I nod. “I liked our bubble too.”
She takes a step back, pulling away and putting her hands back in her pockets. “You moved here in the summer, and this is a college town.” She looks down, her foot tracing small circles in the gravel. “The students come back soon. Things will really pick up. It’ll get busy.”
I grin at the thought of Midnight being described as “busy.” “I think I can handle it.”
She shakes her head, a small laugh coming from her lips. “What I mean is, the bubble will be impossible.” She looks up. “People are going to find out.”
I peer at her, those dark eyes and their deep secrets. “Is that a problem for you?”
She lets out a slow breath, her foot stills and she steels herself. I see the tension in her body and I know she’s preparing to launch into something.
She closes her eyes, opens them, looking directly at me. “David, I’m planning on living here for a long time, maybe forever. And small towns are great, but they have their challenges. One of those challenges being, everyone knows your business.” She licks her lips, pressing them together, before continuing. “If we continue…dating during the academic year, everyone will know.” She fixes me with a pointed stare. “I don’t just mean on campus. I mean everyone. The bookstore owner. The ice cream shopkeeper. Your mailman. Every. One.”
I nod. “Well, I do like my privacy, but I am used to being a public figure.” I shrug. “It’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world.”
“See, but that’s the thing,” she almost laughs before shaking her head. “I’m not a public figure. I’m not used to this.”
A sinking feeling enters my stomach. Something dark and heavy and low.
“What are you saying, Jane?”
“We’ve had a really great summer,” she smiles at me, and it might be the light but I think I see tears shimmering in her eyes. “Wonderful, actually. But I’m not sure this is something that can go beyond this.”
“What?” I reach for her but she pulls her hands away. “Why?”
“Because when it ends, I’ll still be here, and everyone will still talk, and I will forever be associated with this,” she gestures at the empty space between us.
“Why would it end?” I ask, blurting the words out before I can stop them.
“Why wouldn’t it?”
I open my mouth but no sound comes out, “Well, I don’t know, but…”
“Exactly. You don’t know. Neither of us does.” She pauses and then looks at me. “My whole life is here. Yours isn’t. You could pack up tomorrow and move on and find a new place. This is it for me. I’m staying. And if we date for a while more, and then things end, then I’m here, with the memories of you, and the conversations about you, and every time someone brings up the fact that you used to live here, I’ll have to hear that.”
“So, you want to end it?”
“No,” she looks at me, face conflicted. “No, I don’t, but …break ups are hard enough, David. I can’t imagine a break up where everyone knows my business. Where I’ll probably have to pass a goddamned plaque with a sign that says ‘David Jacobs ate dinner here once.’”
“I doubt Dory would put that up,” I mutter.
She smiles, “Probably not.”
“So what do you want to do, Jane?”
She licks her lips again, pressing them tightly together, that firm, closed mouth so different from the soft, open lips I’ve grown accustomed to.
“Let’s take some time. You said you’re going to L.A.? Why don’t we just think a bit about what we want. And when you’re back…we can talk.”
I nod, slowly. The feeling stiff and unnatural in my neck. She’s standing so close, her body so warm I can feel her next to me. I want to reach for her, to smother her mouth and these ridiculous words and silence her worries and drag her back to bed, but I don’t. The rational part of me, my sensible, experienced brain wonders if she is correct, if our relationship would cause damage and pain to her.
But another part, deep and solid and speaking to me from my very core, says she’s wrong. We both are. The gossip, the questions, the nosy neighbors. None of it matters. None of it is as important as what we have, what we are. And that’s all that matters.
But I don’t listen to that part. I stuff it down, ignoring it, even as it feels wrong and false and dangerous, as if I am risking more than I know, about to lose more than I realize.
“Ok.” I nod again, this time my lips are pressed together. And we stand here, two people who have spent the last two months closer than two people can be, several feet apart, hands in our pockets, mouths closed, as if we have to hold ourselves back from one another. “If you think that’s a good idea.”
“Well, don’t you?”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. On paper, sure. Yeah, why not? Take time. Be sensible. But deep down, that rock solid place of understanding? No fucking way.
I shrug.
“I mean, you came here a few months ago. You dropped everything, and moved out to this random little place. Is this your life now? Are you just…on vacation? Do you even know?” She asks and I can’t answer. I thought I was sure. Every time Angelo calls and asks me when I’m moving back, I know, in my bones, that I’m not.
But I haven’t sold the California house.
And I haven’t bought any furniture for this one.
I drop my gaze and look down at my feet. Maybe my brilliant professor is picking up on something that I’m not able to see.
Not willing to see.
“I fly out tonight,” I look up. “I’m glad I got to see you before I left.”
She smiles. “I’ll collect your mail and drop it off on your porch.”
I nod. “I’ll be back-”
She holds up a hand. “Let’s just
