“Why do you have to take her to the bathroom?”
I look around at the other tables. “I don’t want to offend anyone.”
“Are you offended when people eat?” he asks.
“You misunderstand. I need to nurse her,” I explain.
“And?” he says. “What’s the problem?”
“Some folks don’t like to see women nursing in a restaurant. It makes them uncomfortable.”
“Then they should eat at home,” he scoffs.
I know he’s right. It’s just this small town is full of small-town people I’ve known my whole life, and I don’t want to give them anything else to judge me on. But Zach’s right, they shouldn’t judge me for giving my child lunch. I drape a blanket across my chest before unbuttoning my dress and adjusting Faye.
God bless my little girl, she is not a quiet eater, she slurps and grunts and enjoys every moment of her meal. Her noises are making conversation more than a bit awkward.
Zach stares at the blanket like there’s a herd of wildebeests tearing apart a fresh kill. “She’s pretty hungry, huh?”
“She’s an enthusiastic diner,” I manage.
I can’t be sure, but I think he mumbles something along the lines of, “Lucky girl.”
When she’s finally done, I ask, “Would you mind holding her while I get myself buttoned up?”
“Do you need help with your buttons?” he teases.
“These buttons are in the front. I think I can manage them on my own.” I smile, trying not to let his flirtations undo me. But truth be told, I’m feeling a little undone.
As soon as he takes Faye from me, she lets out the biggest belch you’ve ever heard, right before spitting up all over him. “Oh, my goodness!” I declare. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me take her back.” Which I do, before buttoning myself up. Thankfully, I’d already put my boob back in my bra.
Zach stares at the edge of my industrial-strength foundational garment with an expression that looks an awful lot like lust—which I do not believe this particular item of clothing was designed to elicit—especially while one is covered in baby puke. I wonder if he’s going through a dry spell or if he’s still hung up on that other woman.
Once I put the baby back in her stroller, I reach out to help Zach clean up the mess. “Tell me about your gal, the one who got away.” I’m trying to distract him long enough to get my girls situated.
“I don’t think I’m ready to do that, yet. It’s pretty personal, you know?” Then he asks, “Do you want to talk about Armand?”
“No!” I nearly shout. “I mean … no. I guess what I’m trying to say is … no.”
“So no, then?” he asks with a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Right. No. I’m trying to heal from all that. There doesn’t seem to be any reason to talk about it.” This topic needs to end, like, yesterday.
“You ready to get going? I’ll walk you back to the warehouse.”
“That’s sounds nice. Point out all the local hotspots to me as we go. I’m trying to get a bead on the new demographic of Creek Water so I can figure out how to best appeal to them when we open up our shop.”
For some reason he pushes the stroller while I walk beside him. To be honest, he looks adorable, but I guess any good-looking guy with a rockin’ body like his, pushing a baby in a stroller, is chum for the ladies. I don’t think I ovulate while nursing, but darn if I don’t think I just felt an egg drop.
He points out a tattoo parlor, of all things, called the Ink Spot.
“That’s is quite a change, huh? Used to be if you wanted a tattoo you had to go to Henderson.”
“It’s just a sign that our population is getting younger.”
“You mean Cootie Wilcox hasn’t been seen darkening their doorstep yet?” I tease.
“No, ma’am, and thank the good Lord, I might add. Can you imagine the kind of thing she’d get tattooed on that butt of hers?”
“Maybe a turkey vulture or Godzilla or something,” I joke.
Across the street is a new vintage clothing shop called Lucille’s. The mannequins in the window are wearing dresses that look like they’re from the fifties. But they all have some modern-day accessory, like biker boots or a backpack—something that shows the old and the new colliding. It’s very clever.
During the rest of the walk, we pass a beauty parlor, a movie theater, an arcade, a coffee shop, a couple of restaurants, and an antique mall. As near as I can figure, Creek Water could use a slew of different stores, including some trendy ones. I feel like we’re right on base with a gourmet/gift shop that specializes in kitchen gadgetry. I just have to pry open the uncles’ wallets long enough to make that a reality.
