Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Saturday finally came around and it was time for date number four with Nash. I had impressed myself—and everyone else—by not having even one freak-out moment during the week. In fact, I had been quite the opposite. Every time I had thought of Nash, my chest would expand and my tummy would do flips.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I asked, sitting in the passenger seat of Nash’s pickup truck as we made our way through Auckland’s busy Saturday traffic. “I think I spied your picnic basket in the back. Please tell me we’re going on another picnic and you didn’t just leave that in there with the old food and dirty dishes from last weekend, because that would be super gross.”
Nash chuckled. The rich, deep sound made me warm inside. His laugh was something I absolutely loved about him. The way his eyes crinkled and his low, husky laugh reverberated through me . . .
Back up the bus. Had I just said “love”?
“It’s full of fresh food and wine and Diet Coke and cleaned dishes, so you can relax,” he replied.
I cleared my throat. “That’s good to hear.” Yes, I would think about food, not my feelings. Much safer. “So, where are we headed?”
Nash expertly backed the truck into a parallel park and switched the ignition off. “Here.”
I peered out the windows at the busy shopping street, full of boutiques and cafés and fashionably dressed people. “Parnell?” I asked, totally confused. “It’s not exactly known as the city’s top spot for relaxed picnic dates, you know.”
He laughed again, and my heart melted once more. Wow, have I fallen for this guy already?
“Trust me,” he said with a wink.
“Okay,” I replied uncertainly. I opened my door and hopped out onto the sidewalk. After the puppies wrecked my white skirt on our last date, I knew better than to wear typical date clothes with Nash. This time, I was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, flats, a cute, loose top, and a long necklace.
With the picnic basket in one hand, Nash took mine in his other and we sauntered along the street together.
“Do we get to see the pups later?”
“Absolutely. They’ve been asking after you.”
“They have?” An image of the puppies requesting my presence popped into my head. They may have been wearing top hats and monocles in this image, and yes, my imagination had totally run away with me. “No, you’re being silly.”
“Marissa, of course I’m being silly. They’re puppies, they can’t talk.” He paused, bent down, and kissed me on the lips.
As he pulled away, I let out a contented sigh. So, this is what it feels like to be happy. Not that we’d had that “let’s date exclusively” conversation or anything. But I for one couldn’t imagine wanting to date anyone else. This simply felt too good, too right.
Maybe I had fallen for him?
In fact, I realized with a start, I hadn’t even checked Eddie’s Facebook page since Nash’s and my last date. Huh . Not checking up to see what Eddie was doing? That was major progress for me. I had to admit, I was proud of myself.
We walked hand-in-hand down the street, past the boutiques, cafés, and restaurants, turning off and heading toward The Domain, a large, leafy, green park near Parnell.
“Oh, I know where we’re going! A picnic in the park.”
“With music,” he added. “We’re going to see Joey Cruikshank and Vi Edwards in concert at the Rotunda.”
“We are?” My eyes got huge. Joey Cruikshank and Vi Edwards were two popular New Zealand musicians who sang beautiful ballads. Their music was so chill, perfect for a Saturday afternoon date with Nash. “Oh, that’s amazing. Thank you!”
“I thought you might like them.”
We arrived at the Rotunda where there was a sea of people, picnic blankets, and low chairs. The atmosphere was relaxed and happy—reflecting my own. We found a spot on the grass and set up. This time Nash had brought roast turkey and salad sandwiches with focaccia bread, some bagel chips and dip, and more of those delicious chocolate-dipped strawberries.
I surveyed the spread. “You’re quite handy in the kitchen, aren’t you?”
“I’d love to claim this was all me, but I bought it from the deli near my house.”
“So, you’re not quite the perfect guy?”
“Close?” He shrugged.
We sat back and began to eat, chatting about our weeks and people watching, one of my favorite pastimes at these events. I was still marveling at how easy this was with him, how it hadn’t even occurred to me to let anything about him bother me, like it had on our first date.
After we’d cleaned up the sandwiches, we fed one another the strawberries, laughing at how cheesy it was—cheesy and incredibly sexy, I would add. Despite being out in public, surrounded by a few thousand people, we lay facing one another, propped up on our elbows, side-by-side, our bare toes touching.
“You know what?” He smiled at me.
“What?”
“I like you, Marissa Jones.”
The trio of tap-dancing hamsters resumed their routine in my belly. “I like you, too, Nash Campbell.”
He reached across and touched his fingers to my face. As he looked at me, his eyes were intense with the electricity that was zapping between us. I pushed myself up on my elbow and leaned down to kiss him. We were so lost in one another, we didn’t even notice the musicians arrived on the stage until the crowd around us erupted into claps and cheers.
