Paige Rewritten (17 page)

I shrug. I got to finish the chapter and I figured he'd be late, which was why I told him to come a few minutes early.

I'm learning.

“Thanks for picking me up, Tyler.”

“Sure thing! Hey, so on my way over here, I was thinking. We still need to go to that baseball game.”

I nod. I thought of it earlier this week. I was actually starting to get excited about it, even though I won't be able to watch the game in my pajamas. I looked the team up on the Internet and they do fireworks at some of the night games.

Fireworks are a pretty good reason to get out of your pajamas.

I'm not sure that a hot dog is, but I can handle getting dressed for fireworks.

We get to the steak house and Peter and Layla are already there. Layla looks adorable in jeans and a black lacy top. “Oh, this is
so
exciting!” she squeals, grabbing my forearms when we walk in. “Our first official double date as an engaged couple!”

I'm assuming the “our” is referring to Peter and her.

Peter and Tyler shake hands and we get called to our table a few minutes later. It's crowded tonight. Country music is blaring over the speakers, the whole restaurant is dimly lit, TVs are glaring silently whatever game ESPN is showing, and peanut shells crunch under our feet as we walk.

We are led to the very back corner of the restaurant and the hostess points to a corner booth. “Does this work?”

I have no idea why they ask that question. Do people really say no when there's a twenty-minute wait for a table?

Layla and I both slide in and the boys take the outside. The hostess hands us the menus and leaves. Layla is giddy. “Oh this is so fun! This is so exciting!”

I just laugh at her and open my menu. I haven't eaten here in a very long time. I do, however, remember their incredible rolls and delicious fried onions with some type of awesome sauce.

Which leads me to my first Double Date Dilemma of the evening: Are fried onions acceptable on a date?

Layla sighs at the menu. “Oh my gosh, the Deep Onion Dipper. Guys, we've
got
to get this. Maybe two of them.” She fans her face. “I'm salivating just thinking of it.”

And that answers my question.

Peter, in his usual outgoing, chatty way, nods at Layla. “Sure.”

Tyler thumps the menu. “Rib eye. Going with the rib eye for sure. And the loaded sweet potato with the marshmallows. And the cinnamon apples.”

“And the heart attack,” I say.

“There now. I don't wish ill tidings on you.”

“I'm not wishing it, I'm just predicting it,” I tell him. “It doesn't help that you like your steaks blinking at you when they get to the table.” Tyler's steak was barely warm last time he ordered one.

Not me. I don't always eat steaks, but when I do, I eat them well done.

Not to sound too much like a beer commercial.

My dad instilled that in me at a very young age. Mostly because every time we had steaks, he would burn the snot out of them until they resembled charcoal more than edibles.

You always end up eating like your parents.

I decide on the chicken kebabs, mostly because I just enjoy the word
kebab
.

“So!” Layla lays her closed menu on the table. “Let's talk wedding details!”

She is so happy, her smile has to be hurting her eardrums. Peter just smiles over at her in one of those placating “isn't she precious” smiles that sort of bothers me, only because I've seen people look at their grandchildren the same way.

I move on. “What details, Layla?”

“Wait a second.” Tyler holds up his hands surrender-style. “Don't tell me that you brought me here to eat rare steak and listen to lace descriptions.”

“Raw steak. I've seen you eat beef before, Tyler. And yes,” Layla nods. “Okay. Now obviously Paige here is my maid of honor.”

“Obviously,” Tyler and Peter say together.

“She's therefore going to need some directives about how I want the ceremony to be.”

“Yeah, but Layla, you aren't getting married for what … another five months?” Tyler asks, counting the months off on his fingers. “Isn't that a little overkill?”

Layla just gapes at him, and I roll my eyes before turning to her. “Remember he's male. And single.”

She just shakes her head at Tyler. “I'll forgive you. Just this once though, so listen up.”

Tyler grins.

“Anyway, I'm trying to nail down a location. I think we are wanting to get married outside, since it will be October and that's typically decent wedding weather here. What I think would be really super cute though is to get married at that farm right outside of Frisco — remember that one, Paige, with the great red barn?”

I nod. We were lost trying to find some craft fair when we drove past it. They were having a little pumpkin patch thing that day.

“Anyway, I might call them and find out if they hold weddings there.”

The waitress comes by then to get our order and leaves us with two baskets of sweet, hot, delicious buttered rolls. “I'll be right back with the Onion Dipper.”

I don't know why I bother ordering food at this place. I should just eat the rolls and the onion thing. I'm always stuffed by the time my actual dinner arrives.

“So, how is premarital stuff going?” I ask. Layla and Peter had their first appointment with Rick this last week.

Layla rolls her eyes. “It was ridiculous. We went to Starbucks and I casually mentioned I like when Peter laughs so hard he snorts. So then Rick spent the rest of the time trying to see if he could get Peter to snort up his hot chocolate.” She rolls her eyes again, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously. We're preparing for marriage here. Supposedly anyway. Aren't we supposed to be talking about birth control or how to handle fights about closet space?”

I laugh. But considering I've barely seen Peter smile, I kind of want to see him snort from laughing too.

I glance at Tyler and I can tell he's thinking the same thing. A mischievous look flints across his eyes. “So. Spill the beans, Pete. What makes you snort?”

Peter shrugs. “I don't know. I probably have to be in a specific mood.”

“Which he wasn't in on Thursday night. Particularly after listening to Rick tell 164 jokes. The last ones were just awful.” Layla rubs her temple. “I'm wondering if I really want Rick to perform my wedding.”

