Walking up to the same house address where I’d eaten popcorn and watched movies with Page and Cameron, I knocked on the blue door.
The door opened, and Cameron stood there. His face lit up with a smile when he saw me. “Hi, Noah!”
“Hey Cameron, how are you?”
“Good! What are you doing holding flowers?”
“Flowers?” someone called over his shoulder.
Two identical faces peered over his shoulder at me. The girls looked like they were somewhere in the high school age range: the twins I’d heard so much about.
“Who are you?” One of them asked.
“I’m Noah. I’m here to pick up Page for our date. Is she home?”
“Yeah, she’s home—”
Another voice calling interrupted us. “Who’s at the door?”
A man in his early fifties appeared behind the trio. “Dad, this is Noah,” Cameron explained.
The man nodded as if that explained everything. “I’m Andrew.”
I leaned past Cameron and the girls to shake Andrew’s hand. “Noah. Nice to meet you.”
It didn’t make sense that I was nervous about meeting him. I was far past being a nervous young boy meeting his girlfriend’s dad. Yet I still felt a little nauseous...
“Page is out back.” He gestured over his shoulder, then walked away.
And I guess that was the end of introductions. “Out back?”
“Come on; I’ll show you.” Cameron shoved past his sisters, grabbed my arm, and dragged me around the side of the house. It must be a family trait to grab people and drag them off.
I followed him around the side yard and across a brick walkway that led to a small cottage in the back of the yard. “Page lives here. Mom and Dad wanted her out of the house, so they made a deal with her to live here instead of the main house.”
It was such a loaded statement I wasn’t sure how to respond. I’d have to ask Page about it. “Thanks for showing me.”
“Are you coming back for movie night this week?”
I smiled at the eagerness in his tone. “If it’s all right with Page, I’ll be there.”
“Great!” He gave a quick wave then walked back to the main house. I switched the roses to my left hand so I could knock on the pale pink door.
The small, white cottage had a porch with a table and chair on it. The railing went around the little deck, and there were only two steps up. It felt like I was stepping into a dollhouse.
“Be right there!”
I heard a few thumps and crashes before the door swung open to reveal Page wearing an off the shoulder black lace dress. She had on a pair of high heels that brought her closer to my height. I wouldn’t have to bend as far down to kiss her.
“You look beautiful.”
She smiled. “You do too. Handsome, I mean. You look handsome.”
I held the roses out to her.
“Thank you. Come in while I find something to put these in.” She took the roses from me and headed towards the back of the cottage.
Stepping inside, I realized it was only one room. A queen-size bed pushed up against the wall on one side. Easels and a large desk sat on the other side. Paint tubes covered the desk. Clothes piled high on a soft chair.
There was a small bathroom in the back-left corner and a wall of cabinets.
Page rummaged around in the cupboards and finally pulled out a tall vase to put the roses in. She disappeared into the bathroom, and I could hear the water running while she filled the vase. There was a small mini-fridge and a microwave but no other appliances in sight.
I looked at some of her artwork. Unfortunately, I discovered the imitation Picassos immediately. They were something. I’d never seen anything like them. And I hoped I would never see anything like them again.
I glanced at the sketches propped up on the desk. They were sketches of me. She was good. She made me look attractive—strong, unbendable. She made me look way better than I did in real life.
“You’re not wearing a suit! I almost didn’t recognize you.” She told me as she walked back out and set the flowers in the center of a small round table.
“I hope you don’t mind.” I gestured to my casual wear.
She walked up to me a ran a hand over the front of my sweater. “No, I don’t mind. I think I like casual Noah.”
She ironed out a few more imaginary wrinkles while I did my best to keep breathing.
“These must be the Picassos.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the paintings.
“Do you like them?”
My throat dried up when I tried to answer. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“I have to admit that I struggled with Guernica. But I think my best imitation was the Old Man with a Guitar.” She pointed to one an easel in the kitchen. I had thought it was a woman holding a spoon. Apparently, I was wrong.
She looked at the desk and leaped forward to turn the two sketches of me facedown. “Pretend like you didn’t see those.” She looped her arm through mine.
“See what?” I winked at her, and she smiled back. “You really enjoy painting, don’t you?”
“Painting, sketching. Anything. One of these days, I’m going to pack my art bag and spend a few months touring Europe and adding some culture into my life.”
The fact that she wanted to travel wasn’t a surprise. “Page, I think you would add culture to European life.”
She looked up at me and smiled. “You’re probably right.”
“You can tell me all about your traveling plans on our date tonight, come on.” I unhooked her arm from mine and instead entwined my fingers through hers.
“We have reservations.”
“Where?”
“Do you like surprises?”
“Love them.”
“Then come on.”
During dinner, Page pulled an old receipt and pencil from her purse, then sketched my picture while we chatted and waited for our food. It was incredible. I’d never seen anyone sketch so fast. Her Picassos might be horrible—heck, I didn’t particularly care for the original Picassos—but her sketches were incredibly detailed. I leaned toward her to get a better look at the picture.
