tee

Today was a typical shift for you as a nurse; clean the hospital tent, ensure that medical tools were sanitized, and deal with supes who—without hiding it—believe they are superior to the staff.

You had finished with your last patient for the day and were preparing to leave when suddenly, there is a tap on your shoulder.

“I—uh—I’m sorry to bother you. I know you were just about to leave, but would you mind looking over one last patient?” the brunette girl asked, nervously fidgeting with her hands. You two weren’t particularly close, but you knew her as Mary, a shy, timid teenager who worked to take care of her sick father.

You give her a smile in hopes of easing her nerves. “I suppose I could,” you relieve her. She smiles back at you, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, thank goodness! I was far too nervous to give him a checkup myself. Soldier Boy can be quite…vulgar,” she explains. Your smile drops as you register the name she used.

“S-Soldier Boy? You want me to—“

“—If it’s too much trouble, please, don’t feel the need to do the job assigned to me.”

You look around the tent and start rubbing your forehead. “No, Mary…it’s alright. I’ll take care of it,” you tell her. She just about bows before you as she thanks you, briskly walking away and removing her cobbler apron.

Once she leaves, you walk to your station within the tent and prepare your tools.

Fifteen minutes pass with no sign of Soldier Boy, frustrating you beyond measure. As you groan in annoyance while rearranging some gauze, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You quickly turn around and are met with the world’s favorite superhero himself. His facial expression displays a cocky grin, his eyes burning into you like sun rays. “Am I in the right place or what?”

You swallow, nodding at him. “Yes, sir. You can take a seat here,” you motion to the chair beside you, feeling nervous and starstruck. He walks over to you and looks at the chair before sitting in it. “This won’t take too long, sir. I’m just going to take a look at your heartbeat and temperature.”

He scoffs. “You can cut the sir shit. The name’s Ben,” he says. You’re caught off guard by his crude language and the fact that he’s revealed his real name to you—something you rarely see supes do. Why was it that he trusted you with such information?

“Alright, Mr. Ben,” he rolls his eyes with a smile at your maintenance of respect, causing you to smile in return. You pick up your stethoscope from the metal tray behind you and place the ear tips inside your ears. “Could you sit up for me, please?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he jokes, lifting from his slouched position on the seat and exaggeratingly puffing his chest out to you. You laugh, shaking your head.

“That really isn’t necessary,” you assure him, placing your palm on his chest to lower him. Ben looks down at your hand which makes you nervously retract it. “Sorry,” you mumble.

He smirks with a twinkle in his eye. “Why are you apologizing? You can touch me as much as you need to, doll,” he shoots you a wink and your face heats up, sweat forming underneath your clothes.

“Right…” you awkwardly respond. You place the stethoscope on his chest and as expected, his heartbeat is more rapid than the average person, but normal for a supe. You take out the notepad from your pocket and jot it down.

“So, am I dying?” he sarcastically asks. You laugh once again. He is a very coarse man, but you’d be lying if you didn’t admit he was funny.

“No, you’re not dying. Your heart rate is what it should be,” you reply. He lets out a grunt in understanding. “Now it’s time for your temperature!” You take the plastic cover off of the thermometer and wipe the tip with a cloth, then point it at Ben’s mouth.

Without any slick remarks, he obliges and you place the device underneath his tongue. While you wait for it to dictate his temperature, you discard of some trash within your station. When you drop one of the used gloves and pick it up to throw it away, you can feel Ben’s eyes watching your every move. When you turn around to look at him, he shows no shame.

“Just admiring,” he mumbles. Before you get the chance to say anything, the thermometer beeps. As you approach him and take it out of his mouth, Ben’s hand grabs yours.

“What are you doing?” you question, trying your best to still sound polite. He inspects your hand, then taps on your ring with his pointer finger.

“You’re married?” he notices, sounding almost annoyed when he asks.

“No. Engaged, actually.”

He nods. “Good. That leaves me some time.”

“Time for what?” you look at him confusingly.

“Time for me to intervene,” he responds matter-of-factly. You’re lost for words at his answer and he clearly finds it amusing. You open your mouth to speak, then close it again, a titter managing to make its way out. Finally, you recollect yourself and start to talk.

“My, my, Mr. Ben. You’ve got quite a mouth on you, hm?”

Ben chuckles, then licks his lips in a suggestive manner. “Believe me, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

Routine.

That was the best word to describe the relationship between you, Joel, and your eventual habit of talking on the phone every night.

It started with that first phone call he’d given you after you added him on Facebook, then, the next day, he called again. The day after that, you called him. And by that point, it became a full fledged tendency.

It felt a bit wrong to talk to your ex-best friend’s father, but you didn’t owe her anything anymore. Sure, the guilt ate at you when—at times—Joel had to hang up the phone to avoid the risk of Sarah hearing the two of you talking, but it was time you put your feelings first. She didn’t consider you when she spent all her time with Randy or when she called you obsessive for simply being concerned about her wellbeing.

Besides, this thing with Joel wasn’t anything serious. It was just a fun past time that neither of you put a label on. At least, that’s what you thought.

It’s the eleventh Friday night since your friendship with Sarah ended, and you lay across the couch with a video playing Funniest Family Feud Moments! in the background. Like usual, you have Joel on speaker as you two jump from topic to topic.

“The Bermuda Triangle has a lot of lore, Joel. You’ve gotta look into it. It’s really creepy, honestly,” you passionately explain. Sharing conspiracy theories with Joel has become one of your favorite things to do; and though he doesn’t believe in many of them, you appreciate when he asks you follow up questions to show that he’s actually listening.

“Alright. I’ll look into it tomorrow and let you know what I think. Deal?”

“Deal,” but after you respond, it grows quiet. Too quiet. And through your constant calls with Joel, you’ve come to understand what this means: he’s holding something back. “Joel… if there’s something you want to say, you can say it.”

