Page 84 of The Spirit of Love
He moans, which I take as a yes, but a second later Jude stops kissing me. He pulls away.
“Fenny,” he says, like it hurts.
I close my eyes, because it does.
His forehead presses to mine, and he sighs. “I want to come upstairs with you. I so badly want to do everything with you.”
“But?” I whisper.
“But I’m scared that if I don’t stop kissing you right now, I may never stop. Like ever.”
His hands hold mine.
“What’s wrong with that?” I say, peeking my eyes open because—
No.
Jude is letting go of my hands. Standing up, pushing back his barstool, moving toward the door. He reaches for Walter Matthau’s leash. He winces at the ingredients spread around my counter. And that makes me feel like someone punched me.
“Sorry about the pancakes,” he says. “I guess I’ve set you back into rage-cooking tonight. But it’s best if I go. We both have some things we need to figure out.”
He picks up his dripping suit off my entry mat and opens my front door. I feel too paralyzed with shame to stop him.
“What do I have to figure out?” I say, annoyed.
Jude takes a deep breath and then steps outside, onto mystoop. Turning to face me, he says, “You should figure out what’s going on with you and that other guy.”
It’s not what I wanted him to say.
“What do you have to figure out?” I ask.
Tania.
Jude looks at me with his downturned brown eyes. He gives me a smile that feels like a frown. “I have to figure out what to do,” he says, “about the fact that what just happened here felt way bigger than a kiss.”
PartThree
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Get in, winner,” the voicecalls from behind me the next morning at the Port of Long Beach. “We’re going to Catalina!”
“Olivia?!” I say, stunned to find my friend and her new husband waving from the bow of a silver yacht whose hull is painted with the wordsThe Midlife Crisisin turquoise letters. The small yacht is docked one slip over from the public ferry I was about to board.
“Ahoy!” Olivia waves brightly from across the dock. She and Jake are both dressed in white pants, white polos, matching white captain’s hats, and giant rhinestone-bedazzled sunglasses. No one’s ever accused them of avoiding a couple’s costume.
“What are you doing here?” I call, disentangling myself from the hiking sticks, sleeping mats, and carabinered cutlery jutting out from the giant backpacks my fellow ferry passengers are carrying. At last I break free from the crowd and jog toward my friends and their yacht.
When I texted Olivia and Masha a screenshot of my ferry ticket to Catalina for this morning, all I’d needed was your basic double exclamation mark reaction. Instead:
Masha:Hmm, impulsive…
Olivia:You haven’t even told us how the shoot went!
Olivia:Are you out celebrating?
Olivia:With Jude?
Olivia:Wait—are you seeing Sam this weekend?
