12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Eliza
I stare at the explosion of clothes on the bed, none of them having made the cut for the evening. I don’t even know why I’m having such a hard time finding the right outfit.
“You know he’s going to be here in ten minutes, right?” Granny lingers in the doorway, an eyebrow raised.
“I know that,” I groan, glancing down at my current outfit. It’s a pair of light-wash jeans with a black T-shirt and the same old burnt orange flannel.
It’s just so … plain.
My hair is fixed in nice waves, and contrary to what’s become my new norm, I have make-up on. But still, it just doesn’t feel like it’s good enough.
“You look cute, and I’m sure Nick will think the same thing.”
“I don’t care what Nick thinks,” I say quickly, stepping away from the mirror and grabbing my purse.
“Well, I mean it is a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I correct her, giving her a warning glance. “I only care about what I look like because I want to make a good first impression on the people I don’t know.”
“Right.” She giggles, folding her arms across her bright orange jack-o-lantern long-sleeve sweater.
“What? I think it’s clear that he’s just taking me to be nice.”
“I think you’re just in denial that he’s a nice, handsome young man that is clearly interested in you.”
I sigh, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “I think he’s just being nice, because that’s what he is.”
And it’s the truth.
I’ve learned that Nick is nice by default. I’ve come to terms with that. He’s easy to talk to, too, which makes for a great friend.
And I could really use some friends right now.
The sound of a truck pulling into the driveway causes my heart to trip over itself, but I brush it off.
I’m just nervous about the night in general.
It’s got nothing to do with who is taking me .
I take one last deep breath and hug Granny on my way out the door.
“You have a nice time,” she calls after me. “Love you!”
“Thanks! I’ll see you there, love you too.” I close the front door behind me as Nick makes his way out of his truck.
He doesn’t look like his usual self—wearing a well-fitted black Henley with dark-wash jeans and boots. His chocolate brown hair is styled off the side, and honestly, he looks straight out of an L.L. Bean catalog.
“You look nice,” I say, keeping it nonchalant as I step off the temporary ramp and head toward his truck.
“As do you, Eliza.” He follows me around to the passenger side and opens the door for me.
I stop, almost saying something about being a strong, independent woman, but refrain. He’s just being Nick, who is, by default, a gentleman. “Thanks,” I mutter, climbing up inside the truck. I take in the scent of leather and cologne and look around—it looks absolutely pristine in here … like he might have detailed it. I’m almost flattered, but quickly remind myself he might just be the kind of guy who likes to keep a clean vehicle.
“So, I figured leaving early would give us a chance to get a good spot for the parade,” Nick says as he climbs up inside. “We won’t block the kids or anything, though.”
“Of course not.” I laugh, amused by the fact that he thinks of these little details. “Just don’t get mad at me if I dive for some of the candy. ”
He grins. “No judgment here. How come you’re not bringing your camera?” His eyes drop to just my purse before shifting back to the road.
“Well, it was really tempting,” I begin, shrugging my shoulders. “But I wasn’t sure how the town would respond to a strange woman running around taking their pictures all night.”
“They probably wouldn’t have minded, but you’ll have more fun without it.” The way the words roll off his tongue makes my stomach do another one of those flip-flops, but I ignore it. Instead, I turn my attention to the crowded street ahead.
It looks like everyone came out tonight.
Nick maneuvers his truck to a side street, parallel parking in front of one of the houses behind Main Street. “This is Daniel’s parents’ house. I park here every year,” he comments with a smile before pushing open the door.
I nod, taking in the small-town charm that seems to ooze out from every corner of this place. Before I even realize it, Nick is swinging open the truck door for me. “Oh, thanks,” I say, giving him a sheepish smile. “You totally didn’t have to do that. I wasn’t waiting or anything.”
He laughs. “It’s all good. Come on. I brought lawn chairs.”
“You brought … lawn chairs ?” I echo him with a laugh, sliding out and following him around to the back of the truck. “Why do we need lawn chairs? ”
He furrows his brow at me. “In case you want to sit down while we watch the parade? I don’t know, I thought your feet might get tired or something.”
I burst into laughter. “That’s super thoughtful, but I’m not eighty years old like Granny. I can stand, I promise.”
He freezes with the chairs suspended in the air, his muscles tense. “So, you want me to leave them?”
“Yeah, you can leave them.” I giggle as he shrugs and sets them back down in the bed of the truck. “It’ll save you the hassle too.”
He shrugs. “It’s not a hassle, but whatever makes you happy. That’s what matters.”
I follow him a block or two until we reach Main Street. It’s like Halloween Town meets the Fall Fair—a mixture of cute, spooky, and harvest-themed decorations colliding. There are booths everywhere , along with a lot of people.
