“Same,” said Blake.
She raised one eyebrow. With a tiny grin, she said, “Be right back with your sodas.”
Once she was out of earshot, I whispered over my menu, “Guess she’s not used to soda requests for breakfast. It is kinda weird.”
“I have a different opinion,” said Blake.
“What is it?”
“Think you’re about to find out.” Blake tilted his head to the incoming hostess.
When the woman returned with our drinks, she plunked our sodas down and started digging in a pocket of her apron for straws. “You know, I have a theory. When a fella orders the same breakfast beverage as his lady friend it means he’s a kitten who’s smitten silly.”
I giggled. Blake rubbed his forehead uncomfortably.
“And when it’s an odd beverage for the time of day, like soda at breakfast, well…let’s just say you’re a lucky lady,” said the hostess. “Your waitress will be with ya in a sec.”
After she left, I said, “You knew that was coming, did you?”
“She’s imparted her unique brand of wisdom before, so I figured something was coming. Can’t say I expected that, though,” he said, scanning his menu.
We sat in silence, perusing our menus. Without looking up, I said, “So the mighty Manx named after a tailless cat is really just a smitten silly little kitten, huh?”
Blake, flopping his menu on the table, groaned, “You just couldn’t let the obvious pun slip on by, could you?”
“Not on your life…kitten.”
“Aw, bloody hell.”
After a breakfast of waffles, bacon, and grapefruit slices, Blake took me to one of the local miniature golf joints.
“Ready for a little healthy competition?” he asked, handing me a pink golf ball and putting club.
“Oh, absolutely. Never played putt-putt or golf, but how hard can it be, really?”
Hard. Very hard. With five holes under our belts, Blake was kicking my butt. About the only thing I succeeded in doing was slamming my stupid ball against just about everything I could find—even managed to hit the little effer clear off course a couple of times.
“I really suck at this,” I said after another ball went soaring, this time crashing against a spinning windmill.
Blake lined up for his next hit. Timing it perfectly, he tapped it through the opening and straight to the other side. “Yeah, you really do.”
Son of a—well, I’ll show him…
…absolutely nothing but more of the same suck. By the time we reached the end of the course, I had resorted to kicking the damn ball. Obviously, Blake won. I hated losing.
“Guess I won that match,” said Blake cockily.
“Uh, that was hardly a match. I wasn’t even competition. Do you play golf or are you some miniature golf champion?”
“I play golf. Part of the Traverz family tradition.”
“So, you had an unfair advantage?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Aw, did I fail to mention my golf training? Must’ve slipped my mind.”
My competition juices were flowing. “Okay, Traverz, next competition has to be something that you can’t get a scholarship for or play professionally.”
“Have something in mind, Harred? Your pick.” Clearly, his juices were flowing as well, only I was certain they were more than just competition in nature. Truth: Other juices were bubbling inside me, too.
Scoping the street of shops and various activity places, my eye landed on the perfect destination for our next match. I pointed across the street and down the way a bit.
Following the direction of my pointed finger, Blake looked down the street. “The arcade?”
I nodded. “Skee-Ball, baby.”
“Absolutely.”
Apart from a small group of local teens, the arcade was practically empty and, thankfully, no one occupied the Skee-Ball section. We each cashed twenty dollars worth of quarters and made our way to the lanes.
I slipped my first quarter in the machine and watched as my balls rolled up. “You’re going down, Traverz.”
“Like I did at miniature golf, you mean?” he quipped as that wonderful WHOOSH and CLUNK sound of his skee-balls rolled into place, essentially signaling a big ‘game on.’
“You know what they say about those who cast the last snark…”
“They get the last laugh, maybe?” Ooh, he was so cocky…and it was so sexy.
Taking a ball and getting into position—sort of a semi-lunge—I said, “Top score by the end of our stack of coins wins. Go!”
For the first few throws, Blake proved smooth as silk with his aim, while mine was terribly rusty.
