake is one of my favorite pastimes, so I have half a mind to say something like, Oh, Ryan, stop it, I’m on the phone! just to really freak him out. But I refrain because, like I said, I’m very mature.
“You interrupted jumping jacks,” I say, and he sputters a laugh like I just told him a joke. “What’s wrong with you? I’m serious. I’m doing jumping jacks.”
“Wow. Did something bad happen?”
“Now, what about my statement would make you ask that?”
“Besides running, I’ve never seen you do anything close to working out. I didn’t even know you knew how to do a jumping jack. Do your feet leave the ground when you jump?”
Rude. But now I’m questioning myself.
“It’s where you starfish and then pencil, right?”
“Yeeeahhhh…something like that.” He’s fully laughing at me now.
“Knock it off, butthead.”
His chuckles trail off. “Okay, why are you starfishing?”
I hadn’t intended to tell Jake that I’m going to Chicago. Why? I’m not totally sure. I think I didn’t feel like explaining myself to him or overanalyzing everything. Because it feels like I’m tightrope walking along this relationship and the slightest breeze will kick me off to my doom.
I hate that I’m this way. I hate that life has made me so scared—but knowing it and fighting it is better than going through life oblivious to my flaws, right?
“I’m…going with Ryan to Chicago tonight…for a few days.” I let that statement hang on the line between us, and I shut my eyes tight, waiting for his response. Or his warning. Or his big-brother censure.
“Pack a heavy jacket. It’s freaking cold there.”
Wait. What? Where’s the lecture? Or the taunting? Or the million questions?
I peek my eyes back open. “Are you kidnapped or something? Where’s my overly cautious brother who’s always warning me to take things slow?”
He gives a short chuckle. “June. I love you. I want what’s best for you. And I only had to watch you with Ryan for two seconds the other day to see everything I needed to know. Go to Chicago. Have fun and don’t overthink everything. I trust him with you.”
—
I pack Jake’s words into my duffel bag and take them with me to the airport. Ryan showed up at my house with a coffee and a snack right after I ended the call with Jake, and I realized my brother was right. Actually, Jake’s always right, but I will take that truth with me to my grave. I need to enjoy my time with Ryan and stop waiting for disaster ahead. Not everyone is Ben. Not every man is going to hurt me.
I would tattoo that statement somewhere on my body if I didn’t think people would look at me funny.
And now, I think Ryan is a mind reader, because on our way to the airport, he reaches over and takes my hand and says, “When did you get your sunflower tattoo?”
I whip my head to him. “Huh? How did you know I was thinking about tattoos?”
He grins but doesn’t look away from the road. “I can see your thoughts. Didn’t you know?” He says it so seriously that, for a second, I think he’s telling the truth. I knew he was a sorcerer of some kind. It’s how he manages to wield this powerful, sexy man aura that I can’t resist. “June, I’m kidding. You’ve been rubbing your sunflower tattoo for the past five miles.”
“Oh.” Why do I like the sorcerer idea better? I also don’t love that I seem to put all my feelings on display when Ryan is around. Or wait. It’s a good thing to show Ryan how I’m feeling.
It’s opposite of my natural inclination, but I’m determined not to sabotage this relationship with Ryan, so I tell him everything. I tell him that after Ben broke my heart, I went straight to the tattoo parlor and had the nice man with fifteen piercings and over one hundred tattoos ink the sunflower onto my skin. It was a spontaneous decision, but I don’t regret it.
“Why after you broke up?”
I look down at my hands and fidget. “Ben didn’t like tattoos. Always said they looked kind of trashy. It’s so ironic considering he slept with someone else a week before our wedding, which is the ultimate trashy look.” I scoff. “I decided that day it was time to start doing what I wanted and not give a shit what Ben did or didn’t like.”
And then something amazing happens. I realize that I just talked about Ben and what he did to me, and for once, it doesn’t sting. Not a bit. This is curious to me, so I force my thoughts down that rabbit trail a little further just to see if it was a fluke. I let myself remember picking up Ben’s phone when he left the room and finding a text from Hallie with a photo of the two of them snuggling under the covers as if they’d been a couple for a hundred years.
Huh. No pain. No knots in my stomach. No nothing. In fact, all I can really focus on is Ryan’s thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
He peeks at me from the corner of his eye. “I’m glad you got the tattoo. It also looks superhot on you so that’s a plus.”
I don’t know why, but a blush creeps over my face. I think it’s a combination of the way Ryan is looking at me and what his touch does to me.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, but my voice betrays how much his words mean to me and it cracks.
—
The rest of the night goes by in a zoom. Ryan and I catch a flight to O’Hare International Airport, where we take a detour before going to baggage claim and stop at the food court. “I heard your stomach growling on the plane,” he says before once again shocking me to no end by steering us toward the Taco Bell. Once was a fluke—twice is certainly on purpose.
I squeeze his arm while we wait in line. “You know, that night you got us tacos while we waited on the locksmith, I thought for sure you were stooping to fast food because you liked me. Now I’m starting to think it wasn’t for me at all. Answer honestly, Ryan Henderson, is this your favorite restaurant?”
He grins down at me as we advance toward the front of the line. “I’ve tried to re-create the flavor of their beef. I can’t match it no matter how hard I try.”
