Every Yesterday (Boot Creek) (14 page)

She shook her head. Her nose bumping him. “Let’s not, but I think we’ve just proved that there’s nothing cooler than a truck bed,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind having this in my room.”

“It’s kind of a turn-on. I was thinking the same thing. Maybe I could build you one.” He sat up. “I never met a girl who got cars as much as I did. And I’ve met a lot of women.”

“I’m sure you have. I was a daddy’s girl. Daddy always wanted a boy, but all my parents had was me. And Daddy and I shared his love for cars.”

“Sorry for your loss. I know you must really miss him.”

“Thank you. It was unexpected. I mean, it’s not like he was sick.” Her words trailed off and the room became quiet.

The mood shifted from hot and playful to somber. And he didn’t want to ruin the day, nor was he ready for it to end. “Are you hungry?” Noah asked, patting her tummy like a drum, hoping to rescue the mood. “It sounds hollow in there.”

“I am.”

“We didn’t even have lunch. Just beer,” Noah said. “And I’m the first to say that a high-carb beer is good food, but I at least owe you a meal for hijacking your whole day. Let me take you to dinner.”

“I can’t go anywhere. I’m a mess. I have dried paint all over me.”

“We can stop by your house so you can change. I want to take you to that only nice place in town. Bella’
s.
”

“You do realize, even though it’s the nicest restaurant in town, it’s still casual. The food is swanky. The service great, but the atmosphere is casual. We could just as easily do a simple picnic out on the creek.”

“Sounds even better,” Noah said. “Come on, let me do something nice for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I had fun.”

“Me too. And I don’t want it to end.” And he had no idea those were the words that were going to come out until they had, and he meant them. He drove Megan back to her house.

She waved from the door as he left to go back to the inn and get cleaned up.

As soon as he was out of sight, she ran back to get showered and changed. By the time the doorbell rang, she’d just finished blow-drying her hair. She stepped into her favorite cowboy boots, and pulled the bottom of her black boot-cut jeans down over them. The pearls Dad had given her on her sixteenth birthday caught her eye on her dresser. She held them up to her neck, perfect with the creamy white camisole she was wearing.

The doorbell rang again.

She struggled with the pearls, trying to hurry, still trying to connect the clasp as she ran toward the door.

“Coming.” Her boots clip-clopped down the tile entry. She slid to a stop in front of the door and swung it open. “Hi.”

Noah stood there with a bouquet of daisies.

Her lips bunched. “That was so nice.”
How sweet.
“Thank you.”

“I want to go on record that I went to Bootsie’s Bouquets to buy you yellow roses, but your mother insisted daisies are your favorite.”

Mom was probably telling everyone in town.
“They absolutely are. What a nice surprise. Let me put these in some water.”

“Sure.”

His eyes weighed on her as she walked away. A giggle churned in her gut. She felt giddy at the attention. But what would it hurt? He was fun.

She came back with a lime-green mason jar filled with the daisies and set them on the table in the hall. “They really brighten up the place. They’re great.”

“Glad you like them.”

“I do. You ready? I’m starved.”

“Yeah, me too. Are we walking or driving?”

Megan grabbed her keys and her purse. “Let’s walk. It’s just a couple of blocks.” She locked the door behind her, and they walked to the corner. Noah grabbed her hand, loosely holding it.

“You look really nice. I like a girl who can pull off jeans and pearls,” he said. “And it looks good on you.”

“Thank you.” She had to take extra long strides to keep up with him. The sun was still bright, and the air so steamy that dinner in the air-conditioning at Bella’s sounded much better than the picnic she’d suggested earlier. She was glad he’d insisted.

One of her best customers, the gal who owned the boutique down the way, hailed her from across the street. Megan waved in response.

“This way,” Megan said when they got to the next corner. “Just on the other side of the street.”

He moved at an easy gait, for him. Looking around, taking in her small town. She wondered how it looked to someone who hadn’t lived there their whole life.

When they got to Bella’s, Noah held the door for her.

A white-shirted waiter met them at the door. “Two? Are you Mr. Black?”

“
Yes.
”

“You called ahead?”

He shrugged.

Nice touch.

The waiter took them to a quiet booth near the back, and laid the menus on the table. “Something to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer. Megan, what would you like?”

“I think I’ll start with one of your famous blueberry slushy drinks like you guys do for the Blackberry Festival.”

“Excellent choice,” the waiter said.

“You’ve got to try one,” she said to Noah. “Bring two of those.”

“Still the beer, sir?”

“Oh, yeah. I might need a chaser for something that fruity.”

“Yes, sir.” The waiter hurried off and was back with their drinks before they’d even taken a good look at the menu.

The waiter slid the two bright purple concoctions in front of them, and then put Noah’s beer next to his.

Noah shot her a glance. “Looks kind of girlie.”

“You’re going to love it. Trust me.”

“We’ll see.”

The waiter stood there at the table. “I have specials tonight. Can I tell you what they are, or do you know what you want?”

“We’ll listen to the specials,” Noah said.

“
Excellent!
” The waiter beamed with excitement. “We have a wonderful appetizer today. Fried green tomatoes with a dollop of homemade pimento cheese, arugula, and a crispy pork belly crouton with a ginger sesame drizzle.”

“We’re so in on that,” Megan said.

“Also, our special entrees this evening are: espresso braised short ribs on top of mascarpone polenta, crispy sweet potatoes, and smoked shiitake jus; and fried mustard pork tenderloin with creamed corn and wilted greens with a corn cake.” He held his pencil to the ready. “I got to sample both dishes earlier this evening. Magnificent.”

