Tastes Like Winter Read online

  ***

  When Genna picks me up the next morning, I decide that I should practice what I preach and stop dodging her like Jake has been dodging me. I tell her about the Sleeping Beauty tickets, and when it comes across as completely out of left field because I haven’t shared much about Jake recently, I have to tell her about how he and I have been speaking online quite a bit. I am, however, careful to leave out some of his more mysterious moments so she does not have a reason to give me further grief about him.

  She nods her approval. “See! He was probably just being a guy before. It sounds like he’s coming around now. The show sounds right up your alley, but it might be painful for him. Make sure to lay a big good-night kiss on him to make up for it.”

  I blush and move my hair to cover my red face, causing Genna to pester me until I spill the beans about my ‘oh, so romantic’ Target kiss.

  “You little shit! You’ve been holding out on me for over a month?”

  I knew she would be mad, but she sounds downright pissed—she’s so pissed, in fact, that she proceeds to ignore me for the rest of the day, including the drive home.

  One day is as long as she can hold out, and the following morning, she is squeally and excited and wants details. I indulge, and she makes it her mission to plan my attire for the night of the ballet.

  I sit on her bed that evening, watching her root around in her closet for the perfect outfit for me to don on my first official date with Jake. At least, I think it’s a date. Crap! Is this a date?

  “I think you should wear a dress,” Genna insists. Her voice is muffled, her head shoved into the depths of her closet as she searches for something specific in the back.

  “I hate dresses. They make me uncomfortable. And it’s still cold outside. I’ll freeze to death in a dress.”

  “Women all across the world wear dresses in cold weather, Em. You’re being ridiculous. Do you want Jake’s jaw on the ground or not?” She has found the item she was looking for and stands, holding it in her hands in front of me, waiting for a serious answer.

  “I can think of many places I would like Jake’s jaw, and on the ground is not one of them,” I deadpan.

  Her own mouth drops open in shock. “What? Wow! Who are you, and what have you done to my best friend? I see bad boy Jake is bringing out the bad girl in you!”

  I roll my eyes. “Jake doesn’t come across like much of a bad boy to me. I’m not sure where that reputation came from.”

  “No? From what I hear, he never made it through a high school class unless he was stoned.”

  “Well, I’ve never seen him stoned.”

  “Do you even know what stoned looks like?”

  I raise my brows, letting them silently ask, “What kind of idiot do you think I am?”

  She laughs. “Have you met any of his friends? Rumor is he didn’t hang with the best crowd.”

  “No.” I can’t even remember him mentioning a friend, let alone friends plural or meeting them. Realizing how little I know about some aspects of his life rattles me, and my discomfort makes me defensive. “What is this, Gennna? Are you happy for me and excited for my date and want to help, or do you just want to lecture me about him again?”

  “Geesh! Sorry. Yes, I am happy. Yes, I am excited. But I love you, and this is the first guy you have ever been genuinely interested in, and I’m trying to be a good best friend and look out for you.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I say. “Thanks for looking out.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt, and if his reputation does have merit, I don’t want him corrupting you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not corrupted yet. I’m still me, still Emma.”

  “Yeah, a new sassy, sexpot Emma who is going to look drop dead gorgeous in this dress.” She thrusts a black number at me. “Go try that on.”

  I groan but head to her in-suite bathroom anyway, knowing there is no way of avoiding it. I pull off my tee shirt and slip the soft material over my head, letting it pool around me before unzipping my jeans and sliding them down. I don’t even bother to glance in the mirror before coming out and displaying myself for Genna’s inspection.

  “Oh god, I’m good!” She literally pats herself on the back. “That looks fantastic on you. Now we need to figure out shoes.”

  “Can’t I wear tights and my new black riding boots?”

  “The ones you got for Christmas?” I nod and watch her consider this suggestion for a moment. “No, sorry, you can’t wear riding boots to the ballet. If it was a simple dinner and a movie date, yes, but the ballet calls for heels.” She says this as if it’s law, as if there is some guidebook that decides these things, and for a moment, I wonder if there is such a thing. I wonder if we sell a copy at High Street.

  She goes back to her closet and roots around some more before pulling out a pair of leopard pumps. I see them and start shaking my head.

  She chuckles. “You’re right. Too much. How about these?”

  She presents me with a shorter, much tamer pair of black heels that have a thin strap that loops around the ankle. I take them from her outstretched hand and slip them on. I return to the mirror, and I am pleased by how delicate they look around my ankles once buckled up.

  “I like these.” I walk back and forth around her room, testing my stability, and find they aren’t terribly painful. “Good work!” I congratulate her.

  “Thank you, thank you! We can discuss hair and makeup later. But I feel a lot better now that we have your wardrobe picked out.”

  I find it comical that she can go from warning me off of Jake to taking complete responsibility for how I will look on a night out with him so quickly.

  “I’m excited for you.” She is genuine.

  “I’m excited for me, too.”

  ***

  Jake and I agree to meet in the city since he has classes this afternoon and the theater is right next door to the Emerson campus. I was hoping to extend the evening by having dinner beforehand, but by the time I leave class, head home, change into what Genna has since dubbed my “bring him to his knees” dress, and take the train into Boston, it’s almost show time. I navigate the walk from the station by myself easily, remembering the streets from my Emerson campus tour, as well as a few previous visits to the theater district for other types of performances.