He nervously bounces his leg up and down, pressing his palm against his thigh to stop the motion. He feels embarrassed to be this nervous about asking you such a thing, but you’re a gentle person and that subsides his nerves a bit. “Listen, we’ve been doin’ this talkin’ on the phone thing for a while now…”

“Yeah…”

“And I enjoy it. I know you can tell that I do–“

“You’re kind of freaking me out–“

“I think we should go out. Don’t gotta be nothin’ extravagant. Hell, you can choose the place if it’ll make you feel more comfortable, but it just felt like the right time for me to ask.”

You anxiously bite your bottom lip. Holy shit. The thought of you and Joel being something more crossed your mind practically every time you talked to him, but hearing the idea of it acknowledged aloud gives you an urge to become avoidant. But he doesn’t deserve that. Not in the least bit.

“…So what do you say?” You can hear his voice crack for a split second when he asks, and it reminds you that it probably took a crap ton of courage for him to even ask you this. Your silence must be making this even more awkward for him.

“What about Sarah?” your intention isn’t to ask so bluntly, but it had to be said. Seriously, what about Sarah? If she found out what was happening, you’d be filled with shame—and you’re sure Joel would feel the same way.

He remains quiet for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I thought about that too.”

You look at the tv as you contemplate your feelings; you like Joel, a lot, but Sarah still sits in the back of your mind. Regardless of the fact that you’ve told yourself you have every right to engage with Joel, sympathy is one of your greatest traits. And right now, it plays around in your brain.

But then you remember. You deserve fun. You deserve to see where this could go. So you put that part of you aside and allow yourself to do what your heart wants.

“What if we went out for drinks?”

—

Unsure of what was too fancy for your first official meet up, you felt the best suggestion you could make was to get-together at a bar downtown.

Drinks were a great way to ease nerves, and the setting of a bar was something you figured the two of you would enjoy.

You agreed to meet at 8:00 p.m. and by 7:00, you’re completely dressed and touching up your makeup for—what feels like—the millionth time. Your sense of perfectionism that you always attempt to satisfy worsens in moments like this.

When the alarm from your phone goes off at eight, you nearly consider calling the date off, but you stop and try to remember that this is something you truly want to do. With that in mind, you call a taxi and wait for it to arrive.

—

The bar is considerably packed as you anticipated, but thankfully, you are able to spot Joel. He doesn’t notice you yet, which gives you time to take him in fully. He looks as handsome as he always does; hair neatly combed, a plaid flannel paired with a corduroy jacket, dark navy jeans, and boots. Finally, his eyes find yours and his lips curl into a soft smile.

Somehow, it makes you comfortable and anxiety ridden at the same time. He stands up from his seat and you take that as your cue to approach him.

You readjust your hair as you reach him, subconsciously mirroring his smile.

When you stand in front of him, he’s the first to speak. “Hi there.”

“Hi,” you reply. A sudden wave of boldness shoots through you and you decide not to shove it down. “You look nice.”

His eyebrows naturally raise in surprise at your compliment, but he quickly returns to his usual face. “Thank you. So do you.”

You mumble a thank you as he pushes your seat out for you.

“I didn’t order anything yet, thought I’d wait for you,” he says in that deep voice you’re obsessed with.

You start to laugh. “I honestly have zero idea what to get. Sarah usually chose for me,” your accidental mention of her makes you freeze in place. It came so naturally for you to talk about her; she was your best friend after all.

Joel notices your stiffness and offers you a smile. “It’s okay to mention her.”

You smile back, shifting in your seat. “I just don’t want to make things awkward. She’s kind of like the elephant in the room every time we talk.”

He nods in understanding. “Yeah, I know. How ‘bout we get a drink or two in our system, might make it easier for us to talk about things,” he suggests. You nod and watch as Joel makes a hand gesture to alert the bartender that he’s ready to request a drink. Taking the initiative like he so often does, he orders a beer for himself and a fruity cocktail for you.

The bartender makes the drinks in front of you, then sets them down for you to enjoy. You and Joel both say thank you and clank your glasses for a cheers. You slightly purse your lips after tasting the cocktail which makes him laugh.

“What? Nasty?” you can tell that a part of him is fearful; he wants you to enjoy yourself and he’d feel guilty if you disliked the drink he chose.

“No, no! It’s good, just a bit sour,” you reassure him. His panicked state melts away as he settles once again in his seat, drinking more of his beer.

“So, about Sarah…” not that he didn’t already, but he really has your full attention now. You stir the straw in your cocktail around while awaiting his next words. “I think her and that boy called it quits.”

You’re shocked. You figured Sarah and Randy would break up eventually, but not right now. You can’t help but wonder how she must be feeling and you think about the fact that if you were still friends, you’d be at her place comforting her instead of on this date. “Wow—really? How do you know?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “She hasn’t mentioned him in a while. And she’s home a lot more than usual. Don’t hear her on the phone with him anymore either.” After listening to his list of reasons, you agree with Joel’s assumption regarding their breakup.

“I hope she’s okay,” you let out.

“I do too. Figured I’d let her tell me herself, don’t wanna pry like I’m some nosy dad.”

You chuckle. “I get what you’re saying, but I don’t see it as you being nosy. Just concerned.” You take another sip of your drink and muster up the courage to ask the question you’ve been wanting the answer to for a while now. “How do you think she’d feel about…this?”

Joel blinks a few times and brings his hand up to his beard as he thinks. “Probably pretty angry,” he says bluntly. “Does that worry you?”

You wish you could pause time to come up with the perfect answer, because you’re so unsure of what to say. She’s not your friend anymore, so it doesn’t worry you too much, but it doesn’t erase the fact that she was your friend at one point. “I’m not very sure.”

