Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Patience never being my strong suit, Saturday could not come around fast enough for me. I had put my head down and worked my buns off for the rest of the week, glad of the distraction. Antoinette had continued to shadow me, and we had been getting on nicely. My experience with her was a lesson for me to give people more of a chance in the future. She had even taken my advice and worn skirts for the rest of the week that almost met her knee—give or take three inches. It was baby steps, but that was better than nothing.
Once again, I had carefully planned my outfit for my date with Nash. This time there was no instruction to “wear sensible shoes,” so I went a little wild with it and wore my favorite pair of pale pink strappy heels, teamed with a white slim-fitting skirt and a floaty, sleeveless blouse done up to the neck. I was a great follower of the “less is more” approach, erring on the side of classy, with perhaps a smattering of sexy.
A spritz of Calvin Klein and one final check in my bedroom mirror and I collected my purse from the end of my bed, ready for my date. I went out into the living room where Ryan was almost prostrate on the sofa, watching a rugby match on TV, a beer in his hand.
I surveyed the room, my formerly gorgeous living room, with its soft white sofas, hardwood floors, and exposed brick walls—fake, of course, Auckland was on a major fault line—now littered with empty packets of chips, takeaway boxes, and Ryan’s discarded clothes. It even smelled of boy.
“What are you up to tonight?” I asked him with a wrinkled nose as I plumped the cushions on the sofa he wasn’t currently lazing on. And when are you moving out?
“Not much,” he harrumphed, not taking his eyes from the screen.
“Well, whatever you do, have fun. I’m off out.”
He turned his head slowly to look at me, raising his eyebrows when he saw my serious date ensemble. “Going somewhere fancy?”
“Actually, I have no idea where I’m going. Nash is picking me up in a few minutes. I figured, since it’s almost six, we’ll be going for drinks and dinner.”
He pushed himself up from his spot on the sofa onto his elbows. “Isn’t this the guy who took you to a dog park for your first date? You might want to grab a pair of rubber boots on your way out the door.”
“Oh, very funny, brother. He didn’t say anything about sensible shoes this time, so I can’t imagine it will be a dog park,” I replied with significantly more confidence than I felt. I glanced down at my white skirt and strappy, completely impractical shoes.
“Yeah, well, whatever you do tonight, you know it’s all doomed, right? You’ll end up a sad old sack, just like your brother here.” He took a slug of his beer and returned his attention to the TV.
My brother, the positivity coach.
Truth be told, he hadn’t always been like this. In fact, up until his ex, Amelia, dumped him, he’d been . . . normal. Now, all he did was mope around my apartment, eat junk, drink beer, not shave—or, I suspected, wash—and watch TV. I hoped it was a short-lived phase for his sake, and because I wanted my living room back.
Right on cue, the buzzer sounded.
Nash .
“I’m coming down,” I said into the speaker. The last thing I wanted was for Nash to meet my “oh, woe is me” brother. He might have a freak-out, and there could only be one person in a relationship who did that.
I said goodbye to Ryan, who grunted something about inevitable heartbreak to me without budging from his spot on the sofa, and sashayed down the stairs and out onto the street. I was greeted by Nash, standing on the sidewalk in front of a white pickup truck with “Campbell Construction” emblazoned on the side. He was wearing jeans, a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off his tanned, toned arms, and a smile that could light the entire street.
“Hey, you,” he said with a grin that was impossible to resist. I stepped into him, and he slid his arms around my waist, planting one of his miraculous kisses on my lips.
“Hey,” I responded, stars dancing in front of my eyes.
If this happened every time we kissed, I was going to turn into an astronaut.
“You look amazing, by the way.”
I beamed at him. “Thanks. Not so bad yourself.” I glanced down at his jeans. This was the first time I’d seen him in something other than a pair of shorts. He looked somehow more grown up, but just as hot—perhaps even more so.
I could barely believe I’d had second thoughts about this guy. He was . . . perfect.
“Shall we?” he asked.
“I think we shall.”
He opened the passenger door for me to slide in, which I did as elegantly as I could in my slim-fitting skirt. He jumped in the other side and flashed me that knee-weakening grin as he turned the ignition.
