Chapter 7
Levi
Does This Count as a Second Date?
“A wedding? Let me get this straight. Your second date with Bailey is going to be to a wedding?” Joey asks, his thick Swedish accent making the idea sound ridiculously stupid. Maybe it is.
“It’s just like that movie, Meet the Parents ,” Otto adds as he wanders into the kitchen with his ever-present cup of joe. He takes a seat at the table then swipes a slice of bacon from my plate.
“Hey! Get your own bacon,” I huff, pointing towards the stove. “There’s plenty left in the pan.”
Ignoring my comment, Otto chews on the stolen piece of pork, then adds, “Hopefully you don’t set the wedding altar on fire.” He laughs uproariously as if it’s the best joke ever.
Knowing my tendency to be clumsy around Bailey, I resolve to stay away from fire, or water, or anything remotely sharp or spillable before, during, or after the wedding.
“Didn’t Coach say practice starts at 5AM,” Joey says, squinting towards the clock on the wall.
We all scramble to our feet, grab the last of the bacon from the pan, and head out the door. Luckily the practice rink is only fifteen minutes away or we’d be late.
~*~
Despite our victory last night, Coach puts us through the wringer during practice. The stickhandling drills, shooting drills, and passing drills are a piece of cake, but during the conditioning drill called suicides, where we skate back and forth to progressively farther out lines, I almost lose my bacon. Literally.
Fortunately, the intense practice keeps my mind off Bailey and the wedding. In the locker room afterwards, of course Otto won’t let the subject drop.
“You’re a braver man than I am,” he utters while joining me on the bench in front of my locker.
“How so?”
“Attending a wedding with a woman you just met. Is that a wise decision? Maybe you should ease into the relationship by taking her bowling, or to a movie, or to your favorite burger place,” he says.
Ugh! I knew I shouldn’t have spilled the beans to my housemates about my next date with Bailey. Maybe I made a rash decision, but her plea for me to attend the wedding with her was so earnest, as she explained that going solo would open her up to her nana’s matchmaking and having to dance with every available single guy in attendance.
Of course I folded like a bad front line, accepting her invitation without hesitation. This morning, after I blurted out the plan to Joey, I began to feel some uncertainty setting in. Since neither Otto nor Joey seem to think accepting this invitation was a good idea, I’m starting to get cold feet. Frozen feet to be exact.
Bailey’s pleading expression pops into my head and I shove away the doubts. She was open and honest about her grandmother’s matchmaking tendencies. Forewarned is forearmed, right? What could possibly go wrong?
~*~
Heeding Otto’s advice, I text Bailey to see if she’s available to meet for lunch or dinner. At least that will give us a second date under our belts before the wedding.
Me: Want to meet for lunch or dinner?
Several seconds pass before my phone chimes with her response.
Bailey: No time today. Sorry.
Me: No worries. Have a great day!
Bummer. I’m booked with practices and classes for the next few days. Today is my only breather. An idea hits and I laugh as I place the order.
Joey is at his usual spot parked on the lumpy sofa, playing a video game on the TV when the doorbell rings. He throws down his controller and stands.
“I got it!” I yell as I sprint to the door. He shrugs and sits back down, not questioning my out of character excitement to answer the door.
The heavy wooden door creaks loudly— note to self to get some WD-40 —when I swing it open. The DoorDasher grins from ear to ear when she sees me.
“Delivery for...Levi...Nyberg,” she says reading from the receipt attached to the white paper bag clutched in her hand. Her eyes swivel to mine and she peers at me intently. Her red flannel shirt and faded jeans give off an air of slouchy comfort. She’s also sporting a baseball cap with the distinctive DoorDash logo on it . My heart does a funny flip in my chest in response to seeing her.
“I’m Levi Nyberg,” I say, extending my hand for the bag.
“Not so fast Levi Nyberg,” she replies, pulling the bag just out of my reach. “Do you have any ID? How do I know you’re the real Levi Nyberg?”
Playing along with this game, I study her pretty face then say, “What if I tell you something that only the real Levi Nyberg would know.”
Her lips twitch. “That might do,” she says.
“You and cashmere are not compatible,” I say, mimicking itching furiously on my forearms and chest.
