“No. Not Taylor! He’s a baby!” Tiffany may be okay with it, but I’m not dating someone still in his twenties. Plus, even though those two aren’t a thing, they still sleep together. That’s … ew.
Ned. I contemplate this for a moment. He’s got tattoos, light eyes, long hair. Not my typical type, but let’s be honest, it’s been over ten years, so I don’t really have a type. The only way to put myself back into the game is to dive in headfirst. I need to start somewhere, even if it’s Ned. Look at it like practice, like going on multiple job interviews until you find a match. “Fine. If you think Ned will go for it, can you set us up?”
“Consider it done.” She winks at me, and I’m actually excited.
Chapter
Twelve
Gretchen sets my date up with Ned for Saturday night. I’m exhausted from the busy week. I contracted with another client and am also working with a young woman with a low budget and a minuscule mortgage approval to match. Dealing with Janice provides a feat in itself. I convinced her to drop the price five thousand dollars after the depressing open house after she laughed at me suggesting we axe it by ten. Five thousand is a start. The open house proved a total loss and the showings aren’t exactly scheduling themselves. Meanwhile, I’m still on the hunt for a place for Kellan, not having found anything I think he’ll like.
I’m meeting Ned at a bar in the heart of downtown called Gold Rush. Gretchen said he chose the pub, his favorite, and he has a surprise for me. I don’t recognize the name, but I’m sure I’ve passed this place before.
Not having a social life means my time at bars has been very limited. Even if my visits were more frequent, when I step into Gold Rush, I understand why this is my first time here. The bar is standard, complete with rows of bottles behind it, but instead of stools, patrons are seated on saddles. The tables surrounding me are barrels, and I’m staring into a sea of cowboy hats. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a country western tavern. I grew up on the music, but I haven’t listened to the genre for years.
I’m a little out of place with my outfit. Most people wear boots and a hat, and I’ve got on a babydoll shirt and my hair is spiked a tad. I’m glad I’m wearing jeans like everyone else. I scan the room for Ned and don’t find him, so I order a glass of wine and find a seat at the counter.
The saddle is uncomfortable. How do people sit on these? I tried riding a horse once when I was seven, but being so high off the ground scared the daylights out of me. I swore that day I would never even attempt to ride one. I guess I’m sort of eating my words.
Ten minutes pass and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being stood up. Gretchen said Ned seemed very interested when she mentioned going out with me, so why isn’t he here? This is sending me the wrong message. Not to mention, I don’t like being made to wait when I could be home doing other things. I want to be out on a date. I asked for one. But I at least want my date to show up. If he’s not going to do that, then I would rather be coloring or reading. Or soaking in a bubble bath.
I'm trying my best to enjoy the music, though I prefer the slow ones over the fast. The urge to polka hits me when the faster ones come on. Give me someone like Kelly Clarkson or Taylor Swift who can crossover and I can handle that. These Travis Tritt and Reba McEntire tunes drive me crazy. Too much honky tonk and not even poetry to the lyrics.
“Is this seat taken?” A handsome gentleman with a black cowboy hat slips onto the saddle before I can protest. I open my mouth to speak and he interrupts me. “Why’s a pretty little lady like you sitting at the bar all alone?”
“Pretty little lady?” I repeat as my gag reflex kicks in. Is this what a man considers a compliment?
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been watching you fret since you came in. You don’t look like you belong here.”
I’m not shocked I stick out. “I’m waiting for someone.”
He tips his hat. “Very well, then. If this man of yours doesn’t show, I’ll be here all night. My name’s Rich.”
“Kate.” I keep my hands on the bar, wrapped around the stem of my wine glass. “Enjoy your night.”
I think he gets the hint and doesn’t offer any more discussion. I’m slightly pleased by the approach, but this isn’t exactly how I want to meet someone. I’m meeting Ned here, but I never consider a bar a great place to start a relationship. We’ve at least met before.