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a date plan. You’ll just have to wait and see. First stop is my place. I have something I want to show you.”
A six-minute drive later, Nash pulled his truck into his driveway—the scene of our almost-kiss. I pushed the memory from my mind as best I could.
We got out of the car and walked to the front door.
“Ladies first,” he said as he opened the glossy blue door.
“Thank you.” I stepped over the threshold and into a long hallway with polished hardwood floors, and a single pendant light, hanging from the ceiling. The white walls were covered in framed photographs. A handful were of happy, perky dogs, and there was one of an older couple, smiling out at the camera. Nash’s parents, I assumed. They weren’t hung in any particular design, seemingly added to the collection as time went by. The overall effect was warm, inviting, just the way I’d always hoped these cottages would be.
“Prepare yourself,” Nash said, his hand on the knob of a door to my right.
“What for?” I asked as he swung the door open, and I had my answer immediately as I was virtually bowled over by a pack of happy, lick-y, excited, squirmy puppies.
“The kids,” Nash said way too late.
“Oh, my gosh. They are adorable!” I squealed, crouching down to pet them as they squirmed all over the floor at my feet, trying to climb onto my lap. They had black faces, trimmed with brown, their ears sticking up in the top of their soft, fluffy heads. “Yes, you are. You’re adorable.”
One of them managed to climb up onto my lap where it rolled on its back, ready for a tummy rub, which I gave willingly as the others continued to clamor for my attention at my feet.
I looked up at Nash who was smiling down at me. “These are your puppies?”
He chuckled. “If they’re not, we’ve got a puppy house invasion on our hands.”
I chuckled as I stood up, holding the one that had climbed up on my lap in my arms. “Don’t they just melt your heart?”
“That they do,” he replied, giving the pup’s head a pat. “I thought you might like them.”
“Like them? I love them,” I gushed. “What breed are they?”
“Definitely part German Shepherd, because that’s what is, but we’re not sure what they’re crossed with.”
“Were they abandoned?” I asked, wondering how anyone in their right mind would want to desert such beautiful creatures.
Nash bent down and picked one of the puppies up off the floor. “Well, their mother was. She was picked up roaming the streets in West Auckland. She was in a fairly sorry state. But the pups are all healthy, and she’s regaining her strength. Want to meet her?”
“Of course!” I replied, wondering how I had ever been freaked out by dog slobber.
“She’s in here.”
Still holding my puppy, who was now attempting to nibble off my earlobe—which was as ticklish as it sounded—I followed Nash into his living room. It wasn’t a large room, but it was thoroughly charming. There was a beaten-up-looking brown leather sofa up against the wall and a couple of corduroy armchairs around a low, wooden coffee table. The sofa faced an open fireplace, which had a large grate in front of it, presumably to stop the puppies trying to become canine chimney sweeps on their adventures.
Curled up in a cane basket next to the sofa was a German Shepherd. She had to be the squirmy gang’s . I looked over at her. Frankly, she looked exhausted, and I couldn’t blame her: five puppies with the combined energy of an atomic bomb would be enough to tire out the best of them. When she spotted Nash, her tail began to bang furiously against the edge of the basket. She stood up to greet him and he patted her from the top of her head right down her back.
“Hey, Gretel,” he said to her. “Gretel, this is my friend, Marissa.”
Friend ? I raised my eyebrows, a smile teasing the edges of my mouth. Friends didn’t kiss like Nash and I did. Maybe he didn’t want Gretel to know we were dating? Perhaps she was the jealous type?
I put the puppy carefully down on the ground and reached out to pat her. The tail kept wagging. “Hi there, Gretel.” I looked at Nash. “How do you know her name?”
“We don’t. But she looked like a Gretel, don’t you think?” He smiled down affectionately at her. It suited him. In fact, it made him even more attractive. “I mean, she’s a German Shepherd, so I needed a German name.”
“And you’d read the story about the gingerbread house when you were a kid, right?”
He shrugged, chuckling. “It was either Gretel or Heidi Klum, and I figured she might be offended if I named a dog after her.”
“I bet.” I let out a laugh, enjoying the relaxed, easy feeling between us.