Being the understanding man that he is, he pats your hand that rests on the bar counter. It doesn’t make you nervous when he does it and instead, you find it to be a comforting gesture. “That’s alright. You know,” he pauses for a second, then continues. “I appreciate your honesty. It’s a quality of yours I’ve noticed.”

“Wow, Mr. Miller,” you jokingly say. “You’re paying attention to my qualities?”

He lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’ve come to notice a lot about you,” he coolly responds, finishing the remainder of his beer.

Warmth starts to spread throughout your body, both from the temperature of the bar and Joel’s demeanor. He exudes such a tentative sense that any person would appreciate—but especially you. In your own attempt at taking control, you reposition yourself in your seat and lift your hand up for the bartenders attention. “Two manhattan’s on the rocks, please,” the young man nods and starts to make the drinks.

When you look over at Joel again, he wears an impressed look. “How’d you know I like my manhattan on the rocks?”

You rest your chin in your left hand, looking at him through your eyelashes. “I remember you talking about it briefly on the phone. I’ve come to notice a lot about you too.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

—

Another hour of your date goes by and you’ve lost track of…well, everything. Neither of you have looked at the clock or truly payed attention to the amount of drinks you’ve consumed. At one point, you’re pretty sure you asked the bartender to keep them coming! But Joel doesn’t seem to mind, because he drinks up both every word you say and every beverage placed in front of him.

You’re in the middle of laughing about your mispronunciation of a word due to your drunk state when you feel Joel’s knee brush against yours. It’s subtle, but he doesn’t move it. His knee stays there and nearly relaxes against yours. Embracing the contact, you melt into his touch and allow your knee to rest upon his. Maybe you’re just hazy, but you swear he smiles.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” you tell him, not wanting the date to end. It feels as if the two of you have been in your own bubble this entire time; and you wouldn’t complain if it stayed this way.

“The feelings mutual, pretty girl,” he comments, half-joking but mostly honest. God, this man has such an effect on you. In an attempt to prolong your time with him, you come up with an idea.

“If you’re up for it, there’s a park about a block from here. Maybe we could walk these drinks off,” you say with a smile. He looks at you amusedly and nods.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

—

The walk to park is peaceful with you continuously thanking Joel for footing the entire bill at the bar.

“It’s no problem. I’m the one who asked you out,” he reminds you, leaning his back against the gazebo. You mimic him and do the same.

“I know, I know. I’m just not used to guys buying me things.”

With his crossed arms and eyes fixated on his boots, he looks perplexed. “Boyfriends in college wasn’t buyin’ you things?”

You shake your head. “No. I didn’t date much, honestly. I had my first boyfriend sophomore year and he was nice, but I just didn’t feel anything. Then I tried to date another guy after him, but he only wanted one thing.”

Joel is able to assume what you’re referring to. “I’m sorry,” he says with sincerity. He has no reason to apologize and yet he does—that was Joel for you, feeling sorry for things he hadn’t done himself.

“It’s fine. I’m just glad those days are over. Besides, there’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

Your eyes lock with his unintentionally and goosebumps start to rise on your skin—but not from the weather.

You two stand there, unsure of what the other wants. Likely testing the waters, Joel’s figure comes into contact with yours. You look up at him and mentally shriek when his hand rests on your cheek.

“Joel—“

“Darlin’, I need you to tell me what you want. You want me to stop? I’ll stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“What do you want then?” his face has moved a few inches closer to yours. The alcohol in your system aids you in not overthinking like you usually would.

“I want you to kiss me,” he waits for another beat, then tilts his head and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move in sync with his in a deliberate manner. You apply a bit more force on your end of the kiss to signify that he can do the same and it unleashes something within him.

Joel has you pressed against one of the gazebo rails, hands roaming your hips. His body weight pushes into you, but it feels nice; almost like a shield from the outside world.

The make out remains steady as it continues, neither of you wanting to pull away from one another.

When you simultaneously disconnect your lips, mischief arises on your face. Joel immediately picks up on it and watches you as you open your mouth to speak.

“You know, I’ve noticed something else new about you,” you say, watching him as he smiles and tucks his bottom lip.

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

You smile back at him. “You are a great kisser.”

Saturday nights used to be your absolute favorite time of the week. But now, you dread them. Sure, having the weekend off from work is still a plus, however, the amount of free time leaves you with no choice but to succumb to your thoughts.

A month and thirteen days ago (yes, you were indeed keeping track), you had lost something invaluable. Well, more like someone. Your best friend, Sarah.

You never saw it coming, and the ache from her absence panged within you.

You first met during your freshman year of college. Moving to Texas was already a huge adjustment, and starting college on top of that amplified your nerves to a high degree.

You didn’t know anyone, knew where nothing other than campus was located, and your family was back home in your small, rural town.

So, you spent most days silently; going to your classes, occasionally checking out a new restaurant, and heading back to your dorm with the noisy neighbors who played music at the most inconvenient hours.

To be honest, your life was quite boring and you didn’t truly feel like you were living—until you met Sarah.

During one of your seminars, the blonde (whom you had only seen once) sat next to you. She offered you a smile and asked if you could spare her a pen which you happily lent her. And then? Both of you couldn’t stop talking. It came so naturally that it scared you. The amount of similar interests and life experiences the two of you shared was unbelievable.

She invited you to a nearby coffee shop so you could get to know one another better and from then on, you became inseparable. Spending everyday together, Sarah made Texas and your college experience what you so badly wanted it to be.

Since your family was in a different state, she often welcomed you to her house, where you met her Uncle Tommy, Aunt Maria, and most notably her father, Joel. You never mentioned it to her directly, but he was a handsome man. A tall, handy brunette with a southern drawl that you could listen to for hours. It surprised you that he wasn’t dating or married, and by the sound of it, Sarah found it exhausting.

“I love my old man, but he’s a bit boring, you know? Hasn’t dated since my mom left and that was years ago,” she’d said, drawing out the word years for emphasis.