“It'll be entertaining.” I've been to a wedding that Rick did. He started the ceremony like the priest on
The Princess Bride
. “Mawwiage.”

The poor groom just stared at him like he was speaking Italian.

“I don't know that I want my wedding to be entertaining,” Layla says.

“Going for boring?” Tyler asks her, finishing his roll.

“Not boring.”

“But not interesting,” Tyler says.

Layla and Tyler should never converse with each other.

“So you're going for like a plain-popcorn-with-salt wedding,” Tyler says to her. “Not boring, but not interesting either.”

“No, Tyler. I want it to be interesting.”

“But not
exciting
. You don't want people shaking some delicious chili-spice mixture all over that popcorn.”

Layla makes a growling noise in the back of her throat. “I want it to be interesting and exciting without being awkward and awful.”

“If you want to not have an awkward wedding, don't give anyone spoons,” he tells her, buttering another roll.

“What?”

“Spoons. Just leave them out of the silverware on the tables.”

Layla rubs her cheeks with both hands. “Why, Tyler? Why would spoons make my wedding awkward?”

“Have you ever seen a more awkward utensil? If you use it to stir sugar into an iced tea or a coffee, you can't set it on your plate because then it drips iced tea or coffee all over the meal. You can't set it on the table because then you're the guy who messed up the tablecloth. And have you ever seen someone eat anything with a spoon? If you slurp, you're the guy who can't drink his soup quietly. If you eat ice cream and you don't suck all the ice cream off the spoon, you're the nasty guy leaving his germs all over everything.”

Peter grins. Layla starts laughing and then grabs two fistfuls of her hair. “You make me crazy! I don't know why I'm encouraging this!” She waves a hand between Tyler and me.

He smirks at her. “Because. I make your life
interesting
. Like popcorn with — ”

“Just quiet, Tyler. Quiet now. And I would really appreciate it if you'd stop referring to my wedding as popcorn.”

“I wasn't talking about your wedding right then, I was talking about your — ”

“Shhh,” she interrupts again. “Shh, Tyler.”

I look at Peter and shrug. “It doesn't seem like we were needed to discuss the wedding after all.”

And for the first time ever, Peter laughs at something I say.

We end up talking at the restaurant until nine o'clock, and then Layla decides we all need to get coffee. The Starbucks nearby closes at nine, so we head over to a locally owned coffee-house not too far away.

“That was a very fun dinner,” Tyler says as he drives the five minutes to the coffeehouse.

“Yeah it was.” I nod, blocking a yawn with the back of my hand.

“I'm not sure how I will fit a coffee in my stomach too.” He rubs his rib cage.

I'm not sure how he's going to either. I only have a sister, and my dad doesn't eat a lot. I've never seen someone put away food the way Tyler does. He ate four rolls, a side salad, about half of the onion dish, the entire sweet potato, the entire bowl of cinnamon apples, and the whole steak.

I would be dead somewhere if I were him right now. I have no idea where they take people whose stomachs explode, but it can't be a happy place filled with laughter.

“You could have taken some of that home with you, you know.” I tap the Styrofoam container on the seat next to me. Most of my dinner is in there.

“I don't believe in leftovers.”

I believe him.

We get to the coffeehouse and Tyler looks over at me, smiling sweetly. “This is really fun, Paige.” He reaches over to squeeze my hand.

I smile at him, suddenly very thankful that I hadn't finished that onion-dipper thing.

Layla and Peter are already in line when we walk in. This place is known for their coffee, their desserts, and their fireplace. People are at almost every table, reading books, clicking around on laptops, or chatting with friends.

“What are you going to get?” Layla asks me.

“I don't know. I'm stuffed.”

“Me too. I just didn't want the evening to end, and the waitress at the steak house was giving us the evil eye.”

I end up getting a cup of decaf, because if I'm already getting wrinkles beside my eyes, I probably shouldn't be drinking caffeine past nine. Isn't that a rule somewhere? I feel about ninety-seven years old, though, as I carry my little cup to the table Layla found.

“How's this?” She sets her mocha on the table. Peter and Tyler are right behind us with their drinks.

Tyler's holding a piece of chocolate-mousse pie too.

“I thought you said you were completely stuffed,” I say to him.

“Yeah, but the pie looked good.”

Maybe all guys are like this, except for my dad. Or maybe they all start like this.

Whatever the case, I bet my parents are very thrilled that they only had to feed two girls.

Whoever says girls cost more to raise didn't factor in food, I bet.

“So, Paige, how's it going with Preslee?” Layla asks as we sit.

I sigh. I'd conveniently put tomorrow's dinner date out of my mind tonight. “Thanks for bringing it up, Layla.”

“No problem.” She grins cheekily.

“I've got dinner with them again tomorrow,” I say. “I guess Wes and Preslee found a house they really like in Waco.”

“Waco isn't too far,” Tyler says.

“No. No it's not.”

I guess Layla hears the “I'd rather not talk about this” that is behind my words and changes the subject. “How about that job Rick offered you?”

Tyler looks curiously at me and I realize that other than him hearing that I was thinking it over at youth group, I hadn't mentioned a lot of details to him. “It's nothing big. Rick just wants me to quit the agency and start working for him with the youth group.”

“Wow,” Tyler says, raising his eyebrows. “That's definitely big, Paige. What are you thinking about it?”

In all honesty, I was trying not to. I'm not good with change.

A change of jobs is a Big change.

Capital
B
.

I shrug. “It would be the same amount of money.” Rick e-mailed me a potential salary yesterday. At least I assume it was a potential salary. The subject of the e-mail said
For Your Consideration
and he just wrote a dollar amount in the message.