“The parade starts in ten minutes,” Nick comments as he guides me to an open spot just in front of a booth filled with baked goods. The smell reminds me of everything there is to love about the fall season—pumpkin spice, apple cinnamon, and buttery pecan. It’s mouthwatering and amazing.
“So, you come every year?” I ask, looking up at his defined jaw, still shadowed with stubble.
“I never miss a year. But this is actually the first time I’m not running a booth or game. It’s kind of nice to just be able to attend without working, even though I do feel a little guilty about it. ”
I nod. Of course , he feels guilty about it. Mr. Perfect Nick. “Well, it’s okay to take breaks and have a little fun every once in a while. It allows for a reset and all that.”
“Right.” He laughs. “You sound like my mom.”
“Ouch.” I snort. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not.”
He shrugs. “She’s one of the best women I know. But to your point, it can be hard for me to take breaks. I prefer keeping my hands busy. Idle hands make for an idle mind.”
“Touché,” I agree, thinking of all the time I spend on social media, mindlessly creeping on people I barely know. “Maybe I should be a little busier.”
“Nah, everyone has their own way of doing things.” He chuckles and points to the police car kicking on its lights. “It’s time for one heck of a parade!” He turns to me with a boyish sense of excitement that I can’t help but admire. “I’ll point out the floats I helped with.”
Ten minutes into the parade, I realize that Nick helped with almost all the floats. I can’t decide if I’m shocked or unsurprised, given that he clearly never has idle hands. But after laughing and dodging high schoolers chucking candy at us, I’m borderline relieved that it’s over.
But the sight of Nick waving at all the little kids was pretty cute.
“So, what now?” I ask as the parade comes to a close, and the crowd begins to disperse. I know there’s way more to be seen.
“Well, what do you feel up to? There’s pumpkin painting, apple bobbing, food trucks, you know, the works. There’s even live music later. ”
“Jeez, they have everything ,” I say, letting out a giggle. “I like the idea of painting a pumpkin though. Do we get to keep them?”
“Of course,” Nick says, before gesturing to a large booth in a grassy area between buildings. I can already see the table set up from where we’re standing. I let Nick lead the way, and just a few moments later, we’re seated beside each other with aprons on and paintbrushes ready.
“Paint a portrait of me,” I joke, nudging him.
“I don’t think you want me to try that.” He laughs, shaking his head.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll paint a portrait of you, too.” I smirk.
“Okay, deal.”
I grin, dipping my brush into the paint as I take in the moment. There’s something about the way Nick is relaxed beside me that puts me at ease. I don’t pay attention to the eyes on me, or the fact that I haven’t done any kind of socializing with anyone other than Nick.
And honestly, I don’t really mind.
“You have to promise not to judge my ramp-building skills based on my painting skills,” Nick says as he begins to paint my face on his pumpkin. We both chose small ones, and it’s probably a good thing because Nick’s pumpkin painting skills are … awful.
“You know, I thought I might get embarrassed once you saw how terrible I was,” I tease, gesturing to his lopsided triangle. “But I actually think I might be better than you at this.”
“Yeah?” He raises a playful brow before leaning over to look at the face I’ve drawn. I catch a whiff of his cologne, and suddenly, he feels very close. His broad shoulders brush mine, and his forearm comes so close to my thigh that I find myself catching my breath. Clearing my throat, I shift away from him, and he leans back to where he was.
“I definitely think you’re better.” Nick shoots me a smirk and my face feels hot. “But to be honest, I think we’re both really terrible at this.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I choke out, the scent of his cologne still lingering in my nostrils. “Okay, now quit peeking. You’re going to ruin the big reveal.” I smirk.
Nick chuckles but obligingly turns back to his own pumpkin. As we continue painting in a comfortable silence, I can’t help but steal glances at him every now and then. The way his brow furrows in concentration, the hint of a smile playing on his lips—it’s captivating.
When we both finish our masterpieces (if you can call them that), we share a laugh at our lack of artistic talent.
“Wait, is my nose really that big?” I joke, looking at his pumpkin.
He laughs, shaking his head. “I think I might’ve made your eyes a little lopsided too.”
We both burst into laughter, the sound blending with the festive music and chatter around us.
“Why do I look like I have a pinched face?” He chuckles as he examines the pumpkin I painted. “I look like a prune with a beard.”
I giggle, unable to contain my own laughter at the monstrosity we’ve created. “Definitely shouldn’t quit our day jobs,” I add in an awkward way, realizing just how dumb I sound.
I don’t even have a day job. Ugh.
But he only laughs.