“Hey, why are there little lines by my eyes?”
“Some people call those wrinkles.” She smirked while she tapped the pencil against her water glass.
“I don’t have wrinkles.”
“Fine, they’re tiny crinkles.”
I tried my best to give her a stern look. “I’m not old enough to be wrinkly.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
She nodded. “That’s the age when the wrinkles come out to play. There’s no hiding now.”
I leaned close and studied her face. Smooth skin, not a wrinkle or crinkle in sight. “Your turn.”
“Hmm?” She began rearranging her silverware.
I reached across the table and pulled the silverware out of her reach. “How old are you?”
“Ages younger. Twenty-six.” She winked.
I slipped the receipt out from under her fingertips and studied the picture.
“This is amazing.”
“You think so?” She asked softly. I didn’t know she was capable of speaking in a soft voice.
“I think so. You are an incredible sketch artist.”
I could barely sign my name on a bank slip, much less draw someone’s face on a wrinkled receipt.
The waiter served our dinner, and I carefully folded the picture and tucked it in my wallet.
It was the first time I’d gone to Lilette, and it did not disappoint. After dinner, we made our way to the Palace Market and wandered around the booths.
Page reached out and slipped her hand into mine as we perused the art. We talked about anything and everything. Feeling her hand in mine as we walked was about the best thing I could ask for.
Our conversation inevitably drifted toward work.
“So, your grandpa gave you a golf course. Is
this something you’ve thought about since you were young?”
I chuckled. “No, I never thought I’d own a golf course. It was more like it was handed to me.”
“You must have large hands,” she teased. “But I get the feeling you’re not happy about it.”
Talking about my grandfather was probably one of my least favorite topics. I didn’t want to bring in the family drama on our first date. If I wanted to keep dating her, it would probably be wise to refrain from ever mentioning my grandfather.
“Eh, I’ll figure it out.”
She nudged my arm with her elbow. “Why don’t you do something else if you don’t like it?”
“I think it comes down to the fact that I want to prove to myself that I can turn it around. I love making something succeed.”
“Aha, so you like a challenge.” She let go of my hand and linked her arm through mine. “What other things have you done?”
“I created a chain of cross-fit gyms. Started a few coffee shops.”
Her hand squeezed my bicep as she said, “I can tell.”
“In college, I created a bike delivery service. I paid my entire tuition with that business.”
She leaned back and looked at me. “So you’re actually good at making money with your businesses?”
I nodded. “They usually do well. I still own those businesses and make a nice little income from them. Nothing flashy.”
She laughed, “I have a feeling you’re being modest. Why is The Garden struggling then?”
“Let’s just say there’s a reason my grandfather got out of the business when he did.”
“Did he retire or something?”
“Something like that,” I muttered under my breath, but Page heard me and laughed.
“Come on, tell me about it. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” She winked.
Shaking my head, I decided it’d be better to answer her. “My grandfather and grandmother are divorced now. He left her to marry another woman, but he still lives and breathes to cause her grief. He’s always trying to make her jealous by showing off his latest girlfriend or wife. None of his relationships last long. He’s a terrible businessman who wasted away his money, my grandma’s money, and anyone’s money who was stupid enough to invest with him.”
“He’s a bitter old man who’s bad at money—I still don’t get why you own the golf course.”
“I’m getting to that. Be patient.”
She gave me a sheepish grin.
“The Garden was one of his ‘great investment opportunities’ that started going under fast. To keep in good standing with some of his business contacts, he claimed he needed to retire because of his age and health problems. He passed it on to yours truly as part of my “inheritance.” He’ll get to blame its failure and bankruptcy on me, all the while appearing like a benevolent man who only wanted to give his grandson a leg up in the world.”
“Why didn’t you say no?”
I shrugged, “I have this terrible urge to succeed when others want me to fail. He expects me to fail, so I guess I’m stuck with the golf course until it’s thriving.”
I stopped walking and looked into her eyes. She had a mischievous look in her eye. “So, how are we going to stick it to him?”
“We?” I liked the sound of that.
“Yes, we. We, Page and Noah the humans, and also Page and Noah the geckos.”
“I think we should leave Page Jr. and Noah Jr. out of the whole thing. They’re too young to understand.”
She smiled and squeezed my hand. “So, why did your grandfather pick on you? Why didn’t he leave the golf course to someone else in the family? Any siblings or parents?”
“My sister has four kids and is a pediatrician. My mother quit her job as a district attorney and started working at her local library. She loves it and says she never wants to quit. She has time to spend with the grandkids now.”
Page bit her lip, and I braced myself for the question I knew was coming next. “What about your father?”
I swallowed and answered—it was the question I dreaded most. “My father passed away when I was eighteen.”
