But then a horse nickered in the background, and the silence became awash with insects buzzing and a breeze rustling and laughter from his family somewhere by the farmhouse.
The moment was crushed by noise and reality.
And I was no longer hungry.
Pushing the last few mouthfuls toward him, I muttered, “Here, you have it. I’m not hungry, after all.”
His hand wrapped automatically around the container, but his brow furrowed as his attention fell on the fork.
The fork we’d both tasted and sucked.
I hoped he thought the same things I had. The same deliciously naughty things about licking me instead of the pasta. Goosebumps spread over my arms as he bit his lower lip, concentration furrowing deeper tracks in his forehead.
For a second, I thought he’d toss the rest of the pasta into the grass—anything to avoid a touch of mine, but I froze as he stabbed the lone pieces of penne into one bundle and raised the fork to his mouth.
I stopped breathing.
So close.
If he used the fork, we might as well have kissed. His saliva with mine. Our tongues together. Our—
With a bone-deep sigh, he shook his head, cracked his wrist like he held a whip and shot the penne off the fork and into the greenery. Instantly, sparrows dive-bombed the unsuspecting pasta, squabbling over who got what.
So much for that stupid idea.
I slouched in my towel, plucking a long piece of grass and twirling it in my fingers. He couldn’t even bring himself to eat off the same implement as me. The chances of him ever being comfortable enough to kiss me?
Yeah, I might as well give up now.
I should’ve given up years ago—around the time I started dating boys to do exactly that—to forget about Jacob Ren Wild and find a boy who actually wanted be touched.
A wash of soul-crushing sadness filled me.
Not for me, but for him.
How awful an existence it must be to be so afraid of touch.
How terrifyingly lonely a life to prefer aloneness than company.
I sighed, stripping my long piece of grass into green noodles.
Placing the Tupperware into the bag, Jacob pulled free the homemade lemonade and swigged half back in a few gulps. Pulling the bottle away from his lips, he wiped the top with his shirt hem, then with a bashful look, he gave it to me.
I hid my pain and stupid fantasies and nodded sweetly. “Thanks.”
He flinched as if he hadn’t expected me to talk. As if the farmyard chatter was better than speaking with me.
Ignoring yet more hurt, I drank the refreshingly tart liquid. This time, I didn’t bother to save him any and drank until all the citrus drops were gone. Afterward, I passed the bottle back to him where he capped it and placed it with the empty Tupperware.
With a soft groan, he pulled up his knees and drove his fingers through his hair. The leaf that’d been tangled there fluttered to the grass, only to be scooped up by me.
Oak.
A baby leaf.
Probably miles from its family, depending on how far Jacob had travelled.
“Thanks for the lunch,” he muttered, his hands still buried in his thick, unruly blond mess.
“No problem.”
“I’m sorry I got angry with you again the other night.”
“No worries.”
“And I’m sorry for any and all future fights we’ll end up having.”
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of spending enough time with Jacob to warrant such interaction. “It’s fine.”
He huffed, his eyes still squeezed together and head bowed. His forehead pressed against his knees as if he was so exhausted, he barely had the effort to sit.
I squirmed beside him as my mind ran riot with things I shouldn’t say, promises to help him, oaths to protect him. He’d hate any sign that I cared.
I’d tried the forward game and only pushed him further away. I no longer strove for a relationship that could be considered normal with fondles and giggles and kisses.
Jacob wasn’t that type of guy, and really…I wasn’t that type of girl. I wanted to be, but death still stalked me. Blackness still crouched in my mind. Morbid questions still demanded an answer. Questions that kept me firmly in reality, and I understood why Jacob feared dying because of the very same reasons I didn’t. Death was coming for all of us—regardless of how we lived our lives.
It could tap us on the shoulder tomorrow or slam into us four decades from now.
No one could predict when.
And the thing that made it so scary wasn’t the fact that it was going to happen. But the fact that we suffered while waiting. And that suffering was caused entirely by us resisting the inevitable.
Jacob had to stop resisting.
Resisting life and love and happiness.
If he could do that, then his suffering would end.
He’d accept.
He’d relax.
He’d be free.
Twisting my knees under me so I propped myself up a little higher, I cleared my throat. “I have something to say.”