When we finally get to the factory, Zach says, “I’m going to head in and talk to the architect. You got any work to do inside?”
“No,” I say. “I’m going to go home and start doing some research online. I feel like I’ve got a good idea who our target market is going to be, and I want to start hammering out the kind of money I’ll need to open the place I want.”
“I’ll see you tonight, then,” he says. He leans in as though he’s going to give me a kiss on the cheek but has second thoughts and reaches out and touches my arm instead. My body reacts as though I’ve been touched by the live end of an electrical wire.
“Bye,” I tell him, wishing that he’d gone in for the kiss instead. Ah well, maybe tonight after dinner, if I’m lucky. I seem to have completely forgiven him for his earlier judgmental behavior toward me. It’s amazing how hormones can short circuit your thinking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mama isn’t home when I get there, so I put Faye in her baby swing and give her a collection of chew toys to help her gnaw her teeth in. Then I sit in front of the computer to get busy, but my brain isn’t interested. My thoughts keep drifting elsewhere.
Faye interrupts by squalling to let me know she’s ready for a snack and a nap. After we’ve completed her feeding/diapering routine and she’s settled down in her crib, I decide to go to my closet and figure out what I’m going to wear to dinner tonight. I should have asked where we were going, but I didn’t want to appear too excited. A girl must keep her cool, right?
I stand in front of the open closet and stare at my options. What says, “I’m gorgeous, but there’s more to me than just my boobs?” I pick up a variety of things that I think might be a tad too risqué if this turns out to be a business meeting and not a date. According to Mama and Auntie Lee, boob cracks aren’t appropriate for the office, but may make a limited appearance at corporate events held after five. Having said that, my current cleavage is a tad extreme, so I decide to air on the side of caution.
I go with a longish, pink linen skirt with some ballet flats and a sweet little white cotton blouse with eyelet details. It’s a very feminine outfit that even Cootie Wilcox couldn’t consider inappropriate. By the time I’m done sorting all that out, Faye is awake from her catnap and ready to be dressed in one of her new outfits. It’s a matching shade of pink with tiny roses and of course, a ginormous monogram.
At five twenty, I’m pacing around the living room like Zach is an hour late. When he rings the doorbell at five twenty-five, I nearly jump out of my skin in excitement. He’s here! I fluff my hair in the mirror real quick and put on a fresh layer of lip gloss. Then I let him in.
Boy howdy, does he look good. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants with freshly pressed creases and an aqua-blue linen shirt rolled up at the sleeves. The color really sets off the green in his eyes. He’s carrying a bouquet of sun flowers.
“Come on in!” I say a bit too brightly like I’m welcoming Armie Hammer himself. I’ve clearly got no game. Not that I was ever that smooth with men, but I fear motherhood has made me even less so.
I take a quick peek at his backside when he walks by and let me just say—wow. That boy sure knows how to wear pants.
He hands me the flowers and says, “They look like you, all happy and sunny and beautiful.�
��
“Thank you,” I say as a tsunami wave of lust slams into me, making my knees tremble. “Let me just put them in a vase.” When I come back, I ask, “Would you like to sit down and have a refreshment? I just made some tea.” One thing I missed dreadfully about living in New York City was the sorry lack of sweet tea.
“No, ma’am. I think we’d best get going. We have a six o’clock reservation at Filene’s. I got us a table on the river.”
“Filenes? That’s pretty fancy.” I’m about to add “for a first date,” but I change my mind at the last second. While I now believe this is a date, I still want to make sure before I say anything. I mean, yes, he broke it off with Shelby, and yes, the chemistry between us is explosive, but who knows, maybe I’m just a well of wishful thinking. I’ll wait it out and see if there’s a goodnight kiss before I start counting my chickens.
I offer, “Why don’t I drive? Faye’s car seat is already in Mama’s car.”