“Maybe he has a girlfriend you don’t know about.”

She flat out laughed in your face when you suggested such a thing. “Yeah, definitely not. I could bet every dollar I own on that.”

A part of you felt bad for him. He was incredibly attractive, so there was no way women didn’t eye him everywhere he went.

Perhaps it was just a personal preference.

The rest of your college years went smoothly, most of the days being filled with boring exams in contrast to fun times with Sarah.

Graduation rolled around and as the two of you took photos in your caps and gowns, the man who you’d eventually grow to despise walked by.

“Hey! You mind taking a picture of us real quick?” Sarah asked him, holding the camera out to him as if he had already said yes.

After the photo was taken and she went to grab her camera back, a conversation between them began. You didn’t hear much, but heard him introduce himself as Randy.

You thought that would be the last of him, but no. Sarah and the jerkwad started to date.

And slowly but surely, he took up every ounce of her time. She started to cancel plans with you or leave events early for his sake. You tried to keep your mouth shut; because she, more than anyone, deserved to be loved. But it became too much. And a few months into her relationship with him, you confronted her about it.

“Sare, you know I love you, but haven’t you noticed how little time we spend together now? It’s always Randy, Randy, Randy!”

Her face fell into an expression that displayed annoyance. “What can I say? I’m in love. It’s normal to want to spend time with your partner.”

You frowned. You hated this and started to regret bringing it up. But the cat was out the bag. You weren’t going to let this stay in your head any longer, she had to know how you felt.

“Yeah, yeah. I get that. But there’s something called balance, Sarah. You can spend time with your partner and have time for your best friend.”

As if you had made the most offensive remark in history, she became filled with anger. “You know what? I tried to ignore it, but Randy is right. You’re so obsessive when it comes to me! I mean, seriously, it’s as if I’m your only friend. If it bothers you that much, go find someone else to hang out with!”

You’d never expected to hear such a thing from her. What kind of spell could Randy possibly have her under?

Since then, zero words were exchanged between you. She’d done the classic remove you from every social platform after the argument and yet here you were, in bed, on a Saturday when you’d usually be hanging out, scrolling through her photos on Facebook—the most recent one of her date night with the man you considered satan himself.

As you scrolled further, a picture of Sarah and Joel sat on your screen and in the caption, he was tagged.

You knew Joel had Facebook. Sarah told you before it was the only form of social media that he used, but you never went on his account or considered adding him as a friend.

Your fingers did the work for you and clicked on his username, which took you to his profile.

He didn’t have many posts, but the few that he did have were what you imagined they’d be. Pictures of Sarah with captions that said things along the lines of so proud of my girl!, some throwback photos of him and his brother, Tommy, and his beloved guitar.

When you looked at the time on the clock beside your bed, you realized that you had analyzed each photo for the past 20 minutes. Feeling like a stalker, you frantically tapped to leave his account and nearly died when you made the one mistake you were hoping you wouldn’t.

Your finger slipped, and you added Joel freaking Miller, your ex-best friend’s father, as a friend.

Now came a tough decision: was it weird to leave him as a friend, or was it even weirder to remove him?

You may as well not having contemplated at all, because within the same minute that you added him, he added you back.

Your nerves made you unsure of what step to take next. Message him? Not say anything at all? Block him and pretend this never happened? The same three thoughts circulated your mind. But again, it was as if Joel took the initiative for you.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Hey, kiddo.

You stared at the message for ages, overthinking what you should and shouldn’t say. You concluded that the best thing to do was apologize, explain your mistake, and leave it at that. So, that’s what you did.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Hello, Mr. Miller! I’m sorry if I disturbed you, my finger slipped and I added you on accident.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

What had you on my profile in the first place?

Dammit. You were screwed. What excuse could you possibly cook up? Oh nothing, I was just stalking Sarah’s account and then stalked yours too! sounded absolutely ridiculous to admit. You hated having to do so, but lying was your best bet.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

You showed up in the “people you may know” section. That’s all.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Ok.

Ok. Ok? Was that seriously all he had to say? It angered you a bit that he didn’t believe your excuse though it was false.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Ok? I take it you don’t believe me?

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Never said that.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, he sent another message.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Haven’t seen you come by in a while.

Crap. You were wondering if he’d question the downfall of you and Sarah’s friendship. You pondered on how much he knew along with how much you should tell him. Being vague was the smartest choice you could think of.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Oh, yeah. Sarah and I haven’t talked much lately.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

I figured that. Asked about you the other day and she wasn’t very receptive.

It embarrassed you the way your heart fluttered at the thought of Joel noticing your absence and proceeding to ask Sarah about it. But it also felt a little delusional to think of it in such a deep way. You were her best friend, of course he’d notice eventually.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Is she doing ok?

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Seems like it. Spends a lot of her time with that kid, Ricky.

You laugh to yourself at his mess up of Randy’s name.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

I think you mean Randy?

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Yeah, him. Not a big fan, but if she’s happy, I’ll put up with him.

You laugh again. Joel’s honesty propels you to do the same. You normally wouldn’t. Normally, you’d find a way to end the conversation here and not bother him with the details of you and Sarah’s falling out, but you couldn’t help yourself.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

He’s kind of the reason we aren’t talking, actually.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ

Oh? How so?

Any part of you that still considered holding back subsided. He asked. There was no point in not telling him now.

Even though it’s not technically Joel’s business, you explain the situation to him: how much of Sarah’s time was taken up by Randy and you calling it out, which led to where your friendship stands now.

When you send him the message and he doesn’t respond as quickly as he has been, you presume he’s fallen asleep; after all, it’s nearly midnight. But no.

The screen of your phone flashes with the words:

INCOMING CALL FROM JOEL MILLER

You let the phone ring a couple times, finger hovering over the accept button. With the bit of courage you have, you click it and stay quiet.

You hear rustling on the other end, it sounds like he’s in bed. Finally, he speaks. “Hello?”

