Becoming Rapunzel

Wooer

“I’m so glad you came,” I gushed, self-conscious, hyper, and unsure of myself. I did not rush to embrace him as I did in the past.

“I told you I would,” Ansel said, easing into a sitting position on my chest. He wore a green doublet that brought out the color of his eyes.

I flushed. “I want to apologize for the other evening. I realize I hurt your feelings and—“

“Oh, no!” he interrupted, taking off his hat. “It is I who should apologize. I moved far too quickly and I should have remembered your gentle upbringing. You are different, and that is one of the things I admire about you.”

“Can you tell me what wooing is?” I asked, looking at him shyly. I assumed this is what he wanted.

He grinned, and my heart jumped into my throat again. He had never looked more handsome, I thought. “It’s when a man asks and encourages a woman to love him and welcome him into her arms.”

 “What does that look like?” I asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

His voice grew soft. “Why don’t I show you?” Before I could answer, he moved swiftly to sit beside me on my mattress.

My heart beat faster and I couldn’t hold eye contact with him for long before his searing gaze caused my self-conscious attempts at flirtation to fail, and I ended up staring at my feet more than at him.

Slowly, he reached over and picked my left hand up and held it in his right. It was so warm, so hard and soft at once, that I sighed. My anticipation had been rewarded with the most intimate connection I had ever experienced. He did not just hold my hand, but explored it, with his. He turned my hand over and traced the lines of my palm with his fingertips, he clasped and unclasped his fingers between mine, and I responded in kind. I closed my eyes to better feel his rough hands over my fingertips. I do not know how much time passed before our entwining hands slowed and we rested them, locked together, on my lap.

“I like wooing,” I said once I had regained my breath.

He chuckled. “I like you, Rapunzel.”

I glanced up at him and smiled. “I’m so glad you found me, Ansel.”

“This isn’t all of the wooing process,” he told me after a bit of silence.

"There’s more?” I perked up.

“Usually I would write you a poem, rhapsodizing about your beauty and your goodness. Or bring you flowers. Or go on a brave quest to bring you honor.”

I cocked my head, thinking. “I like the flowers part. But soil and seeds sound even better.”

Ansel smiled. “That’s my Rapunzel.” He lifted his hand and smoothed back a stray piece of hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my left ear. My heart skipped a beat.

My skin tingled where he touched, and I wanted to cradle my face in his hand. But he might not like that. Or maybe he would. I wasn’t sure which I was more nervous about.

“Can you show me the seeds you hope to plant at the New Year?” he asked.

I smiled. “Certainly. Come with me.” I stood, grasped his hand once more, and led him down the stairs. As we walked down the steps together, I thought, “My Rapunzel. This is better than I imagined. I do want this—whatever pleases him, I want this.

Looking back, I see now that Ansel was as infatuated with me as I him. I was a damsel in distress, a maiden with a mysterious background and a trusting, eager nature. I was his secret, and it stirred all the poetic feelings of romance he had believed. He thought he could rescue me and love me to wholeness. I could not see far beyond myself, however. I only knew that I loved him for being there, for listening to me, and for telling me I was bright. I could not lose him, or I would lose myself as well. I craved his admiration like plants soak in the sun. I could no longer imagine a life without him.