“That’s fine by me,” he says. He hands me the diaper bag and takes the baby, who’s strapped in her carrier. It’s seriously arousing how he takes control of the situation. It’s hard to admit, but I find I like sharing the load. I want to be one of those tough-as-nails women who can do it all with no help. But let’s face it, having someone to look after you is an aphrodisiac of the highest order, especially as I’ve been mostly doing this parenting thing all on my own. Mama helps now that I’m home, but even she can’t compete with a handsome man.
Once we’re all situated, I turn on the radio. Mama’s got it set to one of her oldie’s stations and The Wallflowers “One Headlight” comes on. I look at Zach in the passenger seat and notice he’s singing along in such a way that you’d think Jakob Dylan himself was sitting next to me. Mama used to play this song when I was little and I’d tell her, “I’m gonna marry that voice someday.” Chills shoot up my spine at the memory.
I’m parking the car by the time the song ends, and Zach offers, “Let me carry the baby.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Once again, I admire how pretty they look together. Walking into a nice restaurant in my hometown, with a gorgeous man and my little girl, feels right. This is how life is supposed to be.
Zach gives the hostess our name, and she bats her eyes all flirtatious-like. He notices and lifts the baby’s car seat up onto the host stand. She immediately interprets that, “Grant, party of three,” might not just be Zach alone, and belatedly acts like this is her job and not a pickup joint. “Follow me.”
The deck behind the restaurant extends out onto a dock over the water. It’s beautiful out here. We’re one of the first tables to arrive, so it feels like we’re having a private little party.
I show Zach how Faye’s car seat is designed to snap right in the highchair. He’s quite impressed by that little feature. I sit in the chair he gallantly pulls out for me.
He says, “They make fantastic margaritas here, if you’re game.”
I shake my head vigorously. “No, thank you. Tequila and I are a dangerous duo.”
His eyebrows shoot up in question. “How so?”
“I get this little thing called tequila amnesia whenever I drink it.” I add, “I apparently do things I’d never do under the influence of chardonnay.”
“Like what?” he asks with a layer of concern in his tone.
“Like I don’t even want to talk about because it’s too horrifying.”
Zach scoots his chair farther away from me like I’ve just admitted to having leprosy. A chill washes over me and encompasses the table as surely as if it was late autumn instead of summer. I feel the need to defend myself from his concerns. “I haven’t murdered anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He clearly fakes a smile. “If you say so.”
I have exactly zero idea what’s going on here. Two seconds ago, I was on a nice romantic date or business dinner, and now I’m even more confused about what it is. All I know is the air is very different. It’s thick and suspicious and not at all date-like. It’s like I’ve confessed to being an alcoholic in addition to being a single mother. Like suddenly, there are one too many things wrong with me and he can’t look past them anymore.
The waitress comes over and takes our drink order. I ask for a glass of wine and Zach orders an iced tea. When she leaves, I say, “I thought you might get a margarita.”
He shakes his head. “No, ma’am. I need to hurry up and eat. I’ve got some more work to do tonight.”
“Oh,” I say. I’ve got nothing else. I guess this really is a business dinner and I’m not the girl Zach talked about having his eye on, after all. At this moment I seriously start questioning my ability to read people.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, Zach says, “I thought we’d check out Filene’s and get an idea of their needs so we can make sure their new space in the factory is as ideal as possible.”
“Oh,” I say again. My goodness I’m just a witty conversationalist, aren’t I? I try to flag down the waitress to change my drink to straight water but I’m too late. Tonight is going to last a thousand years, I just know it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My salad is delicious, very trendy and tasty, bib lettuce, mandarin oranges, bacon, blue cheese, and toasted almonds. Yum. I pull a receipt out of my purse and jot down the ingredients on the back, so I can remember to duplicate it at home for Mama. I’m probably enjoying it so much because I have absolutely nothing else to focus on. The baby is busy playing with her toes, and Zach has said exactly five words to me in the last ten minutes. There was, “no, thank you,” when I asked if he’d like to try my salad, and “you’re welcome,” when I thanked him for handing me the pepper.