“Want to concede now and save yourself the embarrassment?”
“Not on your life,” I growled.
By the second set of balls, I had found my groove. Nearly every toss was worth fifty points.
Blake stepped back to check out my score. “Well, well…looks like I’m going to have to get serious.”
Soon, we fell in perfect stride with one another. Between our bantering and intensity, we’d attracted the attention of the teens. They crowded around us, watching the show. Predictably, the girls were cheering me on, while the guys rooted for Blake.
“One set left,” said Blake. “Think you can take me?”
“That chick won’t beat him,” declared one of the teen boys.
Picking up the first ball of my last set, I purred, “Watch me.”
“Go girl!” cried one of the girls, as another rallied the others in a chant of ‘Girl Power!’
I was having the high school experience I’d never had…at age twenty-four. Not exactly how someone in her mid-twenties should be acting. Aw, to hell with protocol—this was fun!
And with one final toss…
“SHE WON!” squealed the girls.
“Thanks for the solidarity, ladies,” I said.
“That was awesome,” said one pretty girl with long black hair.
The boys were very quiet; some seemed to suddenly find the floor and their sneakers quite interesting. Blake, on the other hand, had his string of tickets in his hands.
“Guys, there are three cornerstones to being a good man. First, never underestimate a woman’s grit. Second, the nature of a man is revealed in his sportsmanship—sour sport, sour manners. Third—the most important—always, always respect your lady.” He handed me his tickets, which I gladly combined with mine.
The girls ooh’d and ahh’d, many of them not-so-subtly observing Blake’s overwhelming appeal.
“Thank you, kind sir. Must say, you’ve got those cornerstones cornered,” I said.
Blake nobly bowed his head. “Let’s go see what prize these tickets will get you.”
We bid farewell to the teens and made our way to the prize counter. I was able to claim a pretty big teddy bear with all my tickets. Hey, might as well cap off a teenage moment with a stuffed animal, right?
When we were outside, I said, “Phew, I’m parched.” Between the miniature golf and arcade fun, I was aching for a chair and a soda.
“I know this great little outdoor café overlooking the lake. It’ll be closing up pretty soon for the season. We could share a basket of fries and get a couple of drinks there,” Blake suggested.
“Sounds perfect.”
Bear in-hand, Blake and I crossed the street and walked to a little café sitting above a strip of cute souvenir shops…and, yes, those shops had me salivating—nothing I loved more than a souvenir shop.
Blake noticed my pathetic ogling of the shops. “We can drop by the shops after our snack, if you’d like.”
“Oh, I’d like.”
The café had a decent crowd on-hand, and I could see why. The view was spectacular. Fortunately, a table with a clear view of the lake opened up within a few moments. Blake ordered a basket of fries and two sodas for us.
“This has to be the most perfect perch, apart from your porch, that is,” I said, gazing out over the remarkably blue water.
“It’s one of the most popular spots, especially during the height of the season.”
“Ooh! Steamboats!” Two grand, old steamboats were docked not far over from the café. “Is it really pathetic that I’m just now seeing those?”
“Nah, not really. I’m sure there are plenty of folks who miss massive steamboats docked barely feet away.”
Cocking my head to one side, I pursed my lips and said, “Very funny.” Gawking at the boats again, I added dreamily, “I’ve always wanted to ride on a steamboat.”
“Really? Since when?”
“Oh, you know…now. It’s one of those things you never think about, but when presented with the idea, you instantly know you’ve really always wanted to do it.”
Blake shook his head. “You have an interesting mind.”
“And that would mean what, exactly?”
“That you have an interesting mind,” he reiterated, a small smile curling his lips.
“Uh-huh. Well, better ‘interesting’ than boring.”
“Every time,” said Blake.
By the time we finished our snack and headed down to the souvenir shops beneath the café, I was in a spending mood.
“Get whatever you want,” said Blake, after my third ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aww.’
