Saying Yes

by Edie Sommers

  Normally my totally average height pissed me off, dooming me to forever hover between petite and statuesque. But my five feet six inches put me right at the height to rest my head on Andy’s shoulder—if and when we got the chance. The wheels turned in my mind. I’d always been creative. I could find a reason. Broad shoulders like his begged for a bit of snuggling.

  “I’ve got something I want you to listen to.” Andy stopped at a red light and released my hand to jab a few buttons on his phone.

  Did he know of my love for classic rock? He had to, given all the Pink Floyd and AC/DC he’d listened to at my place.

  Oh no! Soft violin music drifted from the car’s speakers. Not bad. If Andy liked this kind of music, I’d listen when he tried to share something with me.

  The soft tempo exploded into Enter Sandman by Metallica. Played on a violin.

  Cool!

  Andy smiled when I grinned. Ice successfully broken.

  The nearby town of South Bend had changed a lot since the last time I’d come here antiquing with my mother, back when I’d been all knees, elbows, braces, and teenage insecurities. Then, all the storefronts had stood empty, as the few remaining businesses migrated closer to I-85 in hopes of luring business from travelers. Even then I’d loved the quaint brick street, the stately trees lining either side of the road, and the one lone antique store holdout. More than likely, the wizened owner bought all the furniture when new.

  Was this the same ghost town? Strings of white lights crisscrossed the street or dangled from tree limbs. They’d be beautiful after sundown. Formerly deserted buildings bustled with activity. The strains of a country music song greeted me when Andy opened my car door.

  The aroma of barbeque hit my nose, making my stomach rumble.

  He gave me a bashful smile. “Hungry?”

  Crap, he’d heard. My cheeks flamed. Please let us be there to eat or I couldn’t be held responsible for any more scary noises my empty stomach might make. Why didn’t I have a snack this afternoon? Oh, right. Too nervous to eat anything beyond the few chips I’d swiped from Darlene.

  “A little,” I confessed. No need lying. People in the next county probably heard my stomach roaring.

  Andy extended a hand. I tried to get out of the car. Boing! I got yanked back. What? Oh, right. Heat relit my face and I undid the seatbelt.

  Andy helped me out, biting his lip a little. Good. He wouldn’t say anything about my losing the seatbelt battle. He’d better stop spoiling me before I melted into a big gooey puddle. Most guys in these parts would hop out of the car and expect a woman to follow. Which explained one of many reasons why I was still single at twenty-four, a downright old maid in this neck of North Carolina.

  But at least he wouldn’t have seen my embarrassment.

  Once more Andy extended his arm for me to take. Yay! I might not fall off my high heels. “I hope you like it,” he said.

  Like it? What wasn’t to love? They’d revamped a whole town and not told me. Of course, being this close to the interstate and several larger towns made South Bend a prime bit of real estate for an inventive developer.

  Their investment appeared to have paid off. All of Main Street had been closed off, and cute little café tables occupied spaces once reserved for Buicks and Fords.

  Candles on the tables flickered in glass vases. Once the sun fully set, all we’d need was a roving violinist to complete the environment and make this the setting of a sappy romance novel.

  “So, this is your favorite dating place?” Oops! I actually said that? Down girl! Pull your claws back in! But picturing Andy here with one of his many other dates put a damper on the mood. Darlene might say, Your self-preservation is kicking in. Tell it to go fuck itself.

  How could so sexy a man appear so bashful? “Yes, it is.”

  “Oh.” Yeah, he’d brought them all here. I’d be one memory of many that he couldn’t pick out of a lineup.

  “No, I mean…” Andy sighed and scrubbed his free hand through his hair. “You’re the only one I’ve ever brought here. I found it last summer, and ever since meeting you…” He studied his shoes, or perhaps an ant crawling over the toe.

  “Ever since meeting me what?”

  “I wanted to bring you here, but…”

  Damn, getting full sentences out of the guy was hard without his brother around to finish incomplete thoughts. Wait a minute! “Ever since meeting me? And you’re just now asking me out?” Last June, when Darlene had helped me get hired where she worked and move out of my hometown.

