Carolina Days: Yesterday's Half Truths Part 22

Are you coming Sat.u.r.day, for our walk?

I'll be there.

I wish she wanted me to come see her right away. I get back Wednesday, sucks she's cool with waiting until Sat.u.r.day to see me.

I've been stalking the message boards of the show. Everyone loved you.

Really?

Don't act surprised. You'll probably have a fan club before the night is over.

You're joking.

Serious. Go check out the message boards. I just saw a pet.i.tion for you to become a male model.

That's insane.

There will be women from everywhere throwing themselves at you.

s.h.i.+t.

There's only one woman I'm interested in.

When she doesn't reply, I text her again.

In case you were wondering, it's you.

As I wait for her to reply, I start scrolling through my other texts. Clay watched the show with Courtney and Maggie. They all thought I did awesome and he had good news about my car. I left it with him since I knew I'd be gone for a month. He offered to fix the driver's side door and give it a paint job while I was gone. I've been working on Sally forever. Lindsay texts back while I'm sending Clay a text begging him to send me pics.

Are you upset?

Why would you think that?

You always call when I stop texting.

Do you want me to call you?

I don't know.

Freaking girls.

I call her, relieved when she answers right away.

"Hey."

"I wasn't lying, Lindsay. I like you, only you."

"I don't understand why."

I flop back onto my bed. How do I get this woman to trust me?

"Here's why; you're beautiful, smart. I enjoy talking to you. You're interesting. I'm attracted to you, and I want to make you happy. What do I have to do to earn your trust?"

"There's no easy answer to that question. I already trust you more than any other person I know."

I pause, her admitting that must have been hard. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'm not going to do anything to ruin that. I hope though, in time, I will continue to earn more of your trust."

The second episode with Luke's time on the ranch aired tonight. He took off his s.h.i.+rt. The internet exploded. It is stupid of me to believe he has feelings for me. He could have anyone. There is no way, logically, with all of the options available to him that he would pick me.

He's flying home today. If I knew his flight number, I'd probably be tracking his plane real time. That's not normal. He deserves someone as amazing as he is. When a kidnapped person begins to sympathize with his or her captor, it's called Stockholm syndrome. Is there an equivalent disorder for sympathizing with someone you pity? If there is, I'm officially diagnosing him.

Or, if what he says is true, and he genuinely does like me, will he continue to after the attention this show will give him? I've witnessed people change over much less. I followed a blogger before I ever started my blog. When I rapidly started to gain followers on my blog, I reached out to her for advice.

In the beginning, she was so sweet and supportive. That all changed the moment I had more followers than her. Even though my behavior never changed, suddenly she said I was acting as if I thought she was beneath me. It was sad but a lesson that stayed with me when dealing with people online.

Focusing on my blog recently has been the only thing keeping me from full on obsessing over Luke.

For the first time ever, I didn't want to edit myself smaller today.

I have been working out and religiously following my new diet for six months now. I'm nowhere near the size two I make myself but I'm proud of the way my body has changed.

So proud that it makes me sick to my stomach to erase parts of my body. That girl on the screen deserves to be seen, to celebrate all her hard work. My fear of losing followers is what keeps me from doing it. I'm not sure I could handle the negative comments that would be made. There is an entire culture of fat shaming online. To a certain extent, I already have to deal with s.l.u.t shaming.

I've learned if I post a pic with any hint of thigh or cleavage, I'll receive rude comments. Thankfully, they're a small percentage. I delete them and block the poster. That doesn't stop them from creating a new profile to post again. Luckily, only the truly committed jerks go that far. I'm not sure I could ignore comments about my weight as easily as I do vulgar comments about my figure.

It has to be the fact the pics currently getting rude comments aren't me. They are, but they aren't. If it was an unedited pic, it would be all me. I'm not ready to be that vulnerable ever again.

So, with a lump in my throat, I erase pieces of myself until the image I see is what society deems beautiful.

Luke will be here any minute. I've tried to relax and watch something I recorded on my DVR but it's no use. Manically, I keep standing and walking over to look out my front window.

He had said when he got back he was going to take me out on a date. I have no way of knowing if he meant today or not. The two times I've asked him, he wouldn't tell.

I'm playing it safe by wearing leggings with a tunic length, long sleeved t-s.h.i.+rt. The t-s.h.i.+rt is dressy enough to wear out, but not too dressy to workout in if we end up jogging. I have two jackets waiting by the door. The first one is a lightweight fleece, perfect for working out, the other, a short denim jacket, which will dress up what I'm already wearing.

Same thing goes for my shoes. I have both workout and going out options on hand.

My constant movement annoys Coco. She comes to stand at the doorway of my bedroom to stare at me. If I could only sit still, she would probably let me pet her.

Studies I've read online say pets are good stress relievers. I need some of that right now. I move toward her, intent to pick her up and love on her. As is my usual luck, she isn't interested and hightails it under my bed. Thanks for nothing, Coco.

Before I have a chance to sit back down, there's a knock at my door. I scurry over to my window to sneak a peek at what he's wearing. After a month of not seeing Luke in person, my heart races looking at him standing on my front step. He's wearing a pair of dark wash jeans. Is this our date? I try not to panic as I step into my short boots and pull on my jean jacket.

An unexpected impulse hits me as I open the door. I have to stop myself from wrapping my arms around him. He doesn't move; it's as if he can read my mind and wants to make this hard for me. Pulling the door behind me, we are now standing almost chest to chest, since he's one-step down.

Mentally, I try to command him to move. At some point between the airing of the second episode and now, he has had his hair cut. I miss the way the tips would curl. Neither of us has moved. While I search his appearance for changes from the last time I saw him, he smiles patiently at me.