“Oh, you’re not paying for anything,” I said incredulously. “I can buy my own what-nots and Ivy-repelling items, okay?” I picked up a cheap blue t-shirt that would undoubtedly offend my politically incorrect blond cohort.
“Fine,” Blake agreed, albeit grudgingly.
I grabbed a few more t-shirts, a tote bag—because one can never have too many tote bags—some candy corn, a mug, and a snow globe with a miniature of the lake and steamboats inside. I brought the goodies up to the cashier.
“You can just put everything in the tote bag, if you’d like,” I said. “Oh, and would you mind tucking this fella in the tote?” I handed the cashier the bear I’d won at the arcade.
“Sure, no problem,” she said pleasantly.
She made quick work of ringing everything up and packing all my trinkets in the tote. “Here ya go.” She passed my tote bag across the counter with my loot packed inside. “The receipt’s in the bag.”
“Wait. I haven’t paid you,” I said, confused.
“Oh, um, it’s been taken care of,” she said coyly, gazing admirably at Blake, who wore a cat-like smirk. “Are you sure you don’t want the change, Sir?”
“All yours,” said Blake.
The girl giggled and flipped her hair. “Thank you and definitely come again.”
When we were outside, I lightly punched Blake in the arm. “You’re a rat.”
“Yeah, can be,” he said proudly.
“You gave her the money while I was shopping, didn’t you?”
“That I did.”
Shaking my head, I muttered, “Absolute rat. How much did you give her?”
“One-fifty. Told her to keep the difference for herself.”
“That’s a helluva tip!”
Blake shrugged. “Having money is pointless and selfish if you don’t do for others. From bringing the smallest of smiles to saving a life, that’s what money’s for.”
I looked up at him. “Your heart truly is bigger than anyone knows.”
“You know. That’s enough.”
Blake laced his fingers with mine and we enjoyed a peaceful walk along the lake, through the town, and back to the car. The drive home was a tranquil one. We held hands the entire way and remained almost glued together as we went into the house and right up the stairs.
“I’ll just drop these things off and meet you downstairs,” I said. “We can decide on dinner, unless you have something planned already.”
“That,” said Blake, kissing my hand, “depends entirely on you.” He let go of my hand and disappeared behind his bedroom door with a sly smile.
“Oookay.”
Upon entering my room, I immediately understood why Blake had to go back inside this morning, and it had nothing to do with turning off the coffeemaker. On my bed was a long white box adorned with a silky gold ribbon. In the middle of the box, beneath the ribbon, was a gold envelope. Setting my tote bag on the floor, I retrieved the envelope, removed the card from within, and promptly read it.
Feisty One,
I saw this and thought of you. If you are up for an evening under the setting sun, rising moon, and countless stars, please meet me in the great room at five.
-The Better Kind of Asshole
Any man who could make you smile real smiles was a keeper. I held the note to my chest for moment. Putting the card aside, I carefully opened the box. Buried beneath mounds of pink tissue paper was a stunning periwinkle blue chiffon evening gown.
“Oh my. You’re kidding. This has to be a dream. Any minute, and I’ll wake up. But, until then…”
After showering, shaving, putting on makeup, and curling my hair, I slipped into the dream dress and made my way to the great room.
Standing in the middle of the room, wearing a tuxedo and holding a single pink and yellow rose, was Blake.
“You’re stunning,” he said as I approached.
“You’re just too much,” I said, taking the rose.
“Which means I’m just enough. Shall we?” He offered me his arm and escorted me to a limousine waiting outside.
“Dare I ask where we’re going?” I said, as the driver zoomed out of the driveway and down the hill.
“Not if you’re hoping for an answer,” Blake teased.
I gently elbowed Blake in the ribs; he simply held me closer to him. I felt safe…safe and alive, maybe for the first time in my life.
Soon, the limo came to a stop. To my utter astonishment, we were parked beside one of the large steamboats, all lit up and ready for a voyage.
“No way,” I breathed as Blake helped me out of the limo.
