His bending down to meet me was so rare for this week of falling into something like love, it startled me, in the best way. We had barely touched all week. I remember him putting his hand on my back once on Saturday, making sure I made it across the street, and our legs touching briefly by accident as we sat listening to Baroque music in the corner of candlelit Exeter College chapel. But that’s it.
So for a moment I felt lost in him, in this simple closeness. I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his neck and kissed him just there, wherever my lips happened to be, awkwardly and spontaneously. My heart was so full. My tongue was stulted as usual. I couldn’t say even half of what I’d said to Simon in genuine friendship. Jack didn’t do much better. He told me we’d get together when I got home, and as I walked away, called out something about not working too hard.
There is one particular scene in Pride and Prejudice that may be my favorite. I sometimes have to go back and watch it again, even though nothing really happens. Elizabeth is at the piano, helping Georgiana, and Darcy—Colin Firth—just gazes at her for a moment, with complete adoration. That’s it. One moment—the best possible look on his face. I never thought to be looked at that way. I mean, this is the movies after all, and a Jane Austen movie at that. How many guys just sit back and give girls adoring glances like they are wholly entranced—in a way that’s more than just wanting to get her into bed?
But when I left Jack he had the best look in his eyes--like he couldn’t smile enough, so it was coming out everywhere else. But it was more than happiness. For those few moments I was adored. It was so strong as to feel tangible, and sent me off with the confidence of something I didn’t dare put into words.