“I guess we should sit up and listen,” I said.
“Shame. Kissing you has to be one of my favorite things to do.”
We clapped along with the crowd as Vi Edwards stood on the stage in front of the microphone, her guitar slung across her body, looking every bit the folk music artist she was. As she began to play the first few chords of her latest release, the crowd erupted into fresh cheers. I couldn’t help but sing along.
“You know you’re good at this, right?” Nash said loudly in my ear during the chorus of “My Sweet Angel.”
“At what? Singing along to Vi Edwards’s music? Yeah, I think you’re right!”
“I mean just singing . You have a beautiful voice.”
“Aw, you’re just saying that because I’m such a good kisser,” I joked as heat rose in my cheeks.
I knew I had a nice enough voice, and I could carry a tune. I had been one of those nerdy teenagers who loved being in choirs. I was a second soprano and used to travel the country competing in choral competitions, and sometimes we would even win. I had loved it, and it gave me a sense of belonging, a much-needed purpose during the craziness of puberty.
The song ended, and people around us clapped and cheered.
“No, really. I think you should do this Friday night gig thing at your friend’s place.”
“Cozy Cottage Jam,” I corrected him, my belly twisting into a knot, right on cue.
“Whatever,” he said with a chortle, shaking his head. “I think you should do it. ‘Feel the fear and do it anyway,’ and other inspirational bumper stickers.”
Feel the fear was right.
“Paige and Bailey have probably got their sessions fully booked by now, and I’m not a professional singer! I mean, yeah, I like it, but that’s hardly enough to . . . to get up in front of a roomful of people and sing.”
He turned to face me as the musicians started up the next song. “Have you finished?”
“Then there’s the fact I don’t have any material. I don’t even think I know all the words to any songs.”
“Anything else?”
I looked back at Nash. He raised his eyebrows at me, locking his eyes onto mine. I tried to think of something, but in the end, I simply shook my head as the knot wound around again inside.
He put his hands on my arms, fixing me with his stare. “You know those are all just excuses. You’re passionate about singing, you told me so. Why don’t you just forget all this crap and give it a shot?”
I opened my mouth to respond. I knew I was out of reasons. As I looked at his smiling face, a little seed of excitement began to grow inside me. Could I do it? Could I stand up in front of an audience and sing? It was something I had always imagined myself doing when I was a teenager. I would fantasize I had miraculously lost forty pounds overnight and had become a Faith Hill look-alike, captivating an audience with my voice and beauty.
“I . . . I,” I stammered.
“Say yes,” Nash encouraged.
“Yes,” I said in a little voice, my lips forming a small smile.
He cupped his ear with his hand. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Yes!” I yelled, laughing.
We high-fived. “You are not going to regret this.”
It may have been Nash, the music, the ambience, I don’t know. But in that moment, I believed him. I could do it, I could sing at the Cozy Cottage Jam, even if it scared the living daylights out of me.
We spent most of Joey Cruikshank’s set swaying to his music and cleaning up the last of the strawberries. A few songs in, it began to cloud over, and there was a sudden distinct chill in the air.
“I think it’s going to rain,” Nash said, looking up at the looming dark clouds.
That’s the thing in Auckland: you can start the day off in brilliant and gorgeously warm weather, by lunch, it’s raining, and then it’s hot and humid for the afternoon. The song “Four Seasons in One Day” was written about this place, for good reason.
A few drops landed on our bare arms, and then the heavens opened their floodgates.
My hair!
I spent time every morning straightening out my bobbed locks, ensuring they fell just so. Rain was the enemy. It made my hair look like it could comfortably house a large family of birds inside. Not pretty, not pretty at all. Not a lot of people had seen the natural state of my hair, and I wasn’t about to let Nash see it today.
We quickly grabbed the food wrappers and drink bottles and stashed them safely away in the picnic basket. Nash scooped the blanket off the ground, and we sat side-by-side on the grass, huddled under it, listening to the music as people near us scattered far and wide.
It was so romantic, just the two of us—that and a bit smelly and damp. The rain refused to let up, and after a while, it began to seep through the blanket where our bodies touched it. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, I reached up and smoothed down my hair. It was only a matter of time before it brought new depth of meaning to the word “frizz.” I needed the rain to let up so I could get back to the truck safely.
