I'd put on a little makeup and arranged my hair in two tiny pigtails down on the nape of my neck. I was glad I made a little effort because he was effortlessly gorgeous as he walked toward me in the driveway.
"I was hoping you wanted to stop for coffee and breakfast on our way out," he said.
I leveled him with a glare through narrowed eyes. "Are you a mind-reader?" I asked, suspiciously, making him smile.
It was bright out and I put on a pair of sunglasses as I continued to walk toward him. He stood in between me and the car, and I had no choice but to walk up to him. He was literally the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen. He had on dark jeans with a fitted vintage T-shirt that was the perfect accent to his tattoos. His dark hair was combed back in the most flattering way possible. I couldn’t believe this creature was standing in my driveway waiting for me. It seemed too good to be true. It was too good to be true, reminded myself.
It would never work out, it would never work out, I said over and over in my head. I expected him to walk me to my side of the car like the gentleman he was, but he didn't. He reached out for me and took me into his arms, holding onto me like I was something he treasured. He breathed as if he was relieved. I tried to tell myself again that it was never going to happen, but being held by him was so perfect that I had no other choice but to remain hopeful.
"Good morning," I said, stepping back with a smile.
"Good morning," he said. He bent to kiss my cheek, and I let him. In fact, I stuck it out there when I saw that's what he was doing. He put his hand on my back when we walked to the car. I was so crazy about him that even this slight touch made waves of anxious pleasure run through me.
We stopped for coffee and breakfast before we got on the road. There was a good place near my house, so I told him where to go. I knew two of the people working and talked to them for a second before we left. I introduced Patrick as my friend and he went along with that with no hesitation. We were friends, after all. I mean we weren't automatically dating just because he kissed me in my driveway just now and was about to meet my mother.
I couldn't believe I was even having thoughts about being in a relationship with him. I was reminding myself that he was an atheist as we walked out of the coffee shop and almost ran straight into Kells from Seven Stones.
"Hey Kells," Patrick said.
She stepped back and regarded us with surprise, looked me over, and then looked at Patrick with a disbelieving scowl. "What are you doing here?" she asked.
"We came to get some coffee," Patrick said, lifting the paper cup he was holding.
"Are you two dating now?" she asked.
I said, "No," and he said, "Sort of," at the same time. Then he and I looked at each other. I must have been wearing a curious expression because his face broke into a grin.
"We are sort of dating," he said directly to me. I took a second to think about it, and then looked at Kells with a smile and shrug. She huffed and rolled her eyes as she turned to head into the coffee shop.
"See ya, Kells," Patrick said.
"See ya," she said as if nothing was wrong. He looked at me with a casual grin like we should just keep walking to the car as if nothing happened.
"What was that all about?" I asked, falling into step beside him."
"That's just how she acts all the time," he said. "She doesn't mean anything by it."
"I think she hates me," I said.
"She hates everybody."
We got settled in the car and started on the trip, and I never found a good moment to ask him about telling Kells we were sort of dating. I wanted to ask him to define sort of dating so I knew exactly what he thought was going on, but I never could work up the nerve.
I decided to just appreciate the moment for what it was. I sincerely enjoyed being with him. We had the same taste in movies, and we listed our favorite movie moments including a challenge that lasted almost an hour where we quoted our favorite Coen brothers movie lines. Patrick was a genius with impressions, and I was terrible with them, but not afraid to try. We had each other laughing the entire time.
It took us right at two hours to get to Victoria, but it seemed more like ten minutes. I didn't have the chance to tell my mom that Patrick was coming with me, and by the time I thought about calling to warn her, we were pulling into the driveway.
It was a nice day, and my mom was in the front yard tending to the flowerbeds when we drove up. There was a long porch that ran the entire length of the front of the house, and my nephews bounded across it as they headed toward us. My mom stood with her tools in her hands regarding Patrick's car curiously.