Another ten minutes pass, and I think I’m being blown off. Okay, I’m convinced I am. What kind of a guy agrees to a date and then doesn’t show? And he picked the location? The music is beginning to grow on me, though. Still, I can think of many other things I want to be doing, including searching my database for more houses for Kellan. I finish off my drink and start to walk out the door as the band sets to take the stage. Wait a minute … the man holding a guitar … it’s Ned! No wonder he hasn’t shown up. He’s been here and is playing with the band. That must be the big surprise!
I find a table in front of him so I can listen to him play. When I sit down, he winks at me, and a smile spreads across my face. I smirk wondering if he's aware I almost waltzed right out the door.
He begins to strum the guitar and the lyrics sound familiar. Despite my dislike for country music, I can’t deny Ned’s voice. He’s definitely in tune and playing the guitar at the same time doesn't faze him. I glance around me and everyone is listening intently, swaying to the slow song. Once the song is done, the audience claps and cheers, and Ned introduces himself.
"Thank you very much folks. I'm Ned and my bandmates here are Zach, Chris, and Tony. Together we are Nashville Cats and we’re here to spread the Randy Travis love.”
This dude is in a Randy Travis cover band. I recall my mother singing his songs at the top of her lungs while she put her makeup on in the morning. Gosh, her voice annoyed the hell out of me. I always yelled at her to be quiet, pushing my pillow against my face, covering my ears. Now I would give anything to hear her sing again.
By the time he finishes his set, I find myself enjoying every note, and wishing for more. Live music is the best, and country is no exception. He sets his guitar down and joins me at the table.
“Glad you stayed.”
“Oh. You saw that?” He probably thinks I’m a bitch now. Seriously, though, how long did he expect me to wait?
He flicks at the pick in his hand. “I sure did. So, what did you think?” The pick now acts like a toothpick.
I’m not sure if I should tell him my dislike for the genre he plays. I mean, I ended up liking his set, so that counts for something right? Starting off a date with an insult, though, may not be the best idea. “You’re a spectacular singer.” I didn’t say anything about the music, and spoke truth about his voice. “How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was a teenager. I jammed in a ton of bands, but about two years ago I found the Nashville Cats and loved the energy. Their lead singer and guitarist just left, so the timing was perfect.”
“Good for you.” That’s incredible he’s following his dreams. Dreaming big is hard. You can try to reach your goals, but so many things can stand in the way.
Ned waves his hand at the bartender and someone brings him a beer. “Want one?”
“No thanks. I’m not a beer drinker.” I point to my empty wine glass.
“No? Why not?”
“I’m just not. I prefer wine.” Every time I need to rehash this topic. I should invest in a sign I can wear around my neck announcing my distaste for beer.
“Stepping out of your comfort zone is a good thing.”
He’s staring at me and for some reason, I don’t think he’s talking about my drink. “I did that moving here. I lived in a tiny town and decided to start over here.”
“See…that takes guts. I couldn’t do that. I’ve lived here my entire life. I went to grade school, high school, and college here. Now, if my band hits the big time and we tour or something, fine, but otherwise, I’m not leaving this place.”
“Seems a little too safe if you ask me.�
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“No. It’s not that.” He takes a drink of his beer and runs his hand up and down his tattooed arm. “I just like to be comfortable and know everyone around me.”
I understand being comfortable. Leaving my old home took quite some convincing on my own, but I finally realized how important the change was to my future. I couldn’t sit around anymore on my butt all day at the bed and breakfast. My being there served no purpose. If I waited much longer I’m convinced I would have ended up in a deep depression.
“I used to fear change. Now I embrace it.” I have to. There’s no other way.
“Not me. I like everything to stay pretty much the same.”
“You just told me I should take chances, followed by the fact that everything should stay the same. Which is it?” I don’t like wishy-washy.
