Page 111 of When Fences Fall
Love language.Love.Is that what this is? Love? I just fix things for her to make her life more comfortable and want to protect her from the whole world.
“I—” I swallow the driest lump in my throat. “I don’t know.”
She’s waiting without pushing me further, giving me a chance to explain something I don’t even have a name for.
I stare at her. She waits. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“That’s okay,” she starts when the waiting hits a dead end. We both know I won’t move anywhere from this spot. “Can you fix that pipe? We gotta reopen the diner.”
“Sure.” And I go back to what I’m really good at—fixing things without talking.
40
Jericho
I barely sleep that night. Her disappointed face is imprinted on my mind until exhaustion takes over and I finally drift off to sleep. I wake up with a start at three a.m., my heart hammering in my chest.
Love language.
The phrase keeps echoing in my head. Something about it makes me feel cornered, like I’ve been caught in a lie I didn’t know I was telling. And maybe I have been. Maybe I’ve been pretending I don’t know what this is between us when I do.
I get up, pull some gray sweatpants on, and pace the living room like a caged animal. The house is too quiet. Too empty. I stare out at the darkness beyond the porch light, at the space between my place and hers.
What am I doing? What am I waiting for? For another guy to ask her out and her to finally agree because I waited too long?
Without thinking it through, I grab my jacket and walkoutside. The night air hits me like a slap, cold enough to make my lungs burn. The snow crunches under my boots as I cross the yard, the only sound besides the hammering in my chest.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m at her door, knocking softly, then louder when there’s no answer. I don’t even know what time it is anymore. The lights flick on inside, and I hear shuffling footsteps.
The door opens, and there she is—sleepy eyed, wrapped in a giant, white cardigan, hair a wild mess. She blinks at me, confused.
“Jericho?” She pokes her head outside for a second and looks around. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes. That’s my love language.”
She stares at me, blinking slowly, her hand still on the doorknob. “What?”
“Yes. When you asked me if I was explaining my love language.” My voice comes out rougher than I intended. Faster too. “The answer is yes.”
Her eyes widen. She’s fully awake now.
“Yes,” I repeat. “If you are still interested. In my love language.”
“You came to my house at—” she glances back at a clock I can’t see “—three in the morning to tell me that?”
I shift my weight, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this is. “I couldn’t sleep.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “So you decided I shouldn’t either?”
“I didn’t think it through,” I reply, suddenly feeling a little, dare I say, shy.
“That much is obvious.” But there’s no bite to her words. She steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in before you freeze.”
I hesitate, then step inside. Her house is warm, dimly lit by a single lamp. It smells like her—vanilla and something else I can’t name but would recognize anywhere.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not moving past the entry. “I shouldn’t have woken you.”
“Probably not.” She closes the door behind me and leans against it. “But you’re here now. So talk.”
