9. Josie

NINE

Josie

As I sat on the edge of my bed, fussing with the hem of my skirt, Gatsby padded over to me, purring softly.

“You like the outfit?” I reached down, running my fingers through his soft fur, and he nuzzled into my ankle. “Don’t worry, it’s not even a real date, Gatsby.”

Unless we happen to find ourselves in a compromising position, bodies crashing into each other as he goes deeper with every thrust…

I smacked my own forehead to banish the vision.

“We’re just two friends hanging out. Nothing to get worked up about.”

I was trying to convince myself more than the cat, but the bundle of nerves in my stomach disagreed. Matilda and Heathcliff screeched in a game of tag, knocking over my mug of chamomile tea and taking down a lamp by the cable. Poor things weren’t yet adapted to apartment life, but could I blame them? They’d been uprooted from the shop—the place they’d called home—and had to adapt from ruling the dominion to fitting into my one-bedroom apartment.

I sighed, standing up to look at my reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of my living room. There I was, dressed up in a stylish skirt and a casual top, trying to look laid-back, put together, and sexy as sin, but awash in a flood of chaotic emotions at the same time. The physical appearance completely incongruous to how I felt. I had to appear chill and confident, even though my insides screamed I was anything but.

I met my own eyes in the mirror, a mix of apprehension and determination staring back.

“Come on, Josie,” I whispered to my reflection as I started to put on my mascara, “You can spend an evening with Caleb and not let the old feelings take over.” But as my image nodded back at me, dread mingled with nervous energy at the idea of seeing him again. How was I supposed to keep my feelings in check around Caleb when even the mere thought of him made me want to tear his clothes off?

My phone rang, resulting in a line of mascara down my cheek. “Sugar kitties! No offense, Gatsby.” He cocked his head as I washed my cheek and reached for the phone at the same time.

A video call from Nana Geraldine. I accepted it and was greeted by her lively voice. “Josie, darling!” At ninety-nine, Nana was more vivacious than most people in their sixties, and was one of the few family members I felt at ease with.

She had always been my biggest fan, whether it was a hard-earned B in gym class or the “Most Likely to Write a Book” prize in high school.

“Well, if it isn’t Nana Geraldine,” I greeted her, a smile forming at the sight of her frizzy white hair that glowed in front of the vibrant hues of art hanging behind her in the log house she called home .

“Oh, you won’t believe the plans for the party!” She clapped her hands together, a twinkle in her eye. “Do you remember the photos from my fiftieth?” Her wide grin suggested a fond, mischievous memory. My mind immediately went to an old photo album. The fiftieth was infamous in our family lore; there was laughter, dancing, too much wine, and rumors of skinny-dipping in the moonlight.

I laughed nervously. “Nana, you’re not planning anything… erm… illicit , are you?”

She winked conspiratorially at me. “Now wouldn’t that be something? Might shake up the old codgers a bit!” We both laughed, the warmth and familiarity of our conversation easing the lingering nerves from my upcoming not-date.

Her log house, nestled in the small town of Snoqualmie, was a living, breathing art piece itself. The walls were adorned with her vibrant oil paintings—landscapes of the lush valley, abstract interpretations of her dreams, and the occasional bold self-portrait. Her creativity breathed life into the wooden bones of the house, and the picture windows captured the majesty of the mountains, framing them like nature’s own artwork.

“You know, I want the house to feel just like it did way back then. Full of laughter and love,” she continued, a wistful note creeping into her voice. “You remember the stories I told you, right? There was so much mischief in those days.”

“Yeah, Nana, I remember.” I chuckled, fondly recalling the tales of the wild escapades she used to tell me.

As the laughter subsided, she tilted her head and looked at me keenly. “So, are you coming to the grand event alone, sweetheart?”

Something in her voice… The way she asked, it was almost as if she already knew about my conundrum .

“As a matter of fact, I have a date,” I replied, as nonchalantly as possible.

Nana Geraldine’s eyes sparkled as she squealed, “I knew it! Is that why you’re putting on all that face paint? I felt it, felt it in my bones, I did. That’s why I called—there was something going on with you. Oh, do tell me more, dear.”

“Nana, it’s… it’s complicated,” I admitted, my nerves spiking again at the thought of my upcoming rendezvous.

With her knowing grin and conspiratorial chuckle, she said, “Oh, sweetheart, it’s always complicated. Love is a tricky thing.” Her voice grew tender, her eyes soft. “Don’t force it. Don’t rush it. Let it find you when it’s meant to.”