  The night wasn’t yet dark enough to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Jack told you.”

  Jack had said they’d both wanted me but didn’t want to upset the other. They both wanted me. Me! Since I’d first shown up at their door to view the duplex, needing a place to live. The warm spring evening took a turn for the perfect. Oh, honeysuckle on the breeze. Cue that roving violinist.

  “What would you like to eat?” Breezes carried a buffet of scents down the street: steak and pizza to mingle with the barbeque, a few things I couldn’t name but wouldn’t mind making closer acquaintance with.

  My stomach rumbled again. “What all do they have?”

  “Pretty much everything. Each building houses a different restaurant with its own indoor dining room, but they all share the same outdoor table spaces.”

  He’d forever earned my gratitude not mentioning the wounded badger sounds coming from my middle. Italian would be nice, but pasta sauce and the white dress that had seemed a good idea at the time needed to keep a polite distance. Dare I hope for decent Japanese in a town this size? Yeah, yeah, Southern girls were supposed to be all about grits, turnip greens, and sweet tea. Sue me for having expanded my horizons.

  Heavenly spice aromas drifted from the plates carried by a passing waiter. I fought the urge to follow him. He was little; I could take him.

  Curry? “Thai?” I deserved a medal for managing not to drool while asking.

  “Thai it is.” God, I loved the smile Andy gave me. I’d always loved his smiles, kind of bashful, self-deprecating at times, but oh, so genuine. Also, knee-weakening when directed at me.

  Andy led me down the sidewalk, a hand on my back keeping me from falling off my heels.

  “Hi, Andy!” a woman said, family in tow. The man with her shook Andy’s hand. They chatted quietly for a moment, the woman giving me curious glances.

  Hand warm and comforting on my back, he beamed and said, “Do y’all know Cassie Davenport?”

  Instantly they included me in their conversation, as though they’d known me for years, accepting me because of who I was with.

  The incident repeated itself eight more times before we reached a table. Young, old, men, women, all beamed and stopped to exchange a few words.

  After the ninth one, I asked, “You know everybody, don’t you?”

  My date shrugged. “More like they know me through Grandpa. He’s been selling cars around these parts since the seventies, and his father before that.” His cheeks pinked and he studied his shoes.

  “I think it’s sweet,” I assured him. Unsurprising he knew so many folks when he’d grown up around here. Not three hours away in the thriving metropolis of Cookesville, my hometown, population 417, if you counted chickens and cows. Less of a town and more of a place you’d drive through on the way to somewhere else—fast.

  Andy, Jack, and I had sat around the house, occasionally going out to dinner or to their grandfather’s farm, and I’d stopped by their work on more than one occasion, but I’d never before seen Andy in this large of a social situation.

  He’d always come across as shy, even to me, but he managed to give his full attention to everyone he spoke to, meeting their eyes, remembering to ask about events in their lives, like, “I hear the Tigers won their game last night. I’m sure your boys are happy.”

  Giving Little League Mom a chance to wax poetic about her kids.

  He even dropped to one knee to chat with a toddler, who’d started out hi
ding behind his mom and wound up high-fiving Andy.

  I’d never given much thought to marrying or having kids until that moment. If and when I found someone to spend my life with, he’d make a great partner and father.

  Wait! What? Marriage. Why the hell had I even thought of marriage?

  During high school my friends used to dream of who they might marry someday, finally settling on, “Gee, I hope it’s no one I know now.” All the available guys in the area remembered us as flat-chested, pimple-faced, giggling teenaged girls.

  Our memories of them weren’t flattering either. I mean, how romantic could one get with Zach Porter, the third-grade milk-chugging champion, when images of him with soda straws hanging from his nostrils couldn’t be unseen?

  I felt a tug on the hem of my dress and looked down. A little girl stood there, white blonde hair in pigtails, thumb in her mouth, gazing up at me with huge blue eyes. My heart melted. “Hi there, sweetie,” I said.

  The girl held her arms up. I glanced up at the mom, who nodded, and then tried to straighten up without toppling off my shoes while holding this adorable child.