I got out of the car without waiting for Patrick to open the door for me. I hated to spring him on her like this. She was standing closer to the passenger's side so I got out quickly.
"Hey Mom," I said. "I rode with my friend."
She gave me a relieved smile and stooped to set down her tool.
"Mimi, Mimi," my nephews called, running to meet me.
I bent to hug them, and by the time I looked up at my mom, she was standing there staring at Patrick with a deer in the headlights look. She began to shake her head slightly as if she didn't approve of my gentleman caller.
"Mom, this is my friend Patrick," I said hoping she'd snap out of whatever weird trance she was in. "Mom, stop," I said only loud enough for her to hear.
My nephews ran around to the front of the car to greet Patrick, and he focused on them. I wanted to hug their little necks for the perfectly timed distraction.
"You're not dating that guy are you?" she whispered.
"No," I said defensively. "But I would."
My nephews were approaching Patrick, and I couldn’t even listen to what they were saying because my mom was freaking out for no reason.
"He looks rough, Mia. I know you like tattoos and everything, but this guy just seems, umm…" she paused thinking of the right word, and we watched as he stooped to speak to Kyle's kids, who were four and six. He was smiling sweetly at them as they approached him curiously, and I turned to her with a sardonic glare.
"Rough, Mom?"
"You know what I mean."
"No I don't, not really. I mean Cameron has tattoos. I have tattoos."
"Yeah, but not like that."
One of the boys pointed at Patrick and asked him something, which made Patrick hold out his arm. They both walked toward him cautiously, and when they came to stand next to him, reached out to touch his arm.
"Boys!" my mother yelled.
Chapter 11
My nephews had just reached out to touch Patrick's arm when my mom yelled loud enough to make me jump.
"Boys!" she yelled.
The boys looked at her with stunned expressions, and Patrick put his arm down.
"Mimi's friend probably doesn't want to be bothered."
"Oh, they're not bothering me," Patrick said, smiling.
"I'm Joan," my mom said holding her hand out even though she was a good twenty feet away. I knew she was sizing him up, but all I could do was hope for the best. I didn't expect her to be so surprised that I'd bring home someone who looked like Patrick, and it took me a little off guard.
Patrick came over to us and shook my mom's hand. He had a charming smile, and I watched, hoping it would work on my mom. "Patrick Mallory," he said. "I grew up in California, but I live in Austin now."
My mom smiled. It was guarded, but it was a smile. "And how do you know Mia?" she asked.
I cringed waiting for him to answer her. "She bought some art from me."
"You're an artist?" she asked with a cock of her head.
"Yes ma'am."
My mom looked at me as if further explanation would be wonderful at this point. "He's a tattooer, Mom. He did my tattoos."
My mom's eyes widened with what I thought was fear, and thankfully my nephew, the little one, said, "You can make tattoos?"
"Yes I can," Patrick said smiling down at him. "And it's really cool that you asked if I can make tattoos, because making a tattoo is exac
tly what I call it. I made two of them on your aunt."
"You did?" his older brother said.
"You did?" my mom asked.
I extended my arm and let them see the cross. I had on a shirt with sleeves so I had to lift it up to expose the small arrow on the back of my arm. The boys huddled around me, running their curious little fingers over the cross. Jude, the little one, reached out to touch the arrow, and I pulled away.
"That one's still healing, buddy," I said.
"Is his still healing?" Jude asked, pointing at Patrick's arms, but staring at me with those, huge puppy dog eyes.
I laughed. "No baby, Mr. Patrick's are all healed up."
"What's healed up mean?" he asked.
"Getting a tattoo kind of gives you an ouchie for a few days," Patrick explained. "It's part of the trick of making it stay on."
"My mom said we can't get the kind that stay on," Jude said.
Justin elbowed him. "He knows. You're not old enough," he said, scolding him.
"I'm not gonna get any tattoos when I turn old enough because my dad says you can't get a real job if you have tattoos," Jude said.