“Then, I think I’m going to have the pork tenderloin special. I mean, how can you go wrong with fried pork loin?” said Noah.

“True. And honestly I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone getting anything here that they didn’t like. It’s that good.”

“For you, ma’am?”

Megan giggled to herself. The waiter knew her, although he hadn’t shown that he did. He’d worked for her mom for almost a year. Clearly he was excited about his new job and eager to impress. “I’ll have the short rib
special.
”

“Great choices. I’ll be out with your appetizer shortly.”

“Thank you,” Megan said.

Noah waited until the eager waiter moved along and then leaned forward. “I want to show you something.” He pulled out his phone and swept his finger across the screen a few times and then got up and slid into the booth next to her. “I’d forgotten I had this on my phone.”

He handed his phone to her, leaning in as she took a look.

The picture was pretty fuzzy, but the car was easy to make out. It was the spitting image of the one in her garage. He hadn’t been kidding that his grandfather had had one just like it. Same color, of course—there weren’t but a couple of choices back then, and it looked like the same year too. The young boy standing next to the car looked like he had an attitude.

Long hair, parted down the middle, hung nearly to his shoulders. His arms were folded across his chest like he hadn’t been too willing a participant in the photo shoot. One foot stuck out, his long, skinny leg bent awkwardly like he just wanted whoever was taking the picture to hurry the heck up so he could skedaddle on out of there.

She pinched her fingers against the screen to zoom in. She glanced up at him and back down at the picture. “Take that smile off of your face.” She looked again. “Now look like an angsty teenager.”

He laughed, then frowned and grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, now I see it.” She handed him the phone back. “So funny that we both have history with that kind of car.” The years had treated him well. He was a much more handsome man than he had been a boy. But then, her old pictures and hairstyles weren’t all that great either.

“Yeah. My aunt found that picture in my granddad’s stuff and had it scanned and sent it to me years ago. She’s techno-savvy for an old gal. My dad doesn’t even have a smartphone.”

“It’s hard to believe anyone can make it without a smartphone these days. But it’s like no one gives you their full attention anymore.”

He leaned in closer, nudging her shoulder. “You have mine.”

Could he say the right thing any better if he’d been scripted? He was too good to be true.

“I had fun this afternoon, and the room looks great. Have you ever thought of doing murals for hire?”

“
Me?
” Where’d that come from? She couldn’t tell him that story. That was baggage better left unclaimed. “No. I just mess around now. I let that dream of becoming an artist to make a living go a long time ago.”

“Why?” His eyes slightly narrowed. “You’re really good.”

“People don’t make it in that world. Not without a lot of sacrifices. I’ve learned that I like to be able to change my plans on a whim. Get up and go when I want to. Or not. And my art is personal. I paint what I want to paint. I’m not commercial enough. I’d starve with that attitude trying to be an artist. And I’m not the nine-to-five type, so the candle business really suits me and my creativity quite well.” Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice the tremor in her voice.

“If you ever change your mind, I’d love you to do a mural for my shop. I think my people would love it. It would really brighten up the place.”

“That’s a very nice compliment.” And it had been fun to work on that mural for Billy today.

The waiter brought their appetizer.

Noah slid one of the fried green tomatoes over to his plate, using his fork to cut through the layers and take a bite. “Now that is way better than it sounds.”

“I thought it sounded good.”

“That’s because you grew up in the land of pimento cheese and fried tomatoes.”

“Tennessee isn’t that far away.”

“True, but my mom wasn’t a real Southern cook. She came from an Italian family, so I was well fed in a different way.”

“I do love Italian food, but nothing beats old-fashioned Southern cooking.” She took a bite. He was right. It was tasty, and she wasn’t a fried-green-tomatoes-eating girl most days.

“Did you ever sell any of your paintings?”

“Yeah. I did. For a while there I sold quite a few, but I had someone selling them for me back then. I don’t like that part. The asking for money. It stole from my creativity. I love the creative part. I don’t like the marketing and sales and business of it.” And that was more than she’d usually tell anyone about that.

“I can understand that.”

“I work just as hard with the candles, but the science of figuring out the right colors and scents appeal to my creative and analytical side. Plus my art was so personal. Everyone likes candles. Not everyone wants a big honking painting of a car, or a landscape, or whatever.”

“Will you show me more of your work?”

The waiter placed their meals in front of them and offered them fresh cracked pepper. A few well-placed twists, and he was off again.

She picked up her fork. Noah was probably just making small talk about her art.

“Maybe after dinner?”

Had she missed part of the conversation? “What?”

“You’ll show me more of your paintings. I’m interested in seeing them.”

Was he just being nice?
“Nothing to really see. They’re all pretty much in the same style as the ones you’ve already seen, but I have a bunch in my studio.”

He looked pleased as he pressed his fork down into the salad. “
Cool. I
’d really like that.”

She wasn’t one to play a lot of games. It wasn’t her style. She put her fork down. “Really? Why?”

He stopped chewing, and blinked.

Megan smiled politely. “I mean people say stuff like that all the time and don’t even mean it. I was just wondering.”

“Oh, well.” He placed his fork down. “I’m not people then. Because I don’t say things to just be polite.” He held his hands out. “What you see here is what you get. And yes. I want to see your paintings. I’m intrigued. Unusually so, I might add, because it’s not like I know a thing about art.”

Interesting.

“But I know what I like.”

His gaze held hers.

The art? Or me?
But those words didn’t come out of her mouth.

“And I am interested to see what else you’ve done.”

“Then I’d love to share that with you. I haven’t even done much with them lately. It’ll be fun to look through them again.”

“Good.” He held up his slushy. “A toast to being genuine and real. I like that.”