“Will you help me collect the puppies up?”
“Sure.” We tracked the five puppies down—a harder task than you might think, even in a small living room—and Nash set up a pen around Gretel’s bed. We placed the pups in with their , who lay down, looking exhausted once again.
“You hold tight. I’ll go and get Dex. He’ll be sad he’s missing out on all the action.”
Nash returned a moment later with Dexter, who bounded into the room and straight over to me, his tail wagging. I gave him a pat. “Dexter! How are you, boy?” I made a conscious effort to push the Slobbergate freak-out from my mind.
“He likes you,” Nash said, watching me as I patted Dexter.
“What’s not to like?” I joked, smiling at him.
“That’s a very good point.”
I looked into his electric eyes. Those belly hamsters of mine whipped themselves into a frenzy. There was something about this guy, something . . . I struggled to put my finger on it. Whatever it was, it felt big, really big. And it didn’t scare me.
Well, maybe a little.
“Dex is pretty happy to be in here. You see, he wasn’t allowed near the pups until they were about a month old.”
“Oh?”
“Male dogs can be aggressive toward puppies. But now?” He patted Dexter who gazed up at him adoringly. “Now, he’s awesome. Okay. Would you like a drink before we head out?”
“Sure. A glass of wine?”
“I have red or white. Sorry, I’m not much of a wine connoisseur, even though I think the white may be a chardonnay?”
“A chardonnay would be perfect.”
Nash disappeared out of the room. Dexter wandered over to the edge of the pen and sniffed at Gretel, who beat her tail in greeting once more. I reached into the pen and picked up one of the puppies and sat down on the sofa. I recognized it as the one I was holding before.
“Hello, you,” I said as the puppy tried to lick my nose. For some reason, puppy slobber was an entirely different ballgame to me from dog slobber. I had no clue why. “Are you a girl? You look like you should be a girl.” I held her up and checked. “Yes, you’re a girl. Or at least, I think you are.”
She had a line of light brown fur, running from between her eyes down to her nose. In my opinion, she was easily the most adorable of the lot—and the competition was stiff.
The puppy squirmed all over me as I patted her. I looked down at the state of my once-pristine white skirt, now covered in dog fur and the odd smear. I let out a sigh. So much for looking sophisticated tonight. I smiled to myself; I had a feeling Nash simply wouldn’t care.
A moment later, he walked back into the room, holding a glass in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. Taking in the current puppy situation, he placed my glass and his bottle on the coffee table in front of us.
“Let me help you out there,” Nash said as he plucked the puppy off me and put her in the fenced pen next to the sofa with her mother and siblings. I watched them, mesmerized. They were so happy, so excited by, well, everything . I stole a glance at Nash as he sat down on the sofa next to me.
Kind of the way I felt right now.
He handed me my glass, and I looked down at it, puzzled.
“Sorry, I don’t have any proper wine glasses.”
I smiled at him. “No worries.”
He held his beer bottle up. “Cheers.”
We clinked glasses, and I settled into the sofa.
With his free hand, Nash took mine in his and began to play with my fingers. “You know, I was a little nervous about bringing you here.”
“Why? You have a lovely place,” I said, looking around the room. There were floor-to-ceiling bookcases on either side of the fireplace, stacked with magazines, framed photos, and books, lots of books. Nash was a reader. Who knew? Every little thing I learned about him made him more and more my kind of guy.
“I didn’t mean the house. I meant the dogs.”
“I love dogs! Especially these ones. I mean, look at them.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I can see that, which is awesome. But there was that whole dog-slobber issue before, and I thought maybe—”
I shushed him with my finger, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it. “Let’s not go there again, okay?” I darted a look at Dexter, lying at Nash’s feet.
No, Marissa. Don’t even think about it.
“Good idea.”
“So, do I pass the test?” I asked, pushing any residual anxiety I had felt from my mind.
“Oh, yes.” He grinned at me and took another sip of his beer. I followed suit, taking an extra-large gulp of my wine. I was absolutely determined not to let my fear of commitment get in the way, and freaking out again was a surefire way of ruining this date—and any chance with Nash.
