Jonah doesn’t let go of my hand until we reach the end of the hallway. Stopping in front of his door, he unlocks it, and goes into his room, indicating for me to follow. I pause, not sure if I should.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to. From the second he stopped kissing me, it’s all I’ve thought about. The way it felt, the all-consuming need it brought from me.
And that’s the reason I don’t move from the doorway.
If I step inside there, he’s going to look at me like he did back in that lane, and I won’t be able to stop myself.
Jonah steps out of the bathroom, shirtless, a towel draped over his shoulders. I groan internally. His body is incredible. My fingers recall the hard lines of his abs, how they felt beneath my touch. It’s a visceral memory, and one I wouldn’t mind repeating.
“Here,” he says, walking over and handing me a towel.
I take it from him out of reflex.
He goes over to the mini bar and pulls out a small bottle of whiskey. “You want one?” he asks, and when I don’t answer, he glances in my direction. “You can come in,” he adds with a laugh.
My internal struggle continues until my skin starts to shiver. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jonah.
“Come,” he says, taking the towel from my hands and wrapping it around me. “You need to get dry.” He rubs my arms briskly.
Having his hands on me again does nothing to help my trembling.
Moving me over to the bed, his sits me on it, and then picks up one of the glasses on the counter. “This will help,” he says, offering it to me.
I lift it to my lips, and for reasons having more to do with my nerves than my shivering, I down the drink in one go.
Jonah looks at the empty glass, impressed. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”
My damp clothes cling uncomfortably to my body, but I don’t move. Jonah takes a seat beside me, his proximity only intensifying my self-consciousness. I feel like a teenager again, the bundle of nerves and butterflies taking me back to the night I lost my virginity. The thought has me laughing. Out loud. Like a lunatic.
“What is it?” he asks, looking at me, confused.
“Nothing,” I say, not wanting to share the awkward experience of that encounter. I exhale and turn to face him. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”
He lifts his brow. “You’re not?”
“No,” I insist. “I’m not.”
“As in ever, or tonight?” The smirk he gives me only makes him more handsome.
I open my mouth to reply but realize I don’t have an answer. I fix my eyes on the wall opposite, not daring to look at him lest I lose my resolve.
“It’s okay,” he says, his tone casual. “This can be whatever we want it to be. Or not be.”
“Or not be? What do you mean?”
“Just that.” He stands and places his empty glass down on the counter. “This doesn’t have to be more than it is.”
The fluttering in my stomach evaporates. “And what is it?”
He shrugs. “Could be sex, if you want. Or it could be a kiss in the rain and no more than that.”
His nonchalance is an unexpected blow to my self-esteem. I feel like an idiot. Sex or a kiss in the rain. “No more than that, huh?”
“It’s no big deal.” He stands there, all shirtless and muscular, but I find any desire on my part has disappeared.
Getting up off the bed, I pull the towel from around my shoulders and throw it over the back of a chair. “I need to get out of these clothes,” I say, heading for the door.
“Charlotte?”
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “You’re right. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
Crossing the hall, I step into my room and quickly close the door behind me. My frustration and regret reign. Just this afternoon I was trying to convince myself that I didn’t have feelings for him, and now I’m upset because he doesn’t want anything more than something physical.
How could I have been so stupid?
Where did I get the idea that anything more than that was possible?
And, even more vexing, why does it bother me so much?
“Wait a second, you didn’t sleep with him?”
I lie in bed, my phone on the pillow next to me on speaker. “Of course I didn’t.”
Zoe hums in thought. “And why not?”
“Because,” I say, staring at the light streaming through the curtains, reminding me that I need to get up soon.
“Because isn’t an answer, Char.”
“Because he only wants sex.”
“And that’s a problem?”
I sigh heavily. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Char.” Zoe’s tone is gentle. “Do you have feelings for him?”
Do I? I’ve only known him five days.
“I see,” she says at my silent response. “So it’s not that you don’t want to sleep with him. It’s that you don’t only want to sleep with him.”
Hearing her say it out loud only makes me more frustrated at myself. “I’m so stupid.”
“No, you’re not. This is great, can’t you see? After everything you’ve been through these past six months, the fact that you’re opening yourself up again like that, it’s a good thing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I have to spend the entire day in a car with him. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that’s going to be?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she offers. “You could just enjoy the time you spend together. He obviously likes you, and you clearly like him. Would it be the worst thing to have a romantic fling in France with a hot British guy?”
“You know me. I’m not the fling type.”
“That’s what everyone says before they enjoy an epic fling.”
I laugh. Zoe always has a way of seeing the best in every situation. “I honestly wish I could be like that. It would make things simpler.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“The only thing I can do. I’m going to pretend it never happened.”
Her end goes quiet for a moment. “You think you can do that?”
I hear her doubt clearly. “I think it’s my only option. I should never have started anything with him. I wish I could go back and stop him from kissing me.”
“I’m sure you do.” She doesn’t even try to hide her sarcasm.
“I’m serious, Zoe.”
“Oh, I know you are.”
“Anyways, I better get going. I have a whole day of traveling around the French countryside with Jonah ahead of me.” My stomach sinks at the thought.
“It’s going to be okay, Char. You’ll see.”
I don’t feel her confidence. “I’ll talk to you later.”
