Chapter 13 - JayceNamidJayce

Chapter 13

Jayce

I'm nervous, standing in front of Namid's door. I've never done this before. Sure, I've trolled tourists for hookups, but even that has only ever been once a year at the most. I'm dressed in the same thing I wore to Jordyn's funeral - my black dress pants and a green and black flannel shirt. It's not fancy, but it's the nicest thing I own. I run a mechanic's shop in a small Alaskan town; it's not like I need a wardrobe full of expensive couture pieces. I've never been on a date, not really, and I'm not sure what I'm wearing is okay. I hope Namid will like what I've pulled together for us this evening. I think he will, but what happens if he doesn't? What if the first real date I ever have ends up being a fiery crater of awfulness?

He opens the door the moment I knock. Did he move to stand at the door when he heard me pull into the gravel driveway? Was he standing there waiting for me? Tonight's storm is blowing in a cold front. The strong winds will bring snow within the hour, and it's possible he didn't even hear me pull up. Could he feel me arrive when I got close to his cabin? Can he tell how nervous I am? Is he nervous too?

My breath rushes out in a startled exhale as I take him in. He's beautiful. He's always been beautiful, but I've never seen him like this before. He's wearing all black - a soft, fluffy sweater and skintight black jeans, the ends of which are tucked into tall, black leather boots that hug his lower calves. There is some kind of product in his hair, not much, but enough that the stray long strands that normally threaten to cover his eyes are held in place just over his forehead.

"Jesus, Namid."

He grins as he grabs his jacket and shrugs it on over the sweater.

"Acceptable then?"

"We could stay here, and I can see if I can make you come without even undressing you instead."

We've never even suggestively joked with one another before, but if I've startled him with my directness, he doesn't show it. If anything, he looks like he's thinking about taking me up on the offer, and it makes me wonder just what goes on in his head when he doesn't have to hold his comments back for fear of misunderstanding or disapproval.

He wiggles an eyebrow as he finishes pulling on his jacket.

"Maybe later, and only if I can return the favor, but right now, I was promised a date. "

He interlaces his fingers through mine as he steps close and pulls the door shut behind him, and the shiver that runs through me has nothing to do with the crisp fall evening and everything to do with the warmth and strength of his touch.

When I walk with him to the passenger side of the truck and open the door for him, he pauses for a moment, indigo eyes smiling up at me.

"Thank you."

There is something almost unsettling about the slight tremor in his voice. I don't think anyone's ever done anything as simple as opening a door for him before, and he doesn't seem to know how to process it. It breaks my heart a little, and I want to open every door for him for the rest of my life.

He seems a bit confused when I follow him into the door's opening as he hops into the cab. When I parked, I'd turned the dashboard defrost on high and piled a small throw blanket on the vents so that it would be heated by the time we got into the truck. I reach in, leaning over him slightly, to grab it and lay it across his lap.

His hand catches my wrist as I step back to shut the door.

"Jayce." My name falls from his lips in an almost pained whisper.

I raise our hands and bush my lips across the back of his knuckles before lowering them back to his lap and slipping my hand away .

"Get used to it." I offer a grin as I step back and make my way to the driver's side.

I take a few deep breaths of air so cold it burns my lungs to steady myself on the short walk around the truck. He'd looked like he was going to cry for a second there over something as simple as a the offer of a warm blanket.

The moment I have my seat belt fastened, his hand comes to rest on my thigh and I curl my fingers around his. While the drive into town is quiet, it feels right. Neither of us feels the need to fill the time with unnecessary small talk. We're already comfortable enough with each other that we can sit and process our emotions while we watch the flurries starting to swirl in the beams of pale yellow that the headlights carve out through the darkness.

When I park in front of my shop and finally turn my head to look at Namid, he's grinning over at me with one aggressively raised, questioning black eyebrow.

"Shall we?" I ask as formally as possible.

"I've definitely got to hand it to you. No one is going to give it a second thought that your truck is parked in front of your own shop."

"Told you that you can trust me."

His smile softens slightly. "I know I can. Now come on, I'm excited to change some spark plugs."

He laughs as we run to the door through what can now be called a small blizzard, and the sound of it seems to ride through the air on the twirling wind, wrapping me in a kind of joy that I thought had abandoned me forever. It's pleasure and breathless excitement and hope. He's carefree and alive…alive in a way I'd forgotten could exist.

I've drawn the blinds on all the windows between the waiting area and the shop's work bay. It's something I do on occasion when I'm working late and I want privacy from the rest of the world. If anyone happens to be out in the storm and passes by, they won't think anything of it. I lead Namid straight to the bay door; I don't want both of our coats hanging in the waiting room tonight, and I doubt he does either. When I hold the door open and he steps through in front of me, I follow close behind, only to nearly crash into his back. He's stopped just inside the door.

I settle my hand lightly on his hip and step us forward so that the door can close behind us. He hasn't moved, and I'm starting to panic. Is it too much? Is it stupid? As I look over his shoulder into the bay, everything is, of course, right where I left it. We're the only two with keys, after all. I've spread several thick blankets on the floor and sprinkled LED candles around them. In the center is a large charcuterie board loaded with grapes and figs and meats and cheeses - including the one he'd called his favorite as he put it into my basket on the day he'd helped me shop. A bottle of champagne sits chilling with two glasses just off to the side. Is it too high school? Too cliché? This may possibly be the worst decision I've ever made.

"Is it okay?"

"Is it okay?" His voice breaks .

Before I even realize what's happening, he spins in my arms, and his hands are on my jaw, his forehead pressed to mine. His cheeks are wet, but his eyes are sparkling and smiling only inches from mine.

"Is it okay…" He laughs.

His thumbs drag across my cheekbones on the smooth skin just at the top of my beard, and his lips pepper across mine over and over as he whispers.

"It's the most…amazing thing…I've ever seen. It's perfect."

My hands grip his ribs, and I grin so wide that I'm afraid my cheeks might split open.

"Not quite yet, it's not. There's one more thing."

Even though I don't ever want his lips or eyes or hands or body further away from me than they are in this moment, I haven't shown him the best part. The romantic picnic is something anyone taking him on a date might offer; the rest of my surprise can only come from me.

Still clinging together, I walk us back a few steps and then pull away, throwing my arms to the side and extending aggressive jazz hands in the direction of the floor.

"Ta-da!"

He laughs. He laughs so loud and brilliantly that it echoes around the bay as he throws his arms around me and squeezes me within an inch of my life before stepping away and lowering himself onto one of the two under-car creeper rollers I have sitting side by side, straddling it and sinking down onto his ass the same way he'd climbed onto my lap this morning .

"I told you that one day you'd let me play with it!"

I can't feel him the way he can feel me. I don't need to. I've never seen anyone look so innocent and carefree and ecstatic in my life. It's contagious. Everything about him is beautiful and light and perfect, and all I want to do is make him smile and laugh…and kick his ass in a race. I drop myself down onto the vacant roller at his side and offer the most serious and threatening look I can manage while my heart is joyfully exploding.

"You ready to race?"

"Ohhhh, it's on. Five. Four." We both shift to sit cross-legged with our hands on the floor. "Three. One!"

Wait.

One?! He's laughing as he takes off, his long fingers pressing against the cold concrete floor as he zips away from me with his stolen head start.