Forty-Seven Uses for a Paperclip (Completed)

Chapter Thirty: Pantries are for Kissing

Chapter Thirty

Pantries are for Kissing

"What in the world do we do with these?" Colton holds up the box, the contents of which clatter at the movement.

 

"They're nutcrackers!" I say joyously, peering into the box. I grab one and hold it up. The little man is covered in a bit of dust but is otherwise unharmed. "How cute!"

"Take 'em," Colton sets the box at my feet. "I don't want them."

"But can't you imagine setting them on our mantle? They would look so nice next to our tree-"

Abruptly, I break off.

Colton smiles at me and turns to a new box to inspect. Mr. Emerson, who is rummaging around in the corner of his grandmother's attic, watches me amusedly, the corners of his lips twitching.

Ignoring them, I peruse through the box of nutcrackers, my mind a tumult of feelings about my blunder.

I've been doing that a lot lately -referring to Colton and I as 'we' or speaking as if we're already married and moving in together. I think it started a few weeks ago after I accidentally confessed my love to him in my car. I realized I care about him deeper than I originally thought and went off the deep end. Now, I can't stop entertaining fantasies that include a boy with Colton's hair and our eyes.

A sudden howling fills the air, causing all three of us to stop our half-hearted cleaning.

"Ah, Sergeant's lonely." Mr. Emerson says knowingly, moving to the windy staircase. "I'll go check on him."

I grin and watch his brown hair disappear down the steps. After Mr. Emerson got over the fact that Sergeant had a million dollar snack, he refused to give the dog back, claiming he'd sue. Never mind the fact that it may have not been the real Honus Wagner card -it was still a liable threat to the dog-renter.

"Him and that dog." Colton says, shaking his head in amusement.

"I know right?" I say, laughing to myself.

Colton and I still haven't talked about our confessions in my car. We haven't avoided them, exactly. We just don't speak of it. I do wonder how long this subject-silence is going to last, though.

"Colton!" Mr. Emerson's voice reverberates through the spacious house from floors below. "Your mom is on the phone for you!"

"My mom?" Colton repeats, his voice far too quiet to carry down to our teacher. He reaches for his cell phone in his jeans pocket and checks the screen. "She called twice. The crazy woman. And my phone's on silent." He calls down to Mr. Emerson, "Coming!" And leaves me alone in the attic.

I wait awhile, content to look at the nutcrackers, but eventually I grow bored. How long does it take to talk to your mom?

I wander down the two flights of stairs and into the kitchen. Mr. Emerson, from the sounds of it, is playing with Sergeant in the backyard. But Colton is nowhere to be found.

I walk deeper into the kitchen, wondering where in the world my boyfriend has disappeared to, when I'm suddenly grabbed around the upper arm and pulled into the pantry.

"Seriously?" I ask. Light seeps in through the slates in the door, casting sun-filled lines across the length of Colton and I. I stare up at him in disbelief.

"Come on," Colton implores, looping a loose circle around my waist with his arms. "We've been in every room of the house except the pantry."

"And the broom closet." I add, not thinking.

"We'll go there next," Colton promises, pulling me a bit closer.

"How wonderful." I deadpan, smiling despite myself. I decide to change the subject. "What did your mom want?"

"She was just wondering if we were still going to yours for dinner." Colton responds. "I told her 'of course.' She's the one who claimed Mondays and Thursdays. That's all she gets. Sundays and Tuesdays are your house. Unless, of course, there's great food somewhere else. Then we'll go there, no matter the night."

"Of course," I echo, winding my arms around Colton's neck.

He grins down at me.

His dad still hasn't returned. Last I heard, Hillary was filing for divorce. Colton still doesn't like to talk about it, but occasionally he'll open up and tell me how he feels. I'm not sure if he'll ever feel completely ready to face his dad, though.

"Hey, guess what?" Colton leans down closer, his breath flushing my forehead.

"What?" I ask, pressing the tip of my nose to his in an Eskimo kiss.

"Right back at ya."

It takes me a second to process what he really means, since that phrase in no way fits into the current conversation. When I do, my stomach starts doing gymnastics.

"You do know what I really mean, right?" His face turns worried.

I laugh softly. "Of course I do. And I love you too.

A smile erupts into his face and he closes the distance between us, kissing me.

"Will you marry me?" Colton opens his eyes, revealing their electric green shade.

I grin and pull his face back down, closer to my own. "Ask me again in five years."

 

I kiss him before he has a chance to answer.