Finally, when I’ve finished my salad and there’s nothing else to focus on until the steaks finally come, I can’t take it anymore and I ask, “Have I done something to offend you?”
He looks up at me all cool and distant. “No, ma’am.” Then crickets.
I’m busy thinking, What in the fresh hollandaise hell is going on here? Either this man has a multiple personality disorder or I’m going nuts. He was so attentive and lovely until we sat down and talked about my inability to metabolize tequila like a lady. Then, he’s Jack Frost. What did I miss? It’s like he’s back to judging me, but this time for being a boozy lush. I wonder if he’s some kind of born-again Puritan or his ex was a lush or something
When the hostess comes over to ask if we’re enjoying our steaks, he smiles up at her like he’s trying to melt her butter. “It’s delicious, thank you.” He gushes like she personally killed the cow and cooked it for him. So much for being a Puritan. Clearly, he’s interested in pursuing a relationship with someone, just not me. The poor girl is a bit unsure of how to respond given his earlier lack of interest at her attempt at flirtation. She manages a weird sort of smile before I scowl at her and send her scurrying away.
I can’t take the silence another second and say, “So, you haven’t always lived in Creek Water, huh?”
He looks up and mumbles, “Nope.”
“Where were you before?” I ask, desperately trying to force words out of him.
“Chicago.”
I want to bang my head on the table in frustration. “How long have you been back?”
“I came back a year ago last winter.”
“That’s recent,” I say. I’d thought he’d been back a lot longer than that. He just seems to fit here so well. “Why’d you come home?”
“I’d been thinking about it for a long time. There’s a comfort to living in a place where people have known you your whole life.”
I wonder if he was running from the girl he told me about and decided home would be a safe place to land. I’d get that. I was running too, although, I’m not exactly sure from what. I never did recover my career mojo after The Event and Faye’s appearance made it sort of necessary to have a bigger support system. My friends in New York were intrigued that I was going to have a baby, but they were nowhere near tha
t place in their own lives. I don’t think I could have counted on them for much more than a random Saturday afternoon babysitting.
“You living with your folks?” I ask.
“No, I’ve got my own place.” He doesn’t offer anything else. So, I finally just give up and eat my dinner. I occasionally wave a new toy in front of the baby to keep her occupied, but when she falls asleep, I just chew.
When our plates are cleared and the waitress asks if we want dessert, I reply, “Dear god, no.” At her shocked expression, I add, “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
She brings the check and I reach into my purse for my wallet. Zach says, “I got this.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like we’re on a date or anything. I’m happy to pay my own way.”
“No, really, I’ll use my corporate card and write it off as a business expense.”
Be still my beating heart. I zip my purse back up and let him. In truth, I feel like he owes me after wasting my day by encouraging my feelings.
The car ride home is the complete opposite from the one to the restaurant. There is no easy camaraderie or singing along to old songs on the radio. I have an overwhelming urge to scream in order to break the silence.
When we get back to Mama’s, I retrieve the baby and head to the front door. Zach doesn’t say a word to me, and makes no effort to walk me in. Instead, he just stands there and glowers at me.
I want to turn around and scream, “Don’t let the door hitcha’ where the good Lord splitcha!” but he’s nowhere near a door so that wouldn’t make much sense. My emotions are reeling, and I need to not be in his company right now.
How in the Jolly Green Giant am I ever going to be able to work with this man?
Chapter Twenty-Four
I decided to wait up for Mama. I felt like I could use her expert opinion, but I fell asleep somewhere around midnight and she still wasn’t home. She’s definitely living a wilder life than I am.
Being that it’s Sunday, I let myself sleep in. I put Faye in bed next to me last night, so she can eat on-demand, and I wouldn’t have to get up for anything. I dreamed about the night of The Event and I’m not talking about the dinner at the Met. I dreamed about Faye’s daddy, but in my fantasy, we were in love and he’d just popped the question. I can’t see his face, but I vaguely remember an intriguing tattoo on his arm. In my vision, I know that he’s the one I want to spend my life with.
The Event Page 8