After hanging up, I lie in bed staring up at the ceiling. I don’t know what’s come over me. This isn’t something I’ve experienced before. I’ve never felt so attracted to someone so quickly.
My last relationship had been formed over time. I met Joel through Pierre. We were friends, and we didn’t start dating until we’d known each other for a while. It wasn’t a sweeping romance, but something unhurried, a series of dates that led to it becoming official.
My thoughts sour. Time, it seems, didn’t help me see the truth in the end. I thought I did everything right, not rushing in, not asking for too much too soon. But I see now that it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wasn’t love that we had.
It was two lost people choosing to be together so they didn’t have to be alone.
Though I try to push it from my mind, I can’t stop thinking about last night’s kiss. How unlike it was from any other I’ve had. When Jonah put his hands on me, I felt as though my body was coming alive. It was all at once intoxicating and alarming.
How could someone I barely know make me feel that way?
And why am I so upset he didn’t feel it, too?
Needing to refocus my thoughts, I think about a strategy for the day. I need to get dressed, pack my bag, and head downstairs. I’ll wait for Jonah in the lobby, and when we drive away from this place, we’ll leave everything that happened behind and get back to our purpose for being here.
My plan goes perfectly right up until the second Jonah walks into the lobby. I watch him approach, my grip on my emotions weakening. When he looks at me, the feelings I thought I had successfully buried come rushing to the surface.
Standing, I walk out the front door and towards the car, not wanting to engage in conversation. That works fine until he catches up.
“Charlotte,” he says cautiously. “Can we talk?”
“There’s no need,” I tell him, waiting for him to unlock the door.
He doesn’t look convinced. “About last night.”
“Nothing happened.”
His face falls. “I think there was a misunderstanding.”
No kidding. “It’s fine. We don’t need to talk about it. Honestly, I’d rather we didn’t. I just want to focus on finding my grandmother. It’s the only reason I’m here.”
He hesitates but unlocks the door. I get in and pull the notebook from my bag. It gives me something to focus my attention on. When he gets into the passenger seat, I can feel his eyes on me. I keep mine on the notebook.
“Videcosville,” I say, giving him the name of the next town on the list.
He starts the car, and as we drive away from the hotel, I don’t get the relief I’d hoped I would. Even as we put miles between us and that lane, I don’t feel any comfort from its distance. If anything, being alone again with Jonah only makes it more confusing.
Our conversation is limited to the list and maps. When we reach the first town, we head straight to the church. Once again, Jonah does most of the talking. The minister, a young man with shrewd eyes, points us in the direction of an older gentleman who lived in the town during the war.
When we get to the man’s farmhouse, my apprehension increases. We’ve barely knocked on the front door when we’re greeted by a petite dark-haired woman. After introductions and an explanation from Jonah as to why we’re here, we’re invited in. The man, who turns out to be her grandfather, is sitting in the backyard, smoking a pipe.
From behind, for the briefest moment, he looks so much like my grandpa that I feel my heart constrict with a deep pang of grief.
It takes me a full minute to breathe through it.
With the help of his granddaughter, we learn that Albert was fourteen during the allied invasion. Jonah asks him the list of questions he’s perfected over the many towns we’ve visited. I watch, not understanding the words the man says, but reading his face.
He tells his stories in a loop, losing his place at times, his granddaughter gently coaxing him back. Jonah translates, and I listen attentively as he talks about his life during the war. How they all nearly starved because of the rationing. What it was like in the years before the allies came, when the Nazis had taken over.
His granddaughter assures us that as frail as he seems, his mind is still sharp. He remembers everyone, but he doesn’t remember a woman named Charlotte.
The disappointment washes over me.
When we return to the car, I feel tears threaten my eyes. I don’t know why, but I thought that maybe, just maybe we were going to find something here. I dig through my bag on the passenger seat floor, searching for a tissue.
“Are you okay?” Jonah asks.
I don’t find one, and sit back in frustration, wiping a finger over my wet cheeks. Jonah leans over and opens the glove compartment. He takes out a packet of tissues and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say with a sniff.
“When I was a kid, I had a stuffed rabbit named Mr. Snuggles.”
I glance at him, wondering where that came from.
“He was my favorite toy. I couldn’t sleep without Mr. Snuggles. One day though, I took him with me on a walk through the woods. At some point, he fell out of my bag. I didn’t notice until I got home.”
Jonah looks out the windshield, in reflection. “I was devastated. Inconsolable. Sobbing hysterically.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.” He looks at me straight-faced before breaking out into a smile. “No, I was five. Anyways, my parents couldn’t comfort me, so my dad, he decides there’s only one thing left to do. It was dark, well after dinnertime, but he tells me that we’re going back into the woods to look for Mr. Snuggles. And the crying stopped. I went with my dad, and we searched for hours.
“Near the end, I was dead on my feet, so my dad was carrying me, and I remember saying to him that maybe I needed to let Mr. Snuggles go. That maybe he’d chosen to leave me. And you know what my dad said?”
“What?”
“He said as long as I didn’t give up on Mr. Snuggles, then Mr. Snuggles would never give up on me.”
“So, what happened?”
“We continued searching, and not long after that we found him. And ever since then, I’ve lived by what my dad taught me in the woods. I don’t give up.” He starts the car. “And neither will we.”