He keeps an eye on me while he takes a drink of his beer. “Ah, that hits the spot.” He pulls his pick back out of his pocket and slams it down. “This pick changed my life. I love playing music and never had the balls to leave my friend’s garage and perform in front of people. I’m so glad I did because I love it. Music saved my life. I stepped out of what was familiar and created a better life for myself.” He sets the pick on its end and flicks it so it twirls. “I like change. I like trying new things. I don’t like chance.” He slaps the pick, stopping it on the table. “Never leave anything up to chance.”
I’m watching this man, who’s attractive and nice and a talented singer, and wondering how he can live his life this way. What has he been through in his life to have these views?
“If you don’t leave anything up to chance, you may miss out on some things.”
He shakes his head. “No. Take this date, for example. We didn’t end up here by chance. The first day we met I wanted to ask you out.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Would you have said yes?”
He’s right. That day I entered the bowling alley, meeting a guy was the furthest thing from my mind. “No.”
“Exactly. I didn’t want to take the chance and be shot down. I put a bug in Gretchen’s ear.”
“You what?”
“Do you really think you’re here on a date with me on accident?”
I can’t believe this. So her stopping by at the open house wasn’t to get out and have some time away? What a scammer!
“Gretchen and I go way back. She’ll do anything for me.”
I wonder how tight this group of friends is. Am I okay coming in and becoming friends with them? Am I intruding on some territory I shouldn’t be in? “I don’t have any friends like that.”
“No? None back home?”
I never gave myself the chance to remain friends with anyone. After college, I focused so much time on work and after Mom died, Dad became my life. And then … well, now it’s me. “No. No one.”
“Tell you what,” Ned says as he hands the pick to me. “I’ll be that friend.”
I wrap the pick in my hand and squeeze tight. I think maybe I’ll be all right.
Chapter
Thirteen
Well, my night with Ned doesn’t go down in history as the worst date in the world. The evening didn’t end in a kiss or an invitation to go out again, but I enjoyed a few glasses of wine and decent conversation. I can hardly complain about that. Sometimes the connection doesn’t exist. Ned’s attractive, but creating a spark between us requires throwing a hairdryer in the bathtub with us. Gretchen wishes things worked out, but understands. She says she’ll keep an eye out for any potential dates for me. I think I’m content being single for the time being.
The rest of August flew by, and this first Wednesday morning in September I’m meeting Kellan at a house I think he’ll love and may be perfect for Macy. The colonial sits on top of a hill with brick exterior and huge, white pillars to the doorway. Large trees outline the massive yard for when they have children, or maybe adopt a dog. The house is priced right and within their range, and I’m sure will sell fast.
I scoop one more forkful of scrambled eggs into my mouth and toss the remnants in the sink. I hit the switch to activate the disposal and the churning leads to a grinding I liken to that of a Saw movie. I turn it off, but not before I detect something burning. Oh boy.
Why couldn’t this happen at a more convenient time? My schedule doesn’t allow for this today. I open the cabinet door to no signs of smoke. The motor probably burned out. I don’t have to fix this now, but it will be on my mind all day and I won’t give Kellan my full attention. I can’t leave this in shambles. Who do I contact to repair a compacter? A plumber? Ugh. This won’t be cheap. First, I should call Kellan and apologize.
He picks up on the first ring. “It’s Kate. I’m sorry, but I need to cancel today. Can we reschedule? My garbage disposal started smoking and I have to sit around for a repair guy.”
I’m expecting a grunt before hesitated acceptance. Instead, he says, “No, you don’t. I can help you.”
“That’s very generous, but I can’t ask you to do that.” He’s not a plumber, and I don’t want to inconvenience him, either.
“You didn’t. I’m offering. Please. Let me assist.”
He’s pleading. All to fix my disposal. I imagine him on his hands and knees on my kitchen floor, in typical plumber fashion. No. If he comes here, he’s repairing the disposal. Kellan is a friend, a client, and my bowling partner, and that’s all he ever will be. I give him directions and he says he’ll be over in fifteen minutes.