  I spot Jake in the distance. He is leaning against the brick wall, lit by the overarching marquee. He is wearing khakis and a light blue button up. He has opted for no tie but has stylishly matched his brown dress shoes to a belt of the same color. The silver buckle peeks out below his tucked-in shirt, forcing my eyes down in appraisal. I long to take a moment and savor the captivating sight before me, but he notices me approaching and looks up. He reciprocates my bodily appreciation and takes me in from head to toe. I will have to thank Genna and let her know that her hard work did not go unnoticed.

  After stopping in front of him, we take a moment to quietly bask in each other.

  Minutes pass before he breaks the spell and juts out an arm for my acceptance. “Good evening, my dear.”

  And, like the perfect gentleman, he leads me inside.

  An usher scans our tickets at the door, and another shows us to our seats. Jake excuses himself and goes to grab us drinks while I take in my surroundings. The theater is ornate with an ethereal mural of the most delicate pastel pinks and blues on the ceiling, set within a frame of gold leaf.

  Being dressed up, and in such a beautiful setting, makes this first date feel extra special. I’m hoping that I can take tonight as a sign that Jake is finally done playing hot and cold and will start to take me, take us, seriously. I nervously twist the jeweled bracelet that Genna lent me especially for tonight around my wrist, while considering what tonight might mean for us.

  When I look up, Jake is making his way back down the aisle, begging forgiveness as other patrons squirm and push up their knees to get out of his way.

  “Miss me?”

  “In the last five minutes? No, you’r
e going to need to be gone longer than that.” I bite my tongue. What the hell am I doing hinting at the idea of him disappearing again? I change the subject. “Are you nervous? Do you think you can make it through this performance without falling asleep?” I tease.

  He cocks his head. “Are you doubting my love of the art of dance?”

  I nod enthusiastically.

  “How about my love of women in tights?” He winks.

  “Oh, no, that I can believe. But now I’m wondering if I should spend the next two hours feeling self-conscious while watching all the lovely ladies on stage.”

  “Not at all. You can watch the men prancing around in their tights instead.” He smirks before adding, “However, I would like to point out that you, kitten, are also wearing tights.”

  I blush, but before I can respond, the theater lights dim, and he turns his attention to the stage before us.

  He sits beside me, wrapping his arm around my seat back while the curtain opens and the dancers come out on stage. They look gorgeous in their elaborate costumes, and their movements are fluid and full of emotion. The prima ballerina, playing Aurora tonight, exquisitely fills her movements with love and longing.

  Jake sweeps my hair from my shoulder, and his fingers delicately caress the bare skin of my neck. The feeling he ignites in me adds to the emotional performance, and I am overwhelmed. I want to shut my eyes and lean into his touch, but I force myself to continue watching.

  I haven’t been to the ballet before, but now that I am here, I am in love. The story they are able to tell using just their bodies is incredible. I am a book girl. I am used to using words to convey meaning, but the way these dancers are able to say the same things without uttering a single word opens my eyes to a new method of communication that I’ve never before understood. With Jake’s fingers still pressed against my skin, I want to know what his touch is communicating. I rest my hand on his knee and use my touch to try to thank him for bringing me here tonight.

  ***

  “What did you think?” I ask. The ballet is over, and we are amidst the massive crowd that is exiting the theater.

  He blushes and looks down. “To be honest, I wasn’t watching most of it.” He admits under his breath, whispering the words as if he doesn’t want anyone in the crowd to overhear, “I was mostly watching you.” He lifts his head and meets my eyes.

  I return his look with my own blush.

  “You couldn’t stop smiling,” he adds with a grin.

  “Yeah, well I thought it was pretty incredible.” I frown and continue walking. We distance ourselves from the horde of theater-goers.

  A few minutes and several blocks later, he asks, “Then tell me, kitten, why are you sad now?”

  I let myself think for a while before answering carefully, trying to find the right words.

  “Sometimes I experience something so amazing—a dance performance,”—I lift my hand and motion back to the theater, now small in the distance behind us—“a song, a book, a place, anything beautiful. But instead of allowing myself to appreciate its beauty, part of me can’t help but wish I had found it sooner. I wonder what other amazing things are out there that I haven’t experienced yet. I’m afraid I’m going to miss something.”

  I bite my lip sheepishly, afraid of how I am coming off. Jake is nodding, so I continue a bit stronger.

  “What if my most beautiful thing, my absolute favorite thing, is out there, and I never even find it?” I ask, not expecting an answer.

  He gives me one anyway. “What if your most beautiful, absolute favorite thing is right in front of you, and you miss it anyway?”

  His words scare me, and I am not sure what they mean.

  “Well, I’m going to try my damnedest to make sure I don’t. I don’t want to miss a thing, and I’m going to try my hardest not to. It’s my goal to spend my whole life seeing—exploring—everything, so I know that when I die, I haven’t missed out on anything good.”