“Hi,” you awkwardly say, internally cringing at the sound of your voice crack and nearly hanging up the phone.

“Hi,” he repeats back. “I, uh, saw your message about what happened. Never would’ve guessed things fell out the way they did between you two.”

That familiar southern drawl fills your ears in the most satisfying way possible. It almost makes you forget that this is an over-the-phone conversation and he’s awaiting your response. “Yeah, you and me both,” you say with an awkward laugh. He chuckles a bit, not that the situation is funny, of course.

“Look, if I’m being honest with you, I don’t think her and that kid have a lot of time left.”

Your curiosity piques. “What makes you say that?”

Joel clears his throat. “Was walkin’ past her room yesterday and I heard ‘em fussin’ over the phone. Not my business, but it ain’t sound too good.”

You nod in understanding as if he is in the same room as you. “Oh, I see.”

It stays quiet for a few seconds, but he effortlessly fills the silence. “Either way, she owes you an apology.”

“Thanks, Joel.” You don’t mean to address him by his first name, but it so naturally rolls off your tongue. He seems to not pay attention to it when he speaks again.

“What exactly are you thankin’ me for?” The question comes out with a laugh, and though you know his intention isn’t to belittle you, you feel self-conscious.

“Well, I didn’t mean to say thanks! I just meant…”you trail off to properly convey your thoughts. “I was more so thanking you for listening in the first place. I haven’t talked to anyone about what happened with Sarah, so I appreciate your kind words.”

You can’t see his face, but he smiles. As if he did it himself, he feels guilty for the way things played out between you and his daughter. He didn’t raise her to behave that way and he makes a mental note to later have a talk with Sarah about her questionable boyfriend. “It’s nothin’, really. After all, you’re my favorite friend of hers.”

You pause. Did he just say what you think he said? That flutter in your heart returns, and you sit up against your headboard. “I–me?” you don’t mean to sound so pathetic when you ask, but how could you not? A man like Joel talking to you at this hour meant more to you than it probably should have.

“Yeah, ‘course. You make it sound unfathomable,” he says it with a hint of confusion; like he doesn’t understand why you would doubt yourself to begin with. “Sarah’s had some nice buddies in her life, but you’re different. Girl beams at any chance she gets to talk about you. And I understand why.”

“Well, color me flattered,” blush spreads across your cheeks and you see it for yourself through the vanity mirror across from you. This takes you back to your high school days; secretly talking to boys while your parents were sound asleep. But you’re grown now, a college graduate with her own apartment, and—presumably—flirting with her ex-best friend’s dad. Younger you would never believe it.

“Guess we’re both pretty flattered, huh?” you’re suddenly confused. Him flattered?

“When did I flatter you?” you laugh in both a soft and bewildered way.

“When you added me as a friend. Even though you claim ‘it was an accident!’” he jokingly mocks your voice when he quotes you which evokes a laugh out of you—a full on laugh. The hardest you have in a while. The sound must be contagious, because he follows shortly after.

“It was an accident,” you manage to let out. “And that is not how I sound!”

“Alright, not my best impression,” his laugh and yours start to fade. A notification from Instagram prompts you to check the time and you realize that you’ve been on the phone for longer than you thought.

“You know, we’ve been on the phone for 53 minutes,” you inform him. He lifts his phone to confirm and sees that you’re right.

“As the sayin’ goes, time flies when you’re having fun,” the flutter in your heart beats again–for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

“Yeah… it really does,” it grows quiet once again, but it feels comfortable this time. Like the two of you could stay on this call for 53 more minutes and not feel awkward at all. Joel stretches his arm to pull the phone away for a moment in an attempt to muffle his yawn. You smile at his effort to hide it and feel guilty for keeping him awake. “It’s getting pretty late, you should rest.”

He grunts in acknowledgment. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m tired of talkin’ to you,” he sleepily mutters. That southern accent of his grows even deeper in his drowsy state, causing butterflies to fly around in your stomach.

“I don’t think that.”

“You promise? ‘Cause I can’t sleep peacefully if you do.”

The butterflies do somersaults now, and every crevice of your body suddenly feels too hot.

“I promise.”

He emits a guttural sound of approval. “Good. You get yourself some shuteye, alright?”

Even though you’re a full on adult, he says it with such an authoritative yet kind tone, one Sarah probably heard countless times growing up. “I will.”

But when he hangs up the phone, you don’t get any shuteye. Honestly, you knew you wouldn’t. Because all you could do is replay both every single word he said and the way in which he said it. There’s no way you could be jumping to conclusions after all the comments he made. You weren’t stupid, you knew when someone was flirting with you.

Surely that conversation with Joel meant something more…right?

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re telling me you’ve never seen a Barbie movie before?” You asked your boyfriend, Ben, who sat next to you with a confused look.

“No. Don’t see why it’s such a big deal anyway,” he responded. Every Friday night, you and Ben tried—despite your conflicting schedules—to have movie night. The two of you took turns choosing the films you’d watch, most of his choices being action, but you never considered that Ben hadn’t seen a lot of the movies that were fundamental to your upbringing. It sounded silly, but Barbie was one of them. She taught you that it was possible to be anything and throughout your childhood, you consumed any type of Barbie media that you could get your hands on.

“Uhm, it’s a huge deal! We’re watching one right now.” You go to the search bar and start to type, a groan emitting from the man beside you.

“Isn’t this for little kids? There’s no way we’re wasting this week’s movie night on this.” You ignored his complaints, scanning through the list of movies that showed up on the tv. After careful consideration, your eyes land on Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper and you click the play button with a smile.

“Trust me, you’re going to enjoy this more than you think,” you tell him, snuggling into his chest.

When you’re about fifteen minutes into the movie, you realize how quiet Ben’s been. You assume he’s fallen asleep but you sit up when he chuckles at a joke made in the movie. “No way, did you just laugh?”

