Page 39 of Shattered Trinket
Gods, he’s hot.
It takes me a minute to realize he sent a message after the picture, and I quickly read it over, eager to hear his explanation.
My Ghost: I figured me and him could hang out for a bit since you’re going to be busy. He’s a pretty nice little snuggle partner, but I’m afraid to say, he’s gonna reek of me by the time he makes it home, Dove *winking emoji*
Letting out a light laugh, I shake my head and absentmindedly bite my thumbnail, racking my brain for a smart response that won’t make me sound utterly foolish. Eventually, I decide to stick with simplicity because it’s important to learn how to walk before trying to run.
Me: *side eye emoji* Shameless!
I groan at my lame response and toss my phone to the side before burying my face in my nest, praying for it to swallow me down into its soft, cuddly depths so I can live out my humiliation alone in solitude.
Why does flirting seem so terrifying and hard? Or is it just me?
Allowing myself a moment to wallow, I eventually gather my resolve enough to get up from my comfy spot. I blow a waywardcurl out of my face, something I’m constantly doing. But despite the annoyance, I don’t tame it because it just reminds me of my mom.
The jarring sound of my phone startles me, causing me to trip and almost sprain my ankle as I frantically search for it, assuming it’s Jeremiah responding. After some digging around in the piles of pillows, I finally find it, and the butterflies that were preparing to take flight park their booties right back on the ground when I see it’s a message from Mama Valley. I release an exasperated sigh at myself, rubbing my hand against my forehead.
Mama: Dinner’s done, sweetheart. Come down when you’re ready!
I quickly put the nest back in order, glancing around at what I built as I nibble nervously on my lip.
Nervous because…
What if he doesn’t like it?
What if I didn’t do it right?
I mean, I think I did okay. It’s definitely plush and cozy, a little private fortress within a private fortress filled with enough pillows and blankets to snuggle down in with plenty of squishy plushies to cuddle, should anyone else choose to…
Letting out an exasperated groan, I throw my head back in frustration before reluctantly climbing out of the nest. As I make my way downstairs, I notice everyone already seated and patiently waiting for me, and I rush to the table, taking my seat with an awkward smile.
While I eat, a sense of restlessness consumes me, urging me to finish quickly and retreat back to my room. I can feel MamaValley’s curious eyes on me the entire meal, and my brain screams at me to abort, run away!
As the dads are deep in conversation about an upcoming camping trip they’re planning, I catch a glimpse of her sly smile and realize I need to make my escape. Because she knows something’s up, and I can’t lie directly to her face if she asks me about it. But I also can’t tell her. Not right now. I’m not ready to explain Jeremiah or deal with the possible emotional fallout today.
So, like a complete coward, I wolf down my food, place my dishes in the dishwasher, and call out a quick goodnight as I scurry back upstairs to lock myself in my room with my head down, refusing to make eye contact with Mama Valley when I pass her. In the safety of my room, I practically trip running into the closet, face planting into endless cushioning when I dive into the nest like a complete loon. I hastily slam the door, and only when it’s shut do I let myself relax.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to snuggle down in the fort and maybe take a little power nap as I wait. I crawl in, grabbing one of the other new plushies I got earlier today, along with two of the blankets I kept out, and collapse into a pile of soft pillows as I wrap myself up like a burrito in the first blanket. I set an alarm on my phone and make sure I place it nearby, and once I have the other blanket thrown over me, I burrow in. With the black and blue cat plush curled in my arms, I close my eyes and fall asleep faster than I ever have before.
Startled awake from a nightmare, my heart pounds in my chest and my body is covered in a cold sweat. Frenzied, I free myself from the suffocating embrace of the blankets, gulping for air to fill my lungs until I finally calm my racing heart.
I grab my phone, squinting at the bright screen and groaning when I see how late it is before worry sets in when I note there are no new messages from Jeremiah, which makes my heart sink.
What if something happened to him?
What if he got a flat tire and doesn’t have a spare?
What if he wrecked on the way here and is lying out there, badly hurt and waiting for help?
The thought of anything happening to Jeremiah fills me with a sickening sensation, and that familiar abyss in my stomach reappears.
Or what if he’s just not coming?
The voice, like a persistent shadow, continues to echo in my mind, causing my fists to clench on my thighs. With each passing moment, my mind is bombarded by a never-ending stream of worrisome scenarios, filling me with a sense of unease and uncertainty. That nonstop voice continues, its words blending together into a chaotic jumble in my mind, as if multiple voices are speaking all at once, until I tightly shut my eyes, desperately pleading for the voice to shut up. A tightness grips my chest, and my hands quiver incessantly, refusing to steady themselves, no matter how tightly I squeeze the oversized plushie I’d unconsciously dragged into my lap.
I stumble to my feet, desperate for a breath of fresh air, and hastily climb out of the nest. As I fling my closet door open, my heart skips a beat and I teeter on the edge of falling as I freeze in astonishment, confronted by the sight of the man lounging on my bed, his hands casually propping up his head, eyes blissfully shut. Each breath he takes causes his chest to rise and fall in a soothing, synchronized pattern, releasing the tightness in his features and replacing it with a sense of ease. The moment he comes into view, my heart rate slows down, and a sense of calm washes over me, replacing the anxiety.
Taking small, deliberate steps, I cautiously approach, torn between the desire to avoid waking him and the longing to study him without any trace of embarrassment. I want to see his features clear and unburdened by the life he’s lived because I don’t think I’ve ever really seen Jeremiah truly at ease before.