He needs to move. Clearly, I need to invest more time trying to become telekinetic. He's near enough to smell. If the cologne he wears ever considers rebranding itself, I will recommend desire as its new name. He needs to move or speak, mainly move. I'm between a door and a hard body.

He breaks the silence. "I missed you."

I'm not sure I've ever wanted to touch another human being as much in my life. How do I know he won't pop like a bubble and disappear?

I should have replied by now. I know this. He knows this.

Taking a step back, he allows a greater expanse of distance to separate us. As much as I wish him near me, his presence overwhelms me. The distance, though bittersweet, is necessary.

It is when I step down, and my vision focuses on not just Luke but the rest of the world around him, that I see his car.

Pointing, I exclaim, "Is that the same car?"

Luke beams, stepping off the sidewalk to caress the hood. "Yep, my buddy, Clay, worked on her while I was away."

The dull, various toned, primer gray finish has been covered with a s.h.i.+ny navy blue paint job. Where the chrome details were lost before, now they stand out beautifully.

"It looks amazing," I gush.

"Should we go for a ride?"

My mouth drops. Go, as in away from my house-sized security blanket?

He's eyes soften, my panic clear, even to him.

"That wasn't my plan for today." He steps back onto the sidewalk. "Let's go for a walk."

I can do a walk.

The last time we walked, it was side by side. We had worked our way up to that nearness. After a month of not being physically near him, it is almost too much to walk beside him. Matching his stride to mine, he does not let me fall behind him. There clearly will be no going back.

The sound of people, children, hits my ears before we reach the mouth to the field. I glance up at Luke, confused.

"We don't have to get near anyone, but I think you might enjoy this," he remarks, cryptically.

As the field becomes visible, the volume grows. There's a soccer game in progress. One mighty pint-sized team versus another. Each sideline is packed with parents and siblings in folding camp chairs.

"My nephew plays peewee soccer and I've always had fun watching him play. I thought you might enjoy it as well."

I freeze, and stammer, "Is your nephew one of these players?"

He shakes his head, gulping before quickly explaining he knows none of the players, or people here today. We are completely anonymous spectators here to watch the hijinks of four year olds trying to play soccer. For a split second, I was terrified he wanted me to meet his family. I can barely handle his presence.

He leads us closer to the field, but away from most of the people. Unzipping his hoodie, he pulls out a small blanket.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he admits, explaining why he hid it.

Laying it onto the ground, he motions for me to sit down. If I sit first, how will I know where he will sit? Purposefully, I sit near the very edge of one corner. Luke quirks an eyebrow at me but doesn't call me out on it.

Before long, I'm captivated by these tiny players. Their movements are so enduringly clumsy. Having no connection to either team, I'm free to cheer for them both, silently of course, as to not draw any attention to myself.

The blanket, while soft, does little to cus.h.i.+on my rear from the hard ground. Needing to reposition myself, I unwittingly move closer to Luke. Two things alert me to my potential mistake. First, I can smell him again, over the scent of freshly cut gra.s.s that had before blocked the allure of his scent; and secondly, he s.h.i.+fts infinitesimally toward me.

I stiffen, hyperaware of the exact distance between his hand and mine. All of my other senses dull as touch, or lack of, overwhelms me. My fingers flex and straighten as though willing themselves to lengthen and meet his. My face turns, as his does the same, away from the field, to focus on his eyes instead.

If he were to kiss me right now, would I stop him?

A loud shout breaks our spell. Luke's head turns first before he jumps out, knocking a ball from my path. We both watch as the ball moves back toward the field. After a moment, the game resumes. Luke stands, looking down at me before sitting again.

He wipes his hand across his face, keeping his eyes on the field. "It would have seriously sucked if that ball had hit you."

I can't help but laugh. It's a nervous burst; I don't truly find his words funny. It struck me how awful it must be for him to worry and feel responsible for my every moment outside of my house. The pressure he has to feel, wondering if one mistake will send me back in to my home never to venture out again.

The way I'm reacting, allowing fear to invade our time together is unfair to him. Once he called me brave, it's about time I started acting like it. Giving myself a brief mental pep talk of you can do it, I move. To the casual observer my movement is most likely unnoticed. To Luke, it is not. The second my pinkie finger touches his; he drops his head and inhales.

It's the first time in over nine years I am skin to skin with someone I'm attracted to. I experience every cliche imaginable, my skin tingles, my heart races, a horde of b.u.t.terflies take flight in my gut, my throat tightens, and my vision is hazy. Even with all of these reactions, I'm afraid.

I have hidden from people as a way to protect myself for so long, out of fear. Now that I've decided to try to trust Luke, I'm more scared than I've ever been. He has coiled himself so tightly into my life, that were he to leave, I would be torn apart. So much so, I might never recover.

The warmth of not only his fingertip, but also his gaze, makes the risk seem worth it.

"Close your eyes."

My eyes widen instead.

I gulp. "Why?"

"I won't hurt you. Trust me on this," he urges.

It's not as though he intends to blindfold me. If anything makes me uncomfortable, I can reopen them. My eyes hold his. Silently, he waits for me to relent. As my eyes slowly close, I focus on the beauty of the sunlight on his face.

The black behind my lids holds no interest in comparison to what I could be looking at.

"Does the game seem louder now?" he asks.

At his question, my focus drifts from what I can't see to what I can hear. There's laughter, cheering, chatter, and grunts coming from the field. There's birdsong and a subtle whoosh of a breeze moving around us.

"It does."

"Did you ever think you could be sitting this close to a group of strangers?"

Shaking my head, I open my eyes.

Two rows of bright white teeth are revealed as he grins at me. "Did I say you could open your eyes?"

Blus.h.i.+ng, I close them again.