He shakes his head, reverting his face back to a neutral one. “No. I chuckled because this is ridiculous.”

You nod in amusement, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. “Uh huh, sure…”

When a joke is made once again, you feel the vibration from Ben chuckling against your back. He tries his best to suppress it, but you can tell that a part of him is slightly enjoying this. “Don’t even try to deny it this time! There’s no way you aren’t having a teensy bit of fun!” When you turn to look at him, his smile remains.

“Alright, doll, alright. This is somewhat entertaining. Happy now?” You smile back at him and place a kiss on his lips.

“Yes, very happy,” you admit in an upbeat tone. Ben playfully rolls his eyes and looks back at the movie, prompting you to do the same. As you settle back into your position against his chest, he wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your forehead, the hairs of his beard leaving you with a small, tickled sensation.

It really couldn’t get any better than this.

“Oh, come on!” You shouted louder than intended, forcefully pushing the buttons on your dishwasher. Right when you needed it most, the darn thing gave out. The day you first moved into the apartment, your landlord, Jimmy, warned you that the dishwasher was getting old in age, but you figured it wouldn’t be a problem—now, you realize how terribly wrong you were.

Rolling your eyes, you take your phone out of your pocket and dial Jimmy’s number. After a few rings, he picks up and clears his throat to speak.

“Hey, you,” he answers, turning down the high-volume tv in front of him. You completely forgot that there was a big game tonight and want to get through the phone call as quickly as possible, not wanting to be a disturbance.

“Hey, Jimmy. Sorry to bother you,” you say with a hint of guilt, setting down the pile of dirty plates you were prepared to load the dishwasher with.

“Not a bother at all. How can I help?” You feel a bit better when he reassures you that you’re not a bother. Unfortunately, the environment you were raised in taught you that asking people for help was something you shouldn’t do.

“Well, my dishwasher gave out. Won’t turn on. Do you think you could have somebody come by and look at it?” You can hear him crunching on something—probably chips, then swallow.

“Sure thing! I’ll send a guy over tomorrow afternoon. That work for you?”

“Yes, it does! Thank you!” Jimmy mumbles a you’re welcome as you hang up the phone. With no choice, you opt to wash the dishes by hand before watching late night tv and going to bed.

────────

After tending to your household duties and following your usual schedule, you realize that it’s hit five in the afternoon and wonder if the maintenance man will still show up. Not wanting to pester Jimmy, you decide to start baking the recipe you’ve been meaning to make for a while: cookies and fruitcake. You take the cookbook gifted to you by your grandmother out of the cabinet and skim through the pages until you find the list of ingredients needed for the dessert.

Getting completely into the zone, you wrap your pink apron around you and play some of your favorite music.

────────

At around five thirty, when you’ve set your cookies in the oven, there’s a knock at the door.

“Maintenance,” the man says in a low but loud enough to hear voice. You jump at the unexpected visitor since you’d assumed he wouldn’t be coming today, but quickly take your apron off and place it across a nearby chair. You unlock the door and twist the doorknob, immediately met with a tall, intimidating yet attractive man. He wears a green flannel, jeans, brown boots, and carries a large toolbox in hand. You realize you’ve been staring at him for far too long when he gives you a questionable look.

“Now a bad time?” He looks down at you, ready to leave if necessary.

“No! No, come in. Sorry. I thought you weren’t coming,” you move aside and allow him to enter. He looks around your apartment and even though it’s not technically messy, you wish you’d had a bit more time to prepare for company.

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that. City traffic is no joke around this hour.” At his comment, you chuckle, knowing exactly what he means.

“No need to be sorry. That’s very true,” the two of you make eye contact for a moment before he looks at your kitchen.

“So, Jimmy said something about your dishwasher, right?” You nod, feeling as if you were in a trance when looking into his eyes. You shake your head and force yourself to knock it off.

“Yeah, uhm, it won’t turn on anymore.” He walks over to it and starts to analyze it. Awkwardly, you follow behind him. He opens the dishwasher and looks inside of it for a few moments. Unsure of what to do, you watch him—almost feeling like a creep.

“Mmm.” He grunts, standing up to face you. “Few of the circuits at the top are busted,” he sees the slight pout on your face and speaks up once again, “it’s fixable though. Shouldn’t take me too long.”

You start to smile with relief, “Thank goodness.” Suddenly, you become conscious of the scent your cookies in the oven spread, eyes growing wide. “Shoot!” The man looks at you with confusion as you bend down and open the oven, taking the cookies that sit perfectly on their silver tray out.

You hear him let out a chuckle as he decides to start working on the dishwasher. “You cook a lot?”

You sit the cookies down on the table and close the oven, looking over at him as he works. “I try to. But I’m not very good. I’m better at baking.” He hums in response, opening his toolbox. “I planned on making fruitcake, I hope I won’t be in the way while you fix that.”

He shakes his head. “No, go ahead,” he says in a nonchalant tone. Although he can’t see you, you nod and grab everything you need for the fruitcake.

Though the two of you settle into a comfortable silence within minutes, you strangely crave more of a conversation with him. “How long have you been a maintenance man?”

“What?” He asks, making you feel stupid for even asking the question. You nearly slip and cut your finger while slicing fruit out of embarrassment.

You nibble at your bottom lip. “Oh- I… just asked how long you’ve been a maintenance man.”

He’s quiet, then reaches for another tool. “Few years now. I think seven.”

“That’s cool,” you answer, cheeks red. You internally pray that he won’t look up and see the humiliation written all over your face.

“Cool?” He says in a surprised but interested tone. “Never thought I’d see the day someone called maintenance cool.”

You take the berries off the cutting board and add them to a bowl, starting on the next step of the recipe. “Well, to be honest, I think most jobs are cool. If someone’s passionate about something, that makes it cool enough.”