“You can imagine how glad I was this afternoon when you suddenly realized you’d always wanted to take a trip on a steamboat,” said Blake, his tone dancing with amusement.
“I think even if I hadn’t realized it then, I would absolutely realize it now.” My eyes were wide, soaking in every aspect of the boat as we moved toward it and boarded.
Inside was a dining hall with a lone table set for two. Blake pulled my chair out for me.
A pretty redhead brought us menus. “Welcome, Sir, Miss. I’m Lucy, and I’ll be your attendant for this evening’s cruise. Have a look at our menu and wine list while we wait to sail. Once we’re on our way, I’ll bring your waters and take your orders.”
“Thanks, Lucy,” said Blake.
“Thank you,” I said, unable to look at anything but the man sitting across from me. I was about to tell him how much this weekend meant to me—that it has been the happiest time of my adult life—but instead of heartfelt words, a god awful horn drew an embarrassing yelping-squeal sound from deep within my throat. Catching my breath and clutching my chest, I wheezed, “Damn. That ship horn scared the bleep out of me.”
Blake cracked up, as did I. The moments where we did nothing but laugh were my absolute favorites.
From our table, we watched the sun set, turning the sky into a glorious purple-pink. We ordered chicken and rice dishes, white wine, and ended with an insane Boston Crème Pie. As always, our conversation flowed easily, consisting of everything from our most embarrassing moments to our secret fears.
“Sharks? In lakes? That’s a fear?” he asked as Lucy cleared our dessert dishes from the table.
“Yes! I saw a special on one of those tick channels about bull sharks getting into lakes,” I said emphatically.
“Just to be clear, you weren’t imagining this television show, were you? Maybe you watched a delightfully foul movie about sharks in a tornado and somehow came up with lake sharks?”
“No! Okay, fine, I’ll have to look it up and show you,” I said in a huff.
“It just sounds a little far-fetched, that’s all.”
“Oh, t
his coming from the man who’s afraid of hair on troll luck dolls. They’re adorable and supposed to bring good fortune!”
Blake squirmed in his chair a bit. “Like hell they are. Those are creepy little effers.”
I dropped my head, laughing. When I raised it, Blake was standing beside my chair, offering me his hand. Placing my hand in his, I whispered, “What surprise is next on the menu?”
“It’s outside.”
Together, we walked to the very front of the boat. I shivered in the cold night air. Blake didn’t miss a beat; he immediately took off his jacket and wrapped it and his arms around me. The engine of the boat shut off. Within seconds, the sky became a colorful sea of bright lights and sprawling shapes.
“Fireworks! I should’ve known!” I said.
“You like them?”
“No. I love them…I love everything about this place…this weekend…no one has ever…I didn’t know a man could…I mean…I…forgot how to string words together,” I stammered.
Softly smiling, Blake whispered, “You’re welcome.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I pressed my lips against his. Blake, his arms wrapped around my waist, returned my kiss with such intensity, the fireworks could have frozen in the sky or fallen like a shimmering, fluffy snow around us.
When our dinner cruise had ended and we arrived back at the house, Blake led me to the backyard where the gazebo, covered in white and blue lights, looked as though it had been blanketed in snow. Standing within the gazebo, my senses engulfed by the simple magic of the lights, I watched as Blake pulled up a playlist on his phone. Soon, big band tunes filled the crisp night air.
“The night I met you, there was one thing I wanted to ask you,” said Blake.
“And what’s that?”
“Will you dance with me, Miss Harred?”
“I’d be delighted, Mr. Traverz.”
We danced for what seemed like hours, and the world was silent, still, unthreatening.
Blake suddenly stopped dancing to look at me. “Maggie, what is it you want more than anything else?” he asked, cupping my face in his large, warm hands.
“Closure. The memories, no matter how deep I bury them, are so loud, so violent, that sometimes it feels like they’re trying to kill me from within. I guess I’d just like…quiet.”
Watercolor Hearts Page 17