Patrick laughed. "You're dad's probably right—for his generation, at least." Patrick shrugged. "By the time you get a job things might be different."
Jude smiled at the thought.
"Can I touch that skull?" Justin asked.
"How many skulls do you have?" Jude added.
Patrick laughed and said, "At least five or six, I'm sure," as he bent to offer them his arm. I felt my mom tense like she was about to do or say something to stop them. I put my hand on her arm to stop her. We watched as they touched Patrick's arm tracing the lines of his ink.
"Why do you have so many of these?" Justin asked.
"I just like them," Patrick said. "I like how they look. I wanted to collect them for myself and learn to make them on other people. So now that's my job."
"Did Mimi have to give you money to make one for her?" Jude asked.
"Yes, she did. That's why I can call it my job—because people pay me to do it."
"Are you Mimi's boyfriend?" Jude asked.
"Of course not," my mom said. My head swung around to give her a death stare. "That's Mimi's friend. He did her tattoo. They just told you that."
"You're Mimi's friend?" Jude asked, staring up at Patrick with big, curious eyes.
"I guess I am," Patrick said, smiling at him.
Without saying a word, Jude held up his arms wanting to be held. Patrick glanced at me, but only for a split second before reaching out for Jude. He hoisted him into his arms, and when they were finally eye to eye, Jude took his hand and measured the top of his own head to the top of Patrick's head as if to indicate that they were the same height now.
"What's you're name, anyway?" Patrick asked.
I realized I hadn't introduced him to my nephews. "That's Jude and this is Justin," I said.
"I'm Jude," Jude said, pointing to his chest. "Jude Michael Porter, and my brother is Justin."
"My name's Patrick."
"Like St. Patrick's Day," Justin said. "That's on Veggie Tales," he explained.
"What's Veggie Tales?" Patrick asked.
Justin regarded Patrick with an absolutely stunned expression. "You know, Bob and Larry," he said.
Jude took Patrick by the cheeks and turned him so that they were face to face. "Bob the tomatooooo!" he said excitedly.
Patrick glanced at me wondering how it was that he had no idea what they were talking about, and then he looked back a Jude. "I don't know Bob," Patrick said trying to stifle a laugh.
"Nana has all the Veggie Tales cartoons, just come inside and we'll watch it with you, okay?" Justin said.
Jude stared at Patrick with huge, pleading eyes.
"I don't think Patrick needs to see Bob and Larry," I said.
"Mimi's right, boys," my mom said.
"But he said he never saw it, Nana," Justin said.
"I don't mind watching with them while you two get some things done in your room."
My mom considered it for several seconds, but then said, "I guess we can put on a movie in the den while Mimi and I go through some boxes, but you two better be good for Mr. Patrick."
***
"Do you think it's okay to leave him in there with them?" my mom whispered a few minutes later when we made it to my old room.
"Mom, are you serious?" I asked.
"Of course I'm serious, Mia. He's a stranger."
"Would you be asking that if he didn’t have tattoos?"
"I don't know—probably not. That's another thing," she said. "When'd you decide to get new ones? I didn't know you were planning on getting anymore."
"Is it a problem?" I asked, feeling offended.
"No, honey, it's not a problem per say. I just didn't know you were still into those. I thought you were getting closer to the Lord."
I held out my arm indicating the tattoo in the shape of a cross. "Tattoos aren't a symbol of backsliding," I said. "I feel close to God, Mom. Tattoos have nothing to do with that."
"How about your friend?" she asked. "Is he close to God?"
Conviction and anger hit me at the same time and I gave her an impassive stare that said this was the last I wanted to speak about it. "He's in there watching Veggie Tales, isn't he?" I said, avoiding the question.
My mom got the hint about me not being in the mood to be questioned, so she went right on to the task of going through my things. Actually, she did no such thing. She was so nervous about Patrick being in the den with the kids that she pointed me in the directions of the things I should sort through and went into the kitchen to "start lunch". I told her I was still full from breakfast when she asked if I wanted to be included in the fish sticks and mac-and-cheese.