  He wraps his arm around me, pulling me against him as we continue walking. “Well, what if I say I want to be the one to show you everything?”

  His lips graze my head, and his question surprises us both so much so that we continue our approach to South Station in reflective silence.

  This time when we reach the brick building, he doesn’t drop me off outside, but instead he comes in and walks me all the way to the track. He stands with me as I wait to board the train, and when it is time to part, he touches my face gently, holding my head on either side. He runs a finger delicately along my jaw, and his ocean-filled eyes crash waves against my soul. His touch is reverential.

  The conductor calls out final boarding, and without breaking my gaze, he wishes me a goodnight. He leans in and lays a gentle kiss on my lips that is sweet and worshipping. Not caring that we are in public, I wrap my arms around his neck and open my mouth so our tongues can meet.

  Once again, he tastes like winter, cold lips and warm spice, and exactly the way I remember it. Better, even.

  I revel in the taste, pulling him closer, not wanting to let go. I am desperate and scared, afraid that, despite such an amazing evening and heartbreakingly good kiss, when I leave him tonight, he will disappear on me again.

  The conductor calls out once more—for our benefit, I am sure—and I begrudgingly step back and release him. “Thanks for tonight, Jake. I had a nice time.”

  And I board the train. I walk down the aisle, watching him through the row of windows, seeing that he hasn’t yet moved. I choose a seat and, facing the glass, give him a small smile and wave. He lifts his hand and returns the gesture, and while his smile matches my own, his eyes show a contradictory weight that I refuse to notice.

  When he is out of view, I breathe out hard and sink into the plastic seat. My heart refuses to slow its rapid beat, and when my phone buzzes in my pocket, I barely notice it over the pumping blood in my ears.

  I reach into the pocket of my black woolen pea coat, pull out my phone, and open up the text. It’s from Genna. The message is nothing more than a slew of question marks and exclamations points. She must be dying to find out how my evening went. In fact, I’m surprised she held off on messaging me this long.

  Instead of responding back via text, I press send and call her. She answers on the first ring, and I can picture her pacing in her room, impatient for an update.

  “Details, now!” she barks, without even first offering a hello. “Did he love the dress? The silhouette of that A-line on you was sure to be a hit!”

  I pause, unable to think clearly. Her desperation for details comes in waves, and unable to hold back any longer, I settle on, “Wow.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Words continue to escape me.

  MARCH

  Exactly as I feared, “WOW” shifts back to “WTF” all too quickly. But, this time, he hasn’t disappeared completely. The ballet was incredible. The goodnight kiss after was knock my socks off good, and when I lie in bed at night in the dark, I swear I can still feel his mouth on mine. I can taste him, and it does crazy things to my insides that I still haven’t fully wrapped my mind or heart around.

  In the weeks that have passed since that night, Jake and I have continued messaging. We have even spent a handful of shifts together at the bookstore, and while flirting between us has increased since the ballet, I still can’t shake the suspicion that he is holding back. Maybe it’s me and this is the way guys are, but I still can’t get him to broach the subject of an “us”. I have never had a boyfriend before and never dated an older guy—never dated, period—and my lack of experience has me all mixed up about what a normal relationship is.

  Honestly, at the end of the day, are we even dating? And is it crazy that I can’t even answer such a simple question?

  At this point, Jake and I are two people who talk and flirt and kiss. Mmmm, the kissing part is good, and I don’t want that to stop. But is it worth the frustration? I am trying so hard to play it cool and act strong and confident, but
some days I want to yell at him and beg him to tell me what he’s thinking and feeling. Do you even like me, Jake? Because I like you so very, very much!

  The back and forth still hasn’t stopped either. Some days he’s playful. Some days he’s serious. Then some days he comes across as too cool for school—“school” being me—and those days are the worst.

  Last Friday, we spent a whole afternoon shift together. I was at the front counter manning the cash register while he stocked the shelves with the new spring shipment that was delivered that morning. He came in after me, said hello, and then didn’t utter another word to me all afternoon. I watched him for hours as he carried heavy boxes back and forth from the storage room to the various shelving sections up front. I’m not going to lie; watching him act all manly carrying heavy things was sexy and made me that much more desperate to talk to him.

  But I didn’t want to come across as needy, so I let him do his thing, thinking—hoping—that eventually he would tire of work and want to take a break and spend some time with me. But why would he want to spend time with someone he has shared both deep conversation and saliva with? What a silly concept! He was still there after I closed up the shop, and when we found ourselves in the back room together, he had no choice but to acknowledge me.

  “Any plans for the weekend?” I asked nonchalantly, to see if I could get him talking.

  He moved another box and paused to wipe his brow before saying, “Not really. The usual.”

  “What’s the usual?”

  His response this time was a shrug before moving another box.

  “Jake, stop. Look at me.”

  While still bent over, he turned his head in my direction. At last, a little eye contact!

  ”Hi! Remember me?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm that dripped from my voice.

  He laughed abruptly, “Ha! Like I could forget you,” then went back to stacking boxes, boxes that I was pretty sure didn’t even need to be stacked.

  And that is exactly the sort of mind-screw that has me shaking my head.

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” I added with less steam.