You hear him grunt in agreement. “That’s a good way of looking at it. What do you do then?”

You can’t help but smile when he asks you the question, enjoying the fact that he’s reciprocating the conversation. “It’s not very exciting, typical office job,” you tell him.

You hear him twist at something inside of the dishwasher. “Well, what are you passionate about?”

You stop pouring and think about his thought-provoking question. But the truth is, it doesn’t take you long to come up with an answer.

“It sounds silly, but baking. It calms me. It’s like no matter what mood I’m in, I’m always willing to get up and bake.”

He peeks out from the machine and looks at you. “Doesn’t sound silly to me. Like you said, ‘If someone’s passionate about something, that makes it cool enough.’”

You smile for the hundredth time when he repeats your words and catch him smile back at you, then return to his toolbox.

It naturally grows silent again, but this time, you feel content. His words replay in your mind and every so often, you catch yourself staring at him. The way his sleeves are rolled up along his arms and how his muscles contract when he screws things in and out of place fascinates you.

After a few more minutes pass by, you hear that familiar sound of the dishwasher powering up. The male begins to put the tools and extra screws back into his toolbox.

“You fixed it! Thank you so much,” you happily express, putting the mixing bowl in your hands on the counter.

“No thanks needed,” he says with a slight smile, standing up and unintentionally towering over you.

“The fruitcake isn’t done, but the cookies are. If you want, you could take some with you.”

Out of habit, he shakes his head, used to declining offers even if the intent is not malicious. “I couldn’t…”

“But you could. Think of it as my thank you. It’s the least I can do.”

You watch as he stops to think and ultimately nods. He’d be lying if he said the cookies didn’t smell good.

Happy that he’s agreed, you reach for a container and fill it with a decent amount of cookies, giving him napkins along with it.

You reach out and give the container to him, pausing in your tracks when he doesn’t attempt to take them from you.

He looks hesitant to say whatever it is that he wants to say, making you nervous. “Do you have your phone with you?”

“Yes,” you take it out of your back pocket and show it to him.

“If you’d like, we can exchange phone numbers so you can call me directly in case anything else needs fixing,” he explains. You’re taken aback by his request while simultaneously fighting the urge to blush.

“Okay, that’d be great,” you say, opening the contacts app and handing him your phone. He reaches for his back pocket and hands you his. Once the two of you finish, you swap back your phones.

This time when you hand him the cookies, he takes them from you with a warm expression. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you respond. Intense eye contact between you starts again and you both break from it with a small laugh.

“I should-“ he gestures towards the door.

“Right! Sorry,” you walk to the door and he follows, watching you twist the doorknob and pull the door open. “Thank you again for your help,” you re-mention.

“It’s really no problem. Thank you again for the cookies.” He steps out of the apartment and into the hallway, still facing you.

“Of course. You have a good night,” you say softly, readjusting the sleeve of your shirt.

He gives you a smile. “Yeah, you too.” And with that, he walks away. You immediately check your phone and open your contacts to find out his name. When you read Joel on your screen, it makes complete sense to you; the name fits him perfectly.

For the rest of the night, you feel as if you are on cloud nine—cloud ten if that was even possible. To most, your interaction with Joel would be seen as short; but it held value to you. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about him drew you in. It wasn’t just that he was an attractive man, but he seemed sweet despite his “rough” exterior, and a part of you so badly wanted to know every little detail about him.

────────

At around ten p.m., as you dig into your pint of ice cream, your phone pings. You turn it over from its face down position and almost spill your ice cream on the rug beneath you.

Right then and there, you feel like you’ll literally die. Your perfect night instantly became one of your best since moving in.

That broken dishwasher–which was originally an inconvenience–became a blessing in disguise.

When you sat on your bed and heard those eggs crack, your heartbeat nearly flatlined. And when you lifted the blanket to actually see them and know they were real, you clutched onto your chest so tightly that it bruised red.

You hadn’t seen Heathcliff in four and a half years—yet not a day went by where you didn’t think about him. Though you started to adjust to him not being around within the first year, a part of you never truly came to terms with his absence. Being the overthinker that you so often were, you had come up with many conclusions as to what could have happened to Heathcliff. Perhaps he was dead. Or maybe he fell in love with another woman, married her even.

Regardless of the scenarios you came up with, you itched for some sort of confirmation that he was still alive. And right now, you had just that.

────────

The cold night air caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You were smart enough to bring your cloak, but it hardly helped in this weather. To be quite honest, you were physically cold, but mentally? You weren’t at all. Your mind was entirely too focused on pushing through the fog to see him.

You give not a second thought to your nightgown getting dirty as you walk along the short, rocky hill in front of you. Dusting your shoe off with your numb fingers, you survey the area in hopes of finding Heathcliff. You stay silent for a few moments, and then—nothing. You don’t see anyone. Don’t hear anything. Frustrated and feeling defeated, you turn to head back home before stopping in your tracks. You sense something… someone. Him. Heathcliff.

You turn around and though the fog blocks much of him, you can make out his figure. “Heathcliff!” You begin to run towards him, holding onto your dress as if to propel you faster. You stand in front of him, staring at his new appearance before a sudden rage comes over you. “Oh, how dare you leave me!” You lightly shove him and watch his amused expression before wrapping your arms around him in an invigorating hug. You manage to pull yourself away from his chest and take a few steps back, observing this brand new version of him.

“Staring is quite rude, you know,” he quips with a smirk. His gold tooth flashes at you through the fog and almost makes your knees give out. You recollect yourself and scoff at his comment.

“Do not jest. It has been years and you have returned a new, rich man.” Heathcliff smiles fully, the same one that comes to your mind every time you think of him.

“Does that surprise you?” You shake your head no, wiping the tear that falls from your eye.

