Page 69 of The Jellybean Dilemma

Ten minutes before the show was over, I was ready to give up. To ask Greg to take me home where I could throw away the stupid painting and never see it again.

Then he’d ambled in. My heart leapt into my throat as warmth spread through me. Of course, Greg was here. Of course, he’d come in early, just to see my painting. He was my constant, my friend. And it took all my willpower not to barrel over to him for a huge hug.

That was the day my feelings shifted. As I watched him meander his way through the exhibits toward me, I realized the warmth spreading through me was more than friendship, more than excitement at seeing a familiar face. My breath caught as I looked at him, truly seeing how handsome he actually was.

I thought back to all the guys I’d dated, and they all fell short when I compared them to Greg. His gorgeous eyes, filled out body, and warm smile didn’t hurt either. When he reached my painting, I was speechless for the first time.

“Hey, Jellybean,” he said.

I gave an awkward wave as my heart pounded in my chest. A crinkle had appeared in his brow as he studied the limo, and he’d stared at me for several seconds before looking back at the painting. A flash of longing zipped through me, and I’d finally found my voice.

“What do you think?”

One corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Thank you, Greg,” I said softly. He’d turned to me with a frown, so I added, “You’ve always been there for me, and I really appreciate it. Especially today.”

He gave me a sharp nod. “Of course.” And he’d stepped away as the distance between us grew.

The walls he put up only made me want him more. I’d given him the painting when he dropped me off that night, but I’d never seen it again and he’d never brought it up.

To find it here, now, had me reeling.

“Greg?” I called. My voice echoed back to me off the cavernous ceiling. Disappointment rolled over me when I didn’t get an answer.

Maybe he was outside.

I wandered through the dining room to peer out at the front porch, but I couldn’t see much besides snow. I glanced at the painting again. He’d kept it. I’d pursued him that entire summer with no hint of reciprocation, but he’d kept my painting. Hope sprouted within me.

The smooth hardwood floor was cool under my bare feet as I padded into the kitchen. A small corridor branched off behind the pantry, and I saw a back door, so I investigated. It led to another porch, and I could barely make out Greg near a lean to several yards away. He was filling the wood burning stove.

My stomach rumbled and I decided to find something to eat, but when I turned, I noticed a key rack on the wall. Dangling from one key was a familiar blue lanyard.

The one I’d given him for Christmas when Papa had died.

The back door opened up, and Greg appeared in a snowy flash. He quickly shut the door. Stomping his feet to rid them of snow, he grinned at me before he began stripping off his many layers.

I picked up the lanyard and waited. When he was down to his jeans and long-sleeved shirt, I held it out to him. “You saved this. And my painting.” It wasn’t really a question, but I hoped that just maybe he’d explain. I searched him, his face so familiar I’d memorized it. Would I see anything different this time?

One corner of his mouth tipped up as he took the lanyard from me. “No one had ever made me anything before.”

I followed him into the living room where he sank onto the couch and patted the cushion beside him. I plopped down, waiting.

He ran his fingers over the woven plastic. “Do you know what my favorite candy is?”

I shook my head, wondering what that had to do with anything.

“It’s jellybeans,” he said quietly. “My favorite flavor of gum?”

“Peppermint.” My forehead crinkled as I stared at him.

“Yeah, but do you know why?” He waited a beat for me to answer, and again I shook my head. “The summer after you graduated that’s all you chewed. I used to like spearmint. But then you started asking me for gum before you got out of the car, and if I didn’t have your flavor, you’d crinkle up your nose.” His gaze drifted over my face. “I switched to peppermint.”

“Your lock code is my birthday.” I stared at him, needing him to put the pieces together for me. The tentative hope growing within me had already been scorched to ash once. This had to come from Greg.

“And my favorite holiday is Christmas because I get to give my favorite person her favorite present…” He paused so I could finish the sentence.

“Jellybeans.” I felt like this was all a fantastical dream, that maybe I was still in my half-drugged state, and I’d never actually woken up. I desperately needed him to connect the dots. “Greg, what are you trying to say?”

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