“But, you know what?” Nash continued. “If you hadn’t fallen for the dogs as you did, I don’t think I could see you again.”
“You couldn’t?”
He shook his head. “It’s a deal breaker for me. I’m a dog person.” He shrugged. “Whoever I date needs to be, too.”
“Well, I’m not sure I would describe myself as a ‘dog person,’” I replied, doing air quotes, “but I really like dogs. My brother and I begged our parents for one for years. We finally got one, a crazy Soft Coated Wheaten Terrier, when I was about nine.”
A broad grin spread across his face, and my breath caught in my throat. “You’re a dog person.”
I shrugged, holding his gaze. “I guess I am.”
He leaned in toward me and brushed his lips against mine. It was just as magical as all our kisses had been, and any lingering fear I may freak out again disappeared in a flash.
Once he pulled away from me, he had the goofiest look on his face. My smile broadened. We both took another sip of our drinks.
“So, what are we doing after this?” I asked, loving the feeling of closeness I had to this guy—a guy I had run away from only two short dates ago.
“I thought, what better way to spend an evening with a beautiful woman than on a picnic at Mission Bay.”
“A picnic?” I asked, taking a quick look down at my outfit, right down to my sky-high heels.
Nash followed my line of sight. “You can kick those off once we’re there, sit back, and relax. And I’ve got some cushions to sit on, all packed up and ready to go.”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “You’ve thought of everything.”
Ten minutes and much puppy cuddling and dog patting later, with Dexter back in the kitchen and Gretel and her puppies safely tucked away in their pen, Nash drove us in his pickup truck to Mission Bay, a stunning white-sand beach in a well-heeled neighborhood, near the city’s aquarium.
We parked and took a short stroll in the warm summer’s evening to the large grassy area under the pohutukawas, New Zealand’s Christmas trees, settling on a spot near the art deco fountain. It was late enough that there were only a few children still playing in its water, and despite the bustle across the street at the cafés, bars, and restaurants, it was a wonderfully tranquil and romantic spot.
Nash pulled a blue and green checkered blanket out of the old-fashioned cane picnic basket he had brought, and I helped him lay it out, placing the oversized cushions at the back edge so we could sit and look out at the beach and the island of Rangitoto beyond.
My tummy grumbled as I looked at the cheese, the French stick of bread, the hummus, the sliced ham, and the chocolate-dipped strawberries in front of me.
“That looks amazing.”
“Dig in. Want another glass of wine? Well, it’s a ‘plastic’ of wine, but that doesn’t quite sound right, does it?”
“Sure, a ‘plastic’ of wine would be great.”
We sat together and ate, drank, and chatted, enjoying the increasingly orange glow of the evening sun. Being as far south as New Zealand is, the summer sun doesn’t set in Auckland until as late as quarter to nine, plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely picnic with a handsome and thoroughly swoon-worthy man, overlooking the water.
“Tell me, what do you do for a living?” I asked, picking one of the chocolate-dipped strawberries up in my hand. “I mean, I know you’re a builder, working on that site on Jervois Road, but what exactly do you do?”
“I’m the site manager. I oversee all the work, make sure no one’s being unsafe, that sort of thing.”
“So, you get to boss people around?”
He chuckled. “Some of the time, yeah. My dad’s the one who gets to do that all the time, though. He runs the business.”
“Oh?” I had noticed the “Campbell Construction” sign on his truck and had assumed it was Nash’s business.
“He’s the Campbell in ‘Campbell Construction.’ You know you’re sitting on the Campbell tartan?”
“I did not know that.” I ran my hand over the woolen blanket. “It’s nice. I like the blue.”
“Dad’s pretty keen on the whole Scottish roots thing. My is part Italian, so between the two of them, I get beaten about the head with traditions.”
“That’s great! Italian food and Scottish tartan.” I chuckled. “We don’t have any traditions in our family. Well, other than the usual Kiwi stuff of barbecues, jandals, and refusing to believe it ever gets cold here.”
Right on cue, a cool breeze skimmed off the water and I shivered.
Nash reached over and rubbed my arm. “If I had a jacket, I’d give it to you.”
“No problem.” I shivered again. Now that the sun had almost set and the nearby fountain had begun its evening light show, my sleeveless shirt felt woefully inadequate.