“Not in the least,” you solemnly say as you reach out to hug him once again—this time, feeling his arm wrap around your waist. The two of you stay that way for a few moments before you detach yourself from the hug and pat your tears dry with your fingertips. “Now, now. We mustn’t become too emotional,” he looks at you and raises his eyebrows, chuckling at the fact that you are the only one crying. “Come back to Wuthering Heights with me, Heathcliff. Everyone would be delighted to see you!”

“Perhaps. But I am sure your husband would not be,” he flatly responds. You tilt your head in confusion at his assumption.

“What gives you the impression that I am a wife?”

“As you said, it has been years. So, are you or are you not?” There’s a beat of silence as you start to notice Heathcliff’s jealousy. You understand now that this is his way of seeing if you are still an available, single woman. It brings a smile to your face when you realize he still cares as much as you do.

“No, I am not a wife. Now, it is only fair that I ask if you are a husband,” you question, anxiously awaiting his answer. Relief washes over you when he grunts a sound that resembles no.

You nod, trying your best to hide your excitement at the idea of you and Heathcliff having a chance at being...something.

“What is on your mind?” You bring your attention back to him and feign a look of perplexity. He takes a step closer to you and tsks. “Do not give me that face, for I know you too well. Tell me what it is that you think of.” Usually, you would have insisted that nothing was on your mind. But it had been far too long and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to get answers to your lingering questions.

“Tell me… why did you leave me? I just about died when I heard you’d left, Heathcliff. Why did you do it?” Tears well up in your eyes yet again, but it feels useless to try and hide them.

He looks away from you to debate whether or not he should be honest with you. But when he looks back at you and sees your pleading eyes, he knows he has to take the route he’s afraid of: the truth. “I could not control myself any longer,” he admits. If anything, his response confuses you further.

“Could not control yourself? From what?”

He decides to speak without giving it much thought in avoidance of second guessing himself. “From you.”

Still confused, you attempt to pry it out of him. “You must be more specific, Heathcliff-“

“I loved you! I love you. It is the entire reason I am back here,” the confession takes a weight off his shoulders while simultaneously putting a pit in his stomach.

Your mouth goes agape. Words suddenly seem too hard to come by, so you take a forward approach. “Kiss me. For I love you too.”

It does not take Heathcliff long to register your words. If you hadn’t been away from each other for this long, he would have been a gentleman, asked if you were sure. However, a need for your touch was at the forefront of his thoughts. With that, he takes your chin in his hand and kisses you in a manner that is both loving and hungry.

For the first time in four years, the two of you feel alive. You’ve both tried to chase this feeling through other ways, but nothing could equate to this. His hands cup your face to deepen the kiss, his thumbs occasionally brushing against your cheeks.

“I love you,” he whispers in between kisses, bringing you closer to him as if you aren’t chest-to-chest already. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you smile at him, a feeling of content blossoming within you.

“I love you too.”

You instinctively smile as Heathcliff’s hand runs up and down your back. Your favorite moments with him were ones like this where the two of you lay in his bed and you rest against his chest, blabbing about complete nonsense. If you were offered to spend the rest of your life in this very moment, you would easily accept. Lost in comfort, you realize you missed whatever it was Heathcliff had said to you. “Hm?”

“How much longer must it be this way?” You shift upwards from the position you were in, showing attentiveness as his tone becomes serious. You look into his brown eyes that—naturally—stare back at yours.

“What ever do you mean?” He gives you a look of slight annoyance. You know exactly what he is referring to. And you honestly dread when he brings it up, but also understand why he does so.

“I cannot hide like this forever. And I am sure you cannot either,” he licks his lips and awaits your response. You stay quiet for a moment, carefully considering how to phrase what you will say next. You don’t want to hide your love for Heathcliff. In fact, you want to shout it out in front of everyone—but no one would approve. Especially not your father.

“No, I cannot hide like this forever. But, in this place, who would ever agree with this?” You gesture between the two of you and the way you unintentionally straddle his lap. Heathcliff reaches up to play with a piece of your hair. He does so silently before opening his mouth to say words that cause you to freeze in place.

“Then let us run away,” he searches your face for any sort of emotion, quickly picking up on your lack of body movement. There is no turning back now, so he doubles down. “Let us go and never turn back.”

“I– Heathcliff…” you manage to say, rocking your foot out of anxiousness. “We have lives here.”

He shakes his head in response, hands cupping your face. “Perhaps we do, but we live quite miserable ones. Loving you secretly is miserable.”

If melting into a puddle due to someone’s words was physically possible, it certainly would have happened to you now. You so badly want to say yes, but leaving Wuthering Heights would be like leaving behind pieces of yourself. “My father,” you remind him. “I could not just leave him. I would not ever forgive myself.”

Heathcliff hums in understanding, appreciating your sweet nature. “You must understand that you have to live for yourself. We have to live for ourselves. Do you expect to live and die in these very moors? Continue to watch your father drink and gamble until his final day arrives?” You begin to visualize living the life Heathcliff speaks of and start to shudder. As unfortunate as it was to admit, you knew that he was right.

“You are right,” you reply, rubbing at your forehead as if to push the images out of your mind. Paying attention to your every move like he always did, Heathcliff’s hand replaces your own as he gently but firmly massages the damned thoughts away.

“So you agree then?” You nibble at your lip and hesitantly nod in agreement.

“Yes. We should go. We deserve to be happy,” you speak to him affirmatively but mostly say the words to convince yourself. He smiles contently and reaches up to tenderly kiss your lips.

“Indeed we do,” he says, looking out the window as the moon perfectly casts through the window, settling directly on your face. You were always beautiful, but in this light, you looked unreal.

Though the two of you did not have any sort of plan arranged, it did not bother you. Being anywhere was heavenly so as long as Heathcliff was beside you. The thought of building a new life together in a new place admittedly made you worrisome, but if you needed additional comforting, you knew he would give it to you with no hesitation. And that alone eased the majority of your nerves.