Her words had a calming effect, reminding me to stay grounded. After all, this non-date wasn’t a declaration of love. It was just a friendly get-together to discuss our shared objective of surviving a party with my family. That was it.

“Sure, Nana. Thank you.”

“Must go, darling. The local coyote is back, and I’m determined that this time I’ll capture him with my paintbrush. Got to go.”

“Love you, Nana,” I said, but the screen had already gone black.

As I finished cleaning the errant mascara, Nana Geraldine’s words were still ringing in my ears. “Let it find you…” If only it were that easy, Nana. If only…

“All right, Josie, you got this,” I whispered to myself, checking my reflection one last time. “It’s just like Bilbo leaving the Shire. Big, scary world out there, but you’re ready.”

I took a deep breath and turned to find the three cats lined up to say their farewells.

“Ciao, hobbit kitties. Don’t wait up. Actually, do. That will give me a reason to be back early.” I blew them a kiss and closed the door. Immediately, I heard something crash inside the apartment, and it seemed like a great reason to cancel everything with Caleb…

But I didn’t.

I stepped outside, the Seattle summer air wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. As I walked, I tried to lose myself in the sights and sounds of the city. The distant rumble of cars, the clamor of people, the enticing scent of coffee, and eventually the sight of the glistening waterfront. But my mind kept circling back to Caleb, a moth to a flame.

How much has he changed in these past seven years? What exactly has brought him back here and back into my life?

Maybe Caleb had changed. And maybe he’d changed for the better. I certainly had.

“Nope. Nope, not going there,” I muttered, shaking my head and resolutely turning around. I started to walk back home, telling myself that I could call it off, that I could avoid this emotional disaster waiting to happen.

But as I reached the next intersection, my feet just stopped. I sighed, shaking my head at my own ridiculousness.

“Come on. Even Harry Potter could make himself go into the Forbidden Forest.”

I spun on my heel and started back toward the waterfront, a voice in my head—perhaps my mother’s—telling me I was crazy. As the distance to the meeting point shrank, my doubts surged again. Could I do this? Could I face Caleb, not as the love of my life, but as a friend?

Not possible , the voice rang through me. You’ve always known he’s the only man for you.

“Get out of here,” I said to the voice, and a person walking past gave me a funny look. “Sorry, not you.”

As I turned the corner, the setting sun cast long shadows, and the waterfront opened up before me. There he was, leaning against the railing, gazing out at the water. Caleb. His sandy hair was tousled, catching the dying sunlight, glowing like a halo.

An angel.

I caught my breath as I took him in. He was the same Caleb I knew, yet everything seemed to be magnified.

The casual way he watched the water, the quiet confidence in his stance, the way his shirt hugged every muscle—everything about him was disarmingly charming and overwhelmingly irresistible.

The sensation was back, a tingling that set me on fire and put everything into hyper-focus. Wetness grew between my legs, though I tried to tell myself it’s only because of the memories and not because of the man in front of me now. Except that my body knew better. I was filled with an undeniable longing, a longing I was fighting to keep under control. A fight I feared I was going to lose.

Remember—friends don’t rip each other’s clothes off. And we were just friends.

I wasn’t prepared to face him yet, to deal with the rush of desire that surged at the sight of him. Ducking behind a nearby streetlamp, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I needed to find the strength within myself to face him as a friend, nothing more.

It was as if I’d walked into a scene from Pride and Prejudice and he was my Mr. Darcy.

“No, bad analogy, bad analogy,” I chastised myself. I took a few more deep breaths, clutching the edge of the lamppost for support. My palms were sweaty. This was not a classic love story. This was just a platonic meeting. Right?

Even as I bolstered myself, every nerve ending, every fiber of my being, screamed otherwise. We were always meant to be something more, much more than just friends.

It was a deafening thought, and ignoring it was going to kill me. But I had to try.

With one last steadying breath, I peeked around the streetlamp. Caleb was still there, oblivious to my inner turmoil. But the sight of him made my resolution waver again.

“Get it together, Josie.” I stepped out from behind my hiding place, frozen in indecision between stepping toward him and darting back toward the safety of my apartment.

I steeled my nerves, my great-grandmother’s advice echoing in my mind. Don’t force it, don’t rush it. Let it find you when it’s meant to.

But how could I tell when it was meant to find me? What if I was just holding on to a memory, a desperate wish never meant to be fulfilled?