  “You’re pretty,” she removed her thumb from her mouth long enough to say.

  “So are you,” I replied, lightly tapping her nose with my index finger. She giggled when I swayed back and forth.

  I’d held plenty of kids over the years, from the time I’d been old enough to babysit, but hadn’t really given much thought to having one of my own.

  After a few moments the girl went to her mother. As a relative newcomer to the area, I’d never felt such deep acceptance by the locals. Andy gave my new friend a friendly wave and escorted me to an empty wrought-iron table.

  “Sorry about that,” he murmured.

  “Don’t be,” I replied. “It says a lot that so many people like you.”

  He dipped his head, but not before I caught the quick upturn of his lips. “This one okay?” he asked, pulling out a chair.

  Two couples sat nearby, and a family with young kids gathered around two joined tables. Andy chose a spot close enough to people watch, but far enough away to engage in private conversation. That is, if he were in the mood to talk.

  He’d said more words in the last half-hour than I’d ever heard him say in one day before. There was so much more to him than I’d previously believed. Was it the same for him? Did he see me with new eyes now?

  Oh, God. How I’d love to go back in time and change a few things. All the unsexy moments he’d seen in our months of friendship.

  “Here is perfect.” I sank down onto the chair. Brrr! The metal chilled my bare thighs. Maybe I should have worn a longer skirt. Andy pushed my chair under the table—or tried to. He found the table leg with his foot.

  “Ack!” He grabbed the table, eyes wide.

  Suddenly I found myself with a lapful of Andy.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry!” Andy struggled to right himself—and only succeeded in giving me an impromptu lap dance.

  He flailed, arm brushing against my breast. Electric currents shot straight to my crotch. I shook my head to clear away visions of him cupping my breasts in his smooth hands.

  He crawled out of my lap, a split second after I decided I liked him there.

  The approaching waiter hid a laugh with a fake cough and placed two napkin-wrapped silverware packs on the table, along with menus for all eight restaurants participating in the food court idea.

  Andy’s face flamed all the way up to his ears.

  I turned my attention to the waiter, daring him to offer me anything better than the appetizer I’d just had.

  “What may I get you to drink?” the guy asked, corners of his mouth twitching. For a moment he lost the battle not to snicker.

  Jerk.

  I scowled. The waiter sobered. “Our drink specials tonight are two for one margaritas and strawberry daiquiris.”

  On this, I’d stick with the sweet Southern belle choice. My “don’t sleep together on the first date” couldn’t hold up to alcohol. Especially not with my nether regions screaming for some more Andy wriggling in my lap. My breast still tingled from his accidental touch.

  I gave a shiver. “Not for me, thanks. I’ll have sweet tea.” What could I say? I was a lightweight. Two glasses of wine or a single mixed drink and my inhibitions cha-cha’d out the front door. Just ask my bestie, who’d learned far more about me than any human had a right to one girls’ night out on the town.

  I still couldn’t show my face—or anything else—at Joe’s Tavern.

  Brr… The dancing on the bar incident was so not happening again.

  “Make that two sweet teas,” Andy told the waiter.

  I’d heard enough complaints from women whose boyfriends insisted on ordering for them, without bothering to find out what they wanted first. Andy let me make my own choices. Points to him.

  The waiter clip-clopped across the brick pavers and returned with our drinks and an order pad.

  I studied the ancient bricks of the surrounding buildings, the detailed scrollwork on the storefronts and artistically designed wrought iron gates closing off alleys. Signs hung above doorways that likely remained from the sixties or even earlier.

  What a wonderful idea, turning this old town into a glorified food court. I reclaimed enough attention to return to the task at hand. “The chicken cashew looks good.” And relatively non-stain inducing. Why had I thought white a good idea? Oh right. Contrast. Pale colors made my skin appear darker, and less like I needed to get outdoors more.

  “Mind if I show off a bit?” Andy might have been going for Jack’s smirk but didn’t quite reach the mark. Too many good guy vibes.

  Show off? Andy? “Sure.”

  Andy placed our orders. I didn’t understand a word but the ending “Thanks”.