"If you're gonna go in there with the boys, just tell Patrick to come in here with me," I said.
She nodded and headed down the hall.
I went to work looking through the closet, and she peeked her head back in the door a minute later.
"He's gonna watch Veggie Tales," she said.
"What?" I asked, thinking I hadn't heard her right.
She shrugged and shook her head. "The boys were curled up with him on the couch, and they threw a fit when I told him you wanted him to come in here."
"Well, did he seem okay or did he feel obligated to stay?"
"I don't know that," she said. "He was smiling if that tells you anything."
I went out there just in case, but Patrick seemed totally content to sit on the couch with the boys. That was a good thing because they weren't open to the idea of him leaving.
I lost track of time in my room. I started looking through things from my elementary and middle school days—things I hadn't seen in a long time, and before I knew it, I'd been in there for over an hour. I was shocked when I happened to glance at the clock, and I quickly got up and jogged out of my room and into the kitchen.
My mom was standing there with Patrick, Justin, and Jude lined up on the other side of the bar in barstools. They each had a paper plate with fish sticks and mac-and-cheese.
"Patrick's gonna teach us how to draw Bob the tomato after we eat lunch," Justin announced.
I was almost sure Bob the tomato was just a circle with eyes and I glanced at Patrick. We shared a conspiratorial smirk about it.
"I see you got yourself some kiddie lunch," I said smiling at him.
"Your mom makes delicious fish sticks," he said.
"Her name's Nana," Jude said.
Patrick looked at my mom. "Your fish sticks are delicious, Nana," he said. He flashed her the smile that could melt any woman's heart, and I watched in satisfaction as my mom fell victim to it.
"Thank you," she said with a shy smile.
"I haven't even started sorting yet," I said regretfully. "I don't think it'll take me too long now that I'm done reminiscing."
"Finding some stuff from your glory days?"
I laughed. "Oh, Lord help me if thos
e were my glory days!"
I ate a little lunch while I was out there, but decided to get back to work, making Patrick promise to come to my room to see some pictures. I didn't care to show him pictures since none of them were flattering; I mostly just wanted him to come in there so I could ask if he was okay. He seemed like he was having a good time with the boys but I definitely didn't want him to feel obligated to hang out with them.
He walked back to my room to talk to me a little while later. He looked at a few of the things that were lying on top, but said he'd get back in the kitchen since the boys were waiting for him. I made sure he knew he didn't have to entertain them, but he assured me he was having fun.
It took me another couple hours to finish up, but by the time I was done, all of my things were sorted and boxed, and the room was ready for my mom to make her own.
"I've got five small boxes of things I couldn't part with but didn't have room for. Can Dad put them in the attic?" I asked when I finally emerged from my bedroom.
"Yeah, I'll have him do it when he gets home; just tell me which ones."
I smiled at her before turning to Patrick who was at the dining room table with the boys.
"I didn't get my nap cause I wanted to stay up and play with Patrick," Jude said proudly.
I looked at my mom with wide eyes and she returned the expression with a shrug. Jude loved his binky more than anything on Earth, but now that he was getting to be a big boy, he was only allowed to use it during naps and when they put him to bed. Jude was so fond of that binky that naptime was his favorite time of day.
"Patrick did three Veggie Tales tattoos before," Justin said.
"You did?" I asked.
"Yeah, one girl got a whole sleeve done with a bunch of them. She got all of them, I think—the asparagus and everything. She told me the name of the show, but I didn't realize it was the same thing they were talking about till they turned it on."
"I can't believe you've done a Veggie Tales tattoo," I said.
"I've done that tomato and cucumber a few times."
"Bob and Larry," Justin said with a mouth full of the goldfish crackers.
Patrick gave me an amused grin.
"I'd like to bring four or five boxes to Austin if we can," I said reluctantly.
When Lightning Strikes Page 7