I wait and wait, constantly checking my clock for the time. Five minutes pass, then ten. I open my iPad and scan through the latest issue of Women’s Health, taking note of a few recipes I want to try and one or two workouts. He finally arrives right when he said he would, but those minutes feel like hours.
“Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to.”
He’s dressed in jeans and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. “I know. I wanted to.” I jump out of the way as he moves past me. “Garbage disposal, huh? Let me check this out.”
He goes right for the kitchen as though he’s been here before and opens the cabinet, crouching down to look underneath. I want to watch him, but I don’t want to make him, or myself, uncomfortable.
“There’s a pile of paperwork vying for my attention if you don’t mind?” I can work on a couple things to avoid him. I won’t even realize he’s here.
“No, no.” His words are muffled as he’s buried under my sink. “Go ahead. I’ll peek my head in when I’m done. Where are your tools?”
I’m happy to report I own tools. I may not be able to fix a disposal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything else. I grab my toolbox from the hall closet and bring it to him. “Here you go.”
“Wow. I’m impressed. Macy wouldn’t know a tool box if she looked right at one.”
Awesome. Score one for me. “My dad was quite the handyman.” There wasn’t anything he couldn’t do in my eyes.
“Was?”
Kellan stops and stares at me waiting for a response, but I can’t offer one. “Anyway, holler when you’re done. I’ll be in the other room.”
He salutes me that he understands while I head to my office, dreaming of his smile, and sighing in frustration.
••••••••••
An hour later Kellan peeks his head in my office. “All set.” He knocks his knuckles on the door frame as he walks in.
I’m sitting at my desk answering emails on my laptop. I hate responding to messages. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. I finish one up and hit send. “Thanks so much. What was the problem?”
“I can’t figure out where the smoke came from because I didn’t smell anything, but…” He pulls something out of his back pocket. “Something tells me you won’t be using this fork again.”
He hands me the mangled scrap of metal. “I bet I let everything slide into the disposal. Whoops.” The whole thing is my fault, not even a dysfunctional piece of machinery. “How can I thank you?”
I stop breathing for a second. No one, not even a woman, has asked to share tea with me. The world is full of coffee drinkers and the ones who don’t go anywhere without a bottle of water. I’m hard pressed to find a tea companion. “Yes. Perfect.” I scoot out from behind my chair and lead Kellan back into the kitchen, a place he is now familiar with.
He’s cleaned up any mess he’s made, and I’m not positive, but I think he swept, too. I reach up on the shelf and grab some tea packets and fill my kettle with water. I only microwave my water at work. Otherwise, I prefer using the stove.
“I like your place.” He sits at the table. “The size is manageable and the location is superb.”
“I wanted to buy a place right when I moved here but didn’t want the upkeep of a house. You know, with the yard and everything. A condo fits me.” My whole life I shared a house with guests, which may be why a complex such as this suits me. Sometimes if I’m quiet enough, I can overhear the muffled conversations of my neighbor and her husband. On a rare occasion, a dog will bark early in the morning or late into the night. Children still knock on my door during trick-or-treat and I receive plenty of flyers for Girl Scout Cookies. Comfort is found in the oddest of ways, and while I love being alone, these small noises bring me peace.
“I understand that.”
“I never asked you about your current situation. Do you own or are you renting?”
He massages his hands on the table. “I’m a tad embarrassed to say.”
“Okay … you’re not living on a bus or something are you?” I can’t imagine he’s homeless or jumps from couch to couch. Oh no — he’s probably shacking up with Macy. I don’t need the details of his sleeping arrangements with her, but this may help me in my mad hunt for their dream home.
“No. Far from that. I rent a tiny one-bedroom apartment, and when I say tiny, I mean tiny. Basically, my home is a 700 square foot box.”
Sparing the Heart (Pastime Pursuits #3) Page 7
