Chapter 16

Jakob

Jo doesn't ask what the call was about.

I sense something off in her energy as soon as I hang up.

"Are you sure you don't want to "fess up? I hate that people are putting pressure on your housemates."

"Suz can hold her own. And besides that, she knows nothing. They won't get very far with her."

"What about your other housemate?"

"Stasi? Suz says she's on vacation and hasn't talked to her in a while."

Jo nods, thinking.

"Do you want me to go turn myself in?" I ask this with a laugh even though it hurts to sense her pushing me away.

"I'll respect whatever it is that you want to do, Jakob. My main worry is that this whole thing is weighing you down."

With a groan, I stand and brush off my jeans. "We don't know that's what the visit Suz had was even about," I say.

Jo heaves a sigh and shakes her head. "You're right. I'm sorry to be pushy."

The slight sag of her shoulders would be barely noticeable to anyone else, but she seems to me to be deeply bothered by this conversation.

The embrace I offer is met with a perfunctory kiss and a tight smile. Her armor is up, and I do not like it.

"Hey," I say, cupping her face and gently forcing her to look me in the eye. "I didn't say I don't like it when you're pushy. We might disagree, but I like seeing the outspoken side of you. It's sexy."

Her face softens. "I want you to receive all the good things in life. To live out in the open. Get all that you're entitled to and more."

What I'm entitled to. I've never felt entitled to anything. It's simply not in my DNA.

"I want nothing more than a simple life. With you. I can make my art here as well as anywhere else."

She chews on her lip and thinks this over. "I worry you don't have a studio all to yourself. If you let me know what you need, I could try to find you a place; I don't know the first thing about fine art."

"Fine art," I repeat with a shake of my head. I kiss her softly. "You are a treasure, Jo."

When I let go, her gaze shifts to the array of garden beds, drooping with the last of the season's offerings.

"Someone ought to pick all of that," she remarks, now eager to change the subject.

"Let's do it." I fold the picnic blanket into a makeshift sack and follow Josephine into the garden.

Our comfortable silence is peppered with small talk as we pick the winter squash, chard, turnips, and more until we're covered in darkness. I keep the focus on her because I do not want to talk about the man in the kilt and what his visit means. So I ask Josephine about her work, her friends, and her life in Mirror Lake.

"It's not all that exciting. Not as exciting as life in the city as an artist," she says.

"You're too humble," I say, knowing I'm correct.

She lets out a surprised squeal when I place myself between her and the overgrown rhubarb and crash my mouth into hers. I cage my free arm around her, splaying my fingers over her back possessively. She needs to understand just how exciting and desirable she is. I want her to know with this kiss that she's perfect. And that she's mine. I can't stand another minute to go by without her knowing how I feel.

She shivers in my arms.

"Gods, you're so sweet, I never want to stop kissing you."

She laughs shyly. "Jakob, I don't know how to respond to you sometimes."

"You don't have to respond in any other way than to honor our marriage pact," I say. I keep the tone teasing. But am I teasing?

Embarrassment makes her squeeze her eyes tightly. "We were so silly and dramatic back then, weren't we?"

She moans softly through more of my relentless kisses, a sound so intoxicating I might injure the squash if I'm not careful.

The blanket full of veggies between us is quickly becoming annoying. Carefully, I set it down on the ground so I can clasp her rosy face with both hands.

"It's not silly. It was innocent and pure and sweet. One of my favorite memories of childhood."

"Oh, Jakob…"

"And if I'm completely honest, that was the memory that got me through. Knowing that someone out there cared about me. Even if you didn't get my letters, for whatever reason. I knew you were out there and you thought I was special enough for you."

No amount of kisses seems to make her look of concern disappear every time we talk about us.

"What is it, Josephine? What's bothering you?"

She casts her eyes to the ground and says, "Suzanna might have something to say about you proposing we honor our marriage pact."

That's out of nowhere.

I step back but not enough to let go of her. "Where did that come from?"

She lifts one shoulder and looks away uncomfortably.

"Josephine. Don't do this. Say it."

Her chin trembles. "Call me an insecure idiot, but your ‘good girl' really, really wants you to come home."

The air quotes remind me of what I said.

And I'm the idiot.

I didn't pick up on the fact that she wondered who Suzanna was to me, and I let her worry.

"Suzanna and I are not romantically involved in any way, shape, or form," I say firmly.

"Okay," she replies, not sure if she believes me. "Good."

"And if I had an ounce of feelings for her, Suzanna's girlfriend would have something to say about that."

Her mouth gapes. "Oh."

"I wasn't thinking when I called her that. She's just a dear friend. Does that make you feel better?"

She arches an eyebrow. "It makes me feel stupid for being jealous."

"I hate that you feel stupid. I hate even more that you spent one minute worrying about what another woman means to me. So listen to me now. There's nobody else."

"Okay."

"And there's more, Josephine."

Again she shivers, then places one hand over mine that's cupping her jaw. She pulls it away and kisses the center of my palm.

"Later," she says. "We've got some work to do now that we've picked all these vegetables."

There's my practical girl.

My practical, pragmatic girl that I've always loved, and now that I've found her, will always love.