“Bingo,” he said, pointing at me, then tipping his head to the side. “You?”
I nodded, then stretched, feeling my aching joints.
Jesse shifted over on the egg seat. “Care to join me?”
“Is there room?” I asked.
“Junebug, you weigh as much as a feather, and I’ve lost all the muscle I ever had. I’m practically a walking string bean at this point. We can fit.”
I studied the chair, assessing.
Jesse tapped the space he’d made beside him. “Plus, I’m pretty sure this egg is a double yolker.”
I sputtered out a laugh at that.
Jesse grinned. “Come on, Junebug. I’m cold, and so are you by the look of it. Get warm beside me.”
I shook my head at his cheeky expression but found myself moving toward him. I sat down on the chair, ignoring his look that screamedSee? We do fit. Jesse placed his blanket over us both, then used his foot to swing us back and forth. The motion made me feel all cozy and content, but the woodsy, smoky scent of Jesse kept my body wired.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked. His voice had lowered in volume and held a hint of gravel. I had realized that was how he sounded when he was as affected by me as I was him—it was his tell.
“I am,” I said, casting my gaze to the horizon, as the semicircle of the sun began to climb higher into the sky. “This is beautiful,” I said, resting my head back against the egg chair.
I couldn’t get comfortable, and Jesse offered, “You can rest against my shoulder if you’d like.”
I hesitated for just a moment before I followed my heart and pressed my cheek to Jesse’s shoulder. It was soft and comforting and made me completely relax. I smiled as Ginger joined the bay mare he obviously saw as his companion in the paddock.
“You looked good without the headscarf, Junebug,” Jesse said.
Every part of me tensed, and I reached up to play with the tail of my scarf.
In the stretched-out silence, Jesse said, “You believe that, don’t you?”
I shifted when my eyes filled with tears, trying to quickly wipe them dry, but I knew Jesse had seen by the way he tried to move in closer. The truth was, I didn’t believe it. Over two years of treatment in, I couldn’t see it. My confidence had taken as much of a hit as my health.
“I…I struggle with how I look now,” I confessed, shock wrapping around me. I couldn’t believe I had admitted that to Jesse. I shook my head. I didn’t look at him. It was easier sharing these truths without meeting his face.
“I’ve never been a vain person, but…” I sighed heavily. “I can’t really explain it.”
“Junebug,” Jesse said, and pressed his cheek to my head. “I mean this with my entire heart: you are stunning.” My breathing grew shaky. Jesse’s cheek moved against my headscarf. “Ifanything, your headscarf hides it. You don’t need anything, not even hair, to be beautiful.”
I stared out at the paddock and my vision blurred. There was no lie in his steady voice. And it made me sad that I couldn’t see it in myself. My nerves skyrocketed as, reaching up to my head, I slowly pulled off the headscarf. The morning air kissed my bald head, and it took everything I had not to run back into my room and hide.
I lifted my head, and Jesse watched my every move. I dropped my eyes to my hand. It still felt like mine, but it was trembling.
“Stunning,” Jesse said, and gave me the sweetest smile.
I exhaled and felt something I didn’t expect—a sliver of happiness that I had just opened up to someone—no, not justsomeone. Jesse. And by the look on his face, I knew what he said was true. For some reason, he really did think I was beautiful.
“You look good too,” I said, fighting a blush. I slowly brought my hand up toward his head. “Can I?” I asked. Jesse leaned forward, giving silent permission, and I ran my fingertips along his scalp. It was smooth and silky under my touch. It was curious—I saw true beauty in Jesse that, for some reason, I couldn’t see in myself.
But I wanted to, more than anything.
“What color was your hair?” I asked, bringing my hand back to my side and resting my cheek against the cushioned back of the swing so I could meet Jesse’s eyes.
“Light brown,” he said, and I could picture it in my head.
“Long or short?”