  “You speak Thai?” Really? Who did that around here?

  He bowed his head and gave a nervous laugh worthy of ten points on the cuteness scale. “Not really. I just like Thai food. Picked up a few words.”

  The conversation lagged. What could I talk about that might interest him? Always before Jack had carried the conversation, or I talked and Andy listened, ever attentive, though he offered little in the way of words, unless discussing current events or long form versus short form taxes. “Where’s Jack tonight?” Oh crap. Wrong thing to ask and remind him of who I’d be seeing on my next date.

  Andy never so much as batted an eyelash. “He’s out at Grandpa’s.”

  “Oh? Is he sick?” Grandpa Getsinger was a tough old bird, as Mom might say. Not much got him down.

  “No. Since he’s fully retired now, he’s planning a move south. Jack’s helping him get things in order. Next Saturday, I’ll help.” That answered the question of how Andy would occupy himself during my date with Jack. Would he at least think of me? Wonder what I was doing with his brother? This absolute weirdness of the situation finally struck me. But getting to know my neighbors on a whole new level provided an opportunity too intriguing to pass up.

  Andy took my hand in his. He had beautiful hands, with long, slender fingers and a reassuring grip. He shifted his attention and nodded. I followed his line of sight. The last rays of the sun sank behind the old Feed and Seed store, setting the tin roof aglow, and putting us firmly into sappy chick movie territory.

  He tightened his fingers on mine briefly, then drew back when the waiter returned with a loaded tray. I sat, staring at my plate, waiting to start. Andy watched me. Oh, right. I picked up my fork and tasted my meal. Excellent!

  Andy took a bite of his kaeng khua. “Oh, this is good.”

  Oh, God. His deep moans set my mind to wondering what the night would bring.

  I fanned myself with my hand.

  Andy leaned forward, concern in his eyes. “Is it too hot out here? We can move indoors if you’d like.”

  “Just the spicy food,” I lied, forcibly pulling my mind from the gutter. If his food moans were any indication, he wouldn’t be quiet in bed, where moans were a good
thing and let me know my partner enjoyed whatever we did.

  What would we do? Oh! Bad Cassie! Cut it out! Funny how my conscience sounded a lot like Darlene.

  Around us conversation and country music swirled, an odd accompaniment for Thai food. Good food, good company, waiter who’d earned back the tip he’d lost for sniggering at my date’s expense by keeping our tea glasses filled and not hovering enough to interfere with our privacy.

  “How’s work?” I asked. Oh, lame, lame, lame, lame, lame! I’d have palmed my face if it wouldn’t have spoiled Darlene’s incredible makeup job.

  “It’s fine.”

  Crap. I never was good with the quiet kinds. Time to lay my cards on the table.

  “Look, Andy, I’d never pressure you to do something that makes you uncomfortable, but we’re here to get to know each other better. We’ve been friends long enough for you to know that, with me, you either talk or you listen. I recommend you talk.” Otherwise, I’d start babbling and be unable to shut up.

  Nerves. Go figure.

  Andy sank back into his chair, the stiff set of his shoulders easing. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

  Oh! Did he almost reveal something? “Yes?” Any more attentive and my ears would flap.

  My date stared down at the table. “I’m nervous. I want to make a good impression, but don’t know how.”

  His shyness, one of the most adorable things about him, suddenly became a problem? I squeezed his hand. “You don’t have to make a good impression on me. You already have. And good behavior on a date usually winds up being false advertising.” I should know. “We’re friends. You’ve seen me sick or pulling my hair because I can’t figure out my taxes. Relax. This is me. You’ve drunk with me, laughed with me.”

  We were hardly strangers on a first date.

  He smiled then. Lordy, his smile made my heart pitty-pat.

  The part of my brain permanently occupied by my bestie rolled its eyes and huffed, Oh, please. ‘Pitty-pat?’ Get a grip on yourself, woman. Have some pride, then went back to reading some book with two men kissing on the cover.

  “Yeah. I keep forgetting you already know me. Warts and all.” He gave a forced laugh.