In the end, I had no choice. We beat a hasty retreat, back to the sanctuary of Nash’s truck, me holding the picnic blanket over my head. Once inside, smelling of the rain, I pulled down the visor and peered in the mirror. My hair could give Little Orphan Annie a run for her money right now. I scrunched up my eyes and snapped the visor shut. Dammit!
“Well, that was wet. Do you think it’s puppy time?” Nash said, turning and smiling at me. I noticed his expression changed as he took in my bedraggled appearance.
Despite willing him not to notice my hair, I knew he had. How could he miss me looking like I’d joined an eighties soft rock band? “Don’t say anything!” I warned.
A smile teased the edges of his mouth. “Nothing?”
I pursed my lips and shook my head, angry. “I hate my hair.”
His brows knitted together, he reached his hand across and took a curl in his fingers. “Why?”
“Why? Are you serious ?” I asked, almost choking. He had to be teasing me, and I didn’t like it one little bit.
“Yes, I am serious. Okay, it’s bigger than you usually wear it, but it looks great. Wild, I guess.”
I harrumphed.
He slid his hand around the back of my head and brushed his lips against mine. “And really, really sexy.”
“It does?” I squeaked.
“It does.”
And just to prove it, he kissed me again, tangling his fingers in my hair, making my whole body tingle.
Eventually, after I’d seen every star in the galaxy dance before my eyes, he said, “You should wear it like this.”
I shook my head. Nash may like my hair in its natural state, but I wasn’t anywhere near “there” yet. “Maybe,” I replied noncommittally.
“Do you still want to go see the puppies?”
My face broke into a grin. “Oh, yes.”
Nash drove slowly through the wet streets, his hand in mine. I watched him, his free hand on the steering wheel, wondering how I had found such a man, a man who accepted my flaws, who was patient with me, who even liked my crazy-ass hair.
I had to be the luckiest girl in the world.
We arrived at Nash’s place and dashed through the rain from the driveway to his front door. He got us some towels to dry off, and I could hear the puppies crying at the living room door. I couldn’t help but grin. Although I’d only met them once, they had made a significant impression on me. They were so happy, so eager, so inquisitive. They made me warm inside in a way very few things did.
Other than Nash.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, his hand on the doorknob.
I grinned. “Definitely.”
A moment later, the door swung wide, I was on the hardwood floor being mobbed by five enthusiastic puppies. They licked and squirmed and whined and did everything they’d done the time I’d met them, right down to the slobber on my pants.
“Feel like a cup of coffee?” Nash offered once we and the puppies were in his living room, the door closed safely behind us.
“Sure, that would be great.”
With Nash in the kitchen, I returned my attention to the pups. I spotted the one I’d cuddled the last time and collected her up. I grinned at her, tickling her tummy. “You’re a gorgeous girl, aren’t you?” She wriggled in response, trying to lick my fingers.
“She sure is,” Nash said, holding a French press, mugs, and a jug of milk on a tray. When a guy offers you coffee, you learn to expect instant, not real coffee in a French press. This guy had class.
He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of us and picked up one of the puppies himself. “This one I’m calling Clint, because he’s such a tough guy.”
I laughed. “He’s too cute to be tough.” The puppy on my lap wriggled off and promptly fell from the sofa and onto the floor. “Ooops!”
“She’s all right,” Nash said, leaning down and collecting her up himself. “See?” He turned her to face me, and my heart melted afresh.
“She has to be the cutest puppy on the planet. No offense, other puppies.”
“I’m glad you like her. What would you like to call her?”
“I get to name her?”
“Well, hopefully we’ll find a good home for her to go to and they’ll name her, but until then, you can have the honors.”
I reached for the puppy, and Nash handed her to me. As I held her close to my face, she tried to lick me, her tongue darting in and out. I said the first name that popped into my head. “Lucky. Her name is Lucky.”
Nash turned the puppy so he was looking at her face. “Lucky, huh? Yeah, I can see that.” He placed the newly named Lucky in the pen with her and then proceeded to pick the rest of the litter up to follow suit. He sat back down next to me and poured some coffee into the mugs. “Just milk, right?”
I nodded at him, smiling. He’d noticed I didn’t have sugar in my coffee.
He handed me a mug and sat back, cradling his own in his hands. “Let’s make a plan.”
“For what?” I took a sip of my coffee.
“Your new singing career.”
I almost choked. “My what?”
“Well, your singing debut, I should say.”
I smiled, the knot in my belly at the thought of singing for an audience not quite as tight as it had been. “I’ll have a chat to the Cozy Cottage girls tomorrow.”
“That is a very good start.”
I beamed at Nash over my coffee mug. Yes, Lucky was the name—for me and the dog.