“How about we pack this basket up and go for a drink at one of the places across the road?”
“That sounds wonderful.”
We packed the picnic basket and returned it to the car, walking along the road hand in hand. We found a bar, a little quieter than many, and ordered a couple of drinks. With no place free to sit, we stood together, so close we were almost touching. It felt like we were in a little bubble, the rest of the world carrying on, doing its own thing, as we reveled in one another’s company.
“I’ve been thinking about you and this singing thing,” Nash said.
“You have?”
“Remember how you told me you didn’t have the courage to do it?”
“Yes,” I replied cautiously.
“Well, I think you should go for it.”
I ran my finger around the top of my glass. “You do, huh?”
“Yes. I do. I think you should stand up and sing for an audience. Although, maybe I should hear you sing in the shower first, just to be sure.”
I slapped him playfully on the arm. “One day . . . maybe.”
He raised his eyebrows at me suggestively and my belly did a flip-flop. There was no denying I was very attracted to Nash. In fact, I would challenge most women not to be: he was tall, athletic, charming, and sweet. Plus, he looked like Jon Snow ! But the last thing I wanted to do was to rush things with him.
As I looked into his eyes, something in my chest moved. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, come on! Sing something for me.”
I looked around at the busy bar. “Here?”
“Why not?”
I laughed. “You won’t be able to hear me for a start. Which, come to think of it, may not be a bad thing.”
“I bet you’ve got a beautiful voice.”
“You’re a total charmer, you know that?”
He shrugged. “I may be.”
The music changed to an upbeat song I recognized from the radio.
“I love this song!” Nash declared.
“Me, too.”
“Come, dance with me.” He took me by the hand and nodded over at the dance floor where a group of maybe a dozen people were dancing.
“Sure!” I placed my glass on the counter, and we made our way through the throngs to the dance floor. When we got there, Nash began to move his body to the music, and I watched him, my lips pressed together. Nash was a super-hot guy, good-looking, masculine, all the things I liked in a man. But could he dance? No, siree.
Nash dances like Carlton from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
I stifled a laugh. So as not to raise any questions, I began to dance too, although I found it hard to look at him with my giggles threatening to escape at any moment. I may not have been about to win Dancing with the Stars , but I didn’t look like Nash.
We danced until the music changed to a song I didn’t recognize. Fearing a potential return of the freak-out, I suggested we get a drink of water and talk some more. Luckily, Nash agreed, and I could feel the anxiety over his enthusiastic Carlton-esque dancing begin to dissipate.
“What’s Nash short for?” I asked, once we had our glasses of water and found a quieter spot to talk.
“Guess,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows.
“Err . . . Nashville?”
He shook his head.
“Nashton?” Another shake. I was running out of ideas. “Nashterton?” Okay, I was getting silly now.
“Is that even a name?”
“Err . . . how about Nasher?”
He let out a low, sexy laugh. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “That one sounds like something to do with teeth. I’ll put you out of your misery. It’s none of the above. It’s just Nash.”
“Well, then, ‘Just Nash,’ I’ve had a wonderful evening. Thank you.”
“Yeah, me too.” He placed his hand on my arm, leaned in, and kissed me. “What are you doing next Saturday?”
“Seeing you?” I hazarded.
His grin gave me all the response I needed. “I have an idea. I’ll text you with the details. Keep Saturday afternoon free.”
“All right.”
We walked to his car, and he drove me back to my apartment. Parked outside my building, I reached across and slipped my hand around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Once again, it was amazing, and once again, I swore I saw stars.
“Good night,” I said through the open window once I was out of the car. Putting a hunk of metal between me and the hunk in the truck felt like a very good move on my part.
“I’ll see you next weekend. That is, if you don’t happen to pass a certain construction site on Jervois Road between now and then.”
I beamed at him. “We’ll have to see about that.”
I turned and walked on legs that felt like jelly up the steps and into my apartment building. As I held the door open, I turned back and saw him sitting in his truck, watching me, that goofy grin on his handsome face once more.
I had made the right choice, and it looked like this Last First Date thing may work out perfectly, after all.