Page 13 of A Simple Love
“Terrifying? How?”
I clear my throat and adjust myself in my seat before answering. “Well, I’ve always felt like teaching was the only job I could ever see myself doing, and I still feel that way. But then, I worry that this idea of teaching, this title that I have fought for so long to have, might not be what I thought it was. What if I start off this school year and realize a few months in that I hate it? What if I question every decision I’ve ever made up to this point? Is thisreallywhat Iamsupposed to be doing with my life? The expectation has been so high on a pedestal in my mind for so long. I’m afraid the reality won’t live up to it.”
Voicing that fear relieved a pressure in my chest I knew was there but wasn’t sure would ever go away. Turns out, sharing that realization with someone was probably what I needed. And then I realize the person I shared that with was Mike, not my best friends or even my family, and the tightness returns. It’s not an uncomfortable tightness though, more like a shock. The fact that I felt more comfortable admitting my fear to Mike is a good indication that maybe my gut has been right all along.
“Wanna know a secret, Vic?” Mike eyes me over his shoulder. I nod, my pulse firing rapidly as the seriousness of our evening comes barreling forward quickly.
“I felt that exact same way about starting a furniture business for years and that fear kept me from jumping all-in to what I ultimately knew I wanted.”
My mouth falls open. “Seriously? I never would have known.” I shake my head.
“I know, because I never told anyone. I just woke up one day and knew that I would regret it and question it for the rest of my life if I never took the leap. I didn’t want to live my days wondering what if?”
I fathom what Mike is telling me, his brutal honesty so calming, but also mesmerizing as I realize we share even more than I thought. And then I wonder, was that fear of starting his business the same fear that kept him from pursuing me?
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Mike. I mean, knowing someone else can feel that way about their dreams doesn’t make me feel like as much of a freak anymore.” I joke, but my declaration is serious.
“Believe me, I get it. I thought, how could I be so scared to start something that I knew I wanted so much? But fear is fickle. One moment it can save you from disaster. The next, it’s paralyzing you from your dreams. You just have to ask whether the fear is worth the reward.”
I reach over for his hand, his words doing more to my heart than any look or touch he’s ever given me. This. This friendship, the blinding comfort I have when I’m with him is leading me to believe our repressed feelings haven’t just been a figment of my imagination all these years.
His thumb brushes my knuckle as he squeezes our fingers together and he continues the drive. I feel like Mike is worth the fear, but again, I’m scared. Is he one of those things in my life that I know I want so badly but I’m too afraid to take the leap, for the fear that it won’t live up to the expectation? Yes. Yes, he is. Just like my job. But my job can’t stand to hurt me, wreck me, or ruin me like Mike can. In this case, I feel it warrants the fear for the time being.
After a few more miles, Mike slows the truck and pulls over to the side of the road next to Becker’s Food Truck, a familiar scene to me, but one I haven’t seen in years. Becker gained a piece of land in Little Rock, a small town west of Hopetown, and decided to park his food truck there instead of driving around. He has created quite the destination for some fabulous food since he made his purchase years ago, people driving in droves to experience a one-of-a-kind evening.
Once we find a space to park, Mike opens my door for me before ushering me up to the planked fence that encircles the food truck as he opens the latch on the gate. The heat that hums up my spine as his palm finds the spot between my hips ignites even more anticipation in me. Even though Mike and I have always known our feelings, we’ve barely touched. The caress of his fingers on my back, his hands in mine on the car ride over… it’s electric, a feeling I know I’ll never be able to live without again.
As we walk through the dark wooden fence and gate, we are greeted with the view of a space reminiscent of someone’s backyard paradise. The space is huge really, bigger than it looks from the outside. Two lines are formed leading up to the windows of the truck, one for ordering and one for pick up. Beyond the line area are dozens of wooden picnic tables with red-checkered tablecloths placed on top of turf, mimicking a lawn and picnic area. Steel lanterns hang from a wire strung across the fence, lining up on top of each table to provide light as you eat, and strings of bulbs lights cascade down from a giant telephone pole in the middle of the yard. There’s a fountain in one corner, the sound of bubbling water providing background noise, and fresh flower gardens line the fence all the way around. In the back corner is a rather large dance floor and a DJ booth set up for later with colorful lanterns that hang from above. The wall furthest from the entrance has a custom-built bar, resembling the one in Dean and Michael’s first house, and two men are running around efficiently filling drink orders. Mike turns to me and smiles.
“That bar looks awfully familiar,” I tease him, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Well, I built it.”
“Seriously? I never knew that.”
Taking my hand, he pulls us to fall into the line to order our food. “Yeah, that bar was one of the first projects I’ve ever built. Becker asked me if I would be interested and I said yes. It’s probably one of the worst pieces I’ve made too,” he chuckles. “But no one would really see the flaws besides me.”
I glance over at the bar, the dark gray-stained wood standing strong while patrons lean against it, bartenders lean over it, and drinks slide across it. “Well, it’s beautiful and just confirms that you have a natural talent, Mike.”
Mike stares down at me. The heat of his gaze makes my skin buzz with excitement. “Thank you, Vic. Now let’s figure out what we’re going to eat.”
Perusing the rather large menu full of options from sandwiches to burgers, pasta to fried chicken, Mike and I decide on a sandwich and a basket of chicken fingers and fries to share.
“Why don’t you go find us a table while I order the food?” He motions behind us where the picnic tables form lines throughout the yard.
“Okay. Grab me a Coke too, please?” I call out, the dip of his chin confirming my request.
After a few minutes, Mike finds me at a table in the back, the tablecloth falling over the top, concealing my legs from underneath. I can feel his penetrating gaze as he makes his way over to me, the intensity of our closeness waking me up to raise my head from looking down at my lap, meeting his eyes as he walks over.
“Dinner is served,” he announces as he takes his seat across from me and carefully lowers the tray of our food to the table.
“Thank you, Mike. It’s been SO long since I’ve been here! And Becker’s chicken strips are the best! Did you remember my…”
“Buffalo ranch?” He slides two containers of my favorite dipping sauce ever across the table to me. “I would never forget your buffalo ranch, Vic.” He winks at me, my stomach doing somersaults at his look and his memory. If there is one thing Mike has going for him, it’s that he knows me better than Ben. We’ve grown up together, watched each other from afar, left with nothing but time to memorize the quirks of the other person. Again though, I think that’s just another reason why the fear of expectation not living up to reality assaults my mind. I’ve been able to fantasize about Mike for so long but never got to experience him in person.
“Eat up. I’m gonna spin you around on the dance floor later.” His boyish grin makes the butterflies take flight in my stomach this time, the idea of dancing with Mike definitely high on my list of fantasies.
Taking a bite of my food, I close my eyes to savor the crunch of the batter, the juiciness of the chicken, and spiciness of the sauce. “Mmmmmm, so good!” I mumble around my mouthful of food. When my eyes veer open, I see Mike staring at me, pure heat in his gaze as his dark brown orbs travel down my face to my lips. His hand reaches out towards me, making me tense up at the acceptance of his touch as his thumb finds the corner of my mouth when he wipes the sauce clean from my face and sucks it off in his own mouth, his lips pursing around his digit and my lady bits throbbing at the scene. Holy shit! That’s a sensation I’ve never experienced at the sight of a man before, let alone the image of a man licking his fingers.