She rolls her eyes. “That’s an easy guess. A lot of people can’t wear cashmere,” she shoots back, keeping the bag behind her back.
Gazing into her gorgeous brown eyes that are twinkling at me, I say, “Fair enough, how about this. You once played the part of a human marshmallow while clad in a three-sizes-too-big Golden Stars sweatshirt.”
She taps her chin. “That was just a lucky guess. Got anything more specific?”
I chuckle. “You recently attended your first hockey game.” She nods. “And I’m hoping this can count as date number two.”
Tilting her head to the side, she ponders my answer. “Date number two? Why?”
“Because I’m dying to do this,” I say, hauling her into my arms, giving her my best smoldering look. Our gazes catch and hold for one long heart-pounding moment.
Slowly leaning my head towards hers, I give her plenty of time to object if she doesn’t want me to kiss her. Much to my relief, she stands on her tiptoes, leans into the kiss and meets me halfway. When our lips touch, the attraction that’s been simmering just below the surface explodes. Wowza! It feels like fireworks on the 4 th of July, or the rush of riding a rollercoaster, or both. We lose track of time as the kiss goes on and on for a minute or three. When I knock the cap off her head, she pulls back with a laugh.
“That darn hat!” she says as we both bend to pick it up. Just like the day I met her, we do an awkward dance as we both laugh and dodge each other, somehow avoiding bumping our heads together.
When I finally snag the cap, I hold it up over my head. “You don’t get this back without another kiss.”
Pouting, she says, “You’re going to get me fired. I’m on the DoorDash clock.”
My brows draw together as I gently place the cap on her head. “There’s a DoorDash clock?”
Giggling, she adjusts the cap with one hand and says, “Nope! Only kidding.”
That sassy comment ignites me to put my hands on both her cheeks, then plant a sloppy kiss on her oh-so-kissable lips. We almost bump noses, but at the last second, I manage to angle my head properly.
Creeeeak!
“Quit necking! The food’s getting cold!” Joey says with a reprimanding look from his stance in the doorway. Bailey hands him the bag. “I’ll take good care of this while you kiss your girlfriend ,” he says and trots off. Why’d I ever confess to my housemate about being her fake boyfriend?
“Why’d he call me your girlfriend?” Baileys asks.
“I blabbed to him about the wedding and my role as fake boyfriend.”
“Ah,” she says, nodding her head.
“He likes to give me a hard time, so just ignore him.”
Knowing Joey, he’ll eat the entire contents of the bag without a speck of remorse, I add, “I better get in there or the food will be gone.”
“Okay,” she says, but doesn’t move a muscle.
Not able to resist, I touch my lips to her again, my heart soars when she enthusiastically kisses me back. We’re lost in a fog of attraction for several beats, the world shrinking down to just the two of us. When I pull back for air, I say in a breathless tone, “Have I convinced you I’m the real Levi Nyberg yet?”
The corners of her eyes crease as she smiles up at me. “Yes, for now. But I’m going to need more convincing in the future.”
“Now that I can agree to,” I tease, hoping she means more kisses. Lots more kisses.
“Oh! There are some special treats in the bag. I tucked in a few of Emma’s cupcakes,” Bailey says.
This woman is so sweet! I can’t wait to try one of her sweet concoctions.
“Thank you! Let me guess, you mixed the batter, but Emma baked them.”
Nodding and giggling, she says, “Correct! My oven privileges have been revoked until further notice.”
Turning serious, I say, “I can’t wait until Saturday to see you.”
A blush turns her cheeks pink. “Any cold feet over the wedding?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
Her eyes bore into mine. “I suspect that’s not true. If you want to back out, just say the word.”
Kissing Bailey sealed the deal. There’s no way I can back out, nor do I want to anymore.
“I’m all in.”
Smiling, she gives me a quick peck on the cheek, then heads back down the porch steps. “I’m glad! Just remember, Nana can be a force of nature when it comes to matchmaking,” she says with a giggle, then trots off to her ancient car and drives away.
Surely Nana doesn’t have a special love potion that makes a man fall for a woman. Otherwise, I can ward off any attempts at matchmaking, but do I really want to?