She gasped. I prepared myself for the usual pitying look and change of subject that people did. Instead, she released my hand and slipped her arms around my middle and hugged me. She squeezed tight—as if she could fix the gaping hole in my life. Oddly enough, it felt nice—even as I remembered my father. Fourteen years and there was still an ache. Feeling her warmth wrapped around me made that ache in my heart ease. I missed my dad, and I always would, but I couldn’t argue that it felt nice to have Page hugging me.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her as curious looks from passersby bored into us. It felt like we were the center of a flash mob, but I didn’t want to move anytime soon.
After a few moments, I said, “You know, you’re the best hugger I’ve ever met.”
“Of course, I am. I like hugging people,” she said as she pulled back. “I seriously looked into becoming a professional cuddler, but Kylie talked me out of it.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the thought of her hugging a bunch of other people. “I don’t know Kylie, but I like her already.”
She squeezed my arm as she continued. “A hug might not fix anything, but it makes things more tolerable.”
“I disagree.”
She leaned farther back and raised her eyebrows, “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t.” I brushed the back of my fingers against her slender neck. “I think your hugs could fix just about anything.”
I pressed a kiss against her forehead then turned us to walk through the displays again. I kept her tucked close to my side—a small smile stayed on her face.
A few minutes later, she spoke up. “I have an idea for the golf course.”
“Oh, really.” I tried to sound excited.
“Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“If it involves single women or farm animals, then no,” I stated firmly.
She bit her lip and pretended to think about it. “Single men, then.”
I glared at her, and she laughed. “Actually, I was thinking about you doing an art, wine, and golf night. It would broaden your demographic.”
She spent the next thirty minutes excitedly telling me about her plans for an art night that I could host at The Garden. She pointed out several local artists she knew and told me that she could arrange for all the artists to be there. She told me about her cousin, who was a marketer—the same cousin marrying Hagen Raglund.
“Well, what do you think?”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
Her eyes shone as she looked up at me. “You think so?”
“Yes, I do. Do you know someone who’s organized something like this before?”
“How hard could it be? I’ll do it for free, and you won’t have to worry about hiring anyone.”
Of course, she would offer to do it for free. She was like the superhero of golf courses. A little rough around the edges, but well-intentioned. Her idea wasn’t half bad. It would open it up to a broader clientele.
As we left the gallery she continued listing her ideas. I don’t think she even noticed that we were walking down the street, or that the sun had set long ago.
The streetlamps added golden highlights to her glossy brown hair. Her heart shaped lips moved rapidly as she explained how she would decorate for an art and wine night at The Garden. Her face glowed with excitement as she went into detail about why forest green would be perfect.
I couldn’t care less whether it was forest green or regular green. Watching her excitement over the event was enough for me to let her do anything she wanted.
Her right hand waved through the air as she spoke. Her animated gestures made me unnaturally excited about the art and wine night.
I tugged her hand when we reached my car, pulling her to a stop.
“So, what do you think?” she asked eagerly.
“All right. I’m game.”
> “Really?”
I smiled. “Yes, really. I think an art night would be perfect to showcase the restaurant now that I have a decent chef. Hopefully, we’ll have the new menu finalized by then. I like your ideas.”
She beamed up at me. “You like my ideas. I’ll get started planning everything right away. Oh, look! We’re already at the car.”
We’d been standing next to the car for five minutes. She wouldn’t win any points for being observant.
I reached past her to open the door for her, accidentally bumping into her and knocking her off balance. Wrapping an arm around her waist, I pulled her close to me. “Sorry about that,” I apologized hoarsely as I looked down into her big brown eyes.
She tilted her head toward mine, and I lowered my forehead to hers.
“I’d like to kiss you,” I whispered. We were standing on the sidewalk on the outskirts of the French Quarter. But Page made me feel like we were the only two people in the universe.
She didn’t answer me. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against mine. Her slender, strong hands steadied herself on my shoulders.
A tingle ran up my spine as she laced her hands behind my neck. Parting my lips, inviting her in, I threaded my fingers through her silky hair.
She kissed the same way she did everything else in life—with fervency and charm.
It was as though she infused life into my soul. All the business opportunities in the world couldn’t compare to this feeling. The thrill of success had nothing on Page Boone’s kisses.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PAGE
“Good morning, Caroline. Here’s your coffee. I added an extra shot this morning since Cletus seems especially grumpy today.”
Her eyes sparkled as I handed her an espresso in a green mug. Cletus and Caroline regularly met at the coffee shop and sat in the back corner either on the couch or at the small table beneath the window.
I was pro-Caroline. As I’d quickly discovered in the last week, she was one of those people that was sweet to everyone. When she called me ‘sweetie’ it was a term of endearment—unlike my grandmother, Mimi, who would only call you ‘sweetie’ if she was ready to kill you.
Friends Like These: A Romantic Comedy (A Love Like This Book 3) Page 10
