Page 67 of Until Next Time
“Yeah, that makes perfect sense. Do you know what kind of things you want to write? I still have the contact for that magazine interview I did awhile back. I could reach out and see if they have any opportunities?” He offers, and I love that he’s trying to figure things out for me. Like he genuinely wants to ease my burden.
“I actually have been thinking about writing a novel. I’ve loved romance for as long as I can remember, and I want to try my hand at it. I think I could do it. I don’t know how good it would be, but I know the first step is just starting.” I admit this out loud for the first time ever. I’ve always loved the idea of writing a novel, but I’ve also felt so intimidated by the idea my whole life. Like, I have never felt that I had what it takes, but lately, something has turned inside of me and I’m feelingwhy not me?
“Birdie, that’s incredible. You need to do it. If you’ve got the itch to take on a dream like that, don’t ignore it, don’t try to make excuses to avoid it. It’s there for a reason, and you’d be fucking incredible.” Dawsen says, beaming, which is making my knees feel weak and tingly.
“Yeah?” I say, shyly, feeling bashful suddenly.
“Hell yeah. In fact, you need to. I’ll set you up with an office. I’ve even got a spare room in my loft. It just sits there collecting dust. We can order you a desk, a nice chair, whatever else you need to feel inspired, and I’ll get you a key so you can come and go whenever you please.”
“Seriously? That’s way too much, I couldn’t impose on your space like that.”
“Bird, You imposing on my space is like a dream come true for me. I insist.”
I’m bright red, surely. And I’m buzzing on caffeine and the feeling of Dawsen’s nearness, and his incredibly sexy belief in my dreams. The rest of the breakfast flies by. We talk about my new office space, my vision for it. We talk about Dawsen inheriting The Mercantile, and how challenging and rewarding this part of his life has been, the winery taking off and being nationally recognized, and the pressures that come with it.
Being with Dawsen in this way feels like coming home. It feels like being able to sit next to an old friend and to say whatever is on your mind without fear of judgment or offense. It feels like a safe place to land.
We’ve never spoken as open as we are now, but it feels like we didn’t miss a beat. Almost like we’ve both been waiting for this. For this dynamic between us. It feels like we’ve discovered a secret door that we opened and just through the threshold has been this beautiful garden. Flowing streams, blossoming trees, a cool breeze, and two chairs overlooking a meadow. Peaceful, still, understanding. And it’s in this diner, in this very booth that I decide I want to peel back every layer of Dawsen Jones. I want to learn every part of him.Starting now.
38
Dawsen
You know that feeling of looking forward to something, you sort of work through the entire thing in your head. Your imagination runs wild, creating every conversation, circumstance and detail of the thing? I can’t be certain how many times in my life I’ve let my imagination create what a date with Birdie Banks looks like, but I can say for certain right now, my imagination must be actual shit because an actual date with her—it waseverything.
The date was short notice to say the least, so we didn’t actually do much. Breakfast at Mel’s, and a very cold walk down main street. All the shops were mostly closed considering it’s Christmas Eve, and it’s a small town. But we held hands, walked and talked. We eventually went back to my loft where I made her coffee, and we cuddled on my couch, and did a lot more talking.
After so many years of knowing Birdie, this is the first time we ever truly got to say what we wanted, when we wanted.Openly, about whatever we wanted, without holding back. Without reading the room, and without tension.
It’s funny how many ways you can know someone actually.
You can know of them. Their name, their job, and maybe something they like.
Then you can know who they are, enough to be intrigued, enough to want to be around them, but don’t know their inner workings.
Then there’s the type of knowing someone that is intimate. You know how their mind works, you know how they feel just by their body language, or slight furrow in their brow. You know by the stride in their step if they’re feeling weighed down or if they’re carrying something heavy. You know what they look like when they roll out of bed, and you know their smell on your pillow. You know how they load a dishwasher and how they refuse to use blue ink pens.
This is the way I want Birdie, and I always have. I’ve wanted her in the most knowing way, ever since I’ve laid eyes on her. Even when she wasjustRiver’s little sister.
* * *
I dropped Birdie back home before it’s time to head over to her family’s house for Christmas Eve dinner. I kissed her for the second time in my life on her doorstep and I didn’t want it to end. Kissing Birdie felt out of body. Like the world around me had suddenly stopped. The earth stopped it’s orbit, and it froze time. I’m already looking forward to my next fix.
I had previously arranged to pick my dad up and drive with him, so I’m grabbing a couple bottles of wine from downstairs and the gift I put together for Birdie.
I’m not sure how much of a gift it really is, considering it being homemade and I’m not really a crafty sort of guy, but I think she’ll appreciate it. Or at least I hope she does.
Before I can overthink it too much, I tuck the gift between my arm and my side, grabbing the wine bottles and heading for my truck.
The moment I step outside, the air nips at my nose and I can’t help but pause and take a deep breath. It feels like every second of my life has been leading up to this very moment. The days leading up to this have always seemed like the world around me wasn’t in full color. Like I could see the breeze blowing in the trees, but I never quite felt it on my skin. Like I could see the stars, but I couldn’t understand their vastness. But tonight it feels different. Just the very hope of her is bringing out colors I’ve never seen, my body shivers at the wind, and I look up to the sky and see not just stars, but the deepest blue I’ve ever seen.
I don’t have much of a plan, other than making Birdie mine forever, and not fucking this whole thing up entirely. So, that’s what I’m setting out to do.
I set the wine and Birdie’s gift on the seat next to me as I throw my truck into gear. Something I love about small town life is just how close you are to most everything. It doesn’t take me more than five minutes to get to my parents old blue cottage. Every time I pull up to my childhood home, I think of my mom and how much I miss her. Then I think of Birdie and how I know she’s always loved my blue house. It makes me think of my mom and how happy she’d be to see us together.
I pull into the driveway and I see my dad step out of the house at the exact same time. He jogs down the porch steps and up to the passenger side door of my truck. He swings it open with gusto, and I notice he’s holding a bag, full of gifts I presume.
Christmas Eve with the Banks family is usually a no-presents-needed event, but I know my dad never likes showing up to things empty handed, which I’ve always admired about him.
