5. Kayla
5
KAYLA
T he wind follows me into the café and I shiver, glad I wore my favorite wool peacoat today. It’s unusually cool for mid-November in Nashville, Tennessee, much to my delight. Autumn just doesn’t feel as autumn-y when you’re sweating as you admire the multi-colored leaves fluttering from the trees. By October I’m usually ready for sweater weather to arrive so I can enjoy my favorite brown leather boots and a cup of hot cider without looking ridiculous.
I take a seat at a table for two and shrug out of my coat, draping it across the back of my chair and settling in to wait for Trevor to arrive. I don’t have to wait long.
I see him coming through the plate glass window before he enters. His pace quickens as he approaches the door and he leans in to take the handle from a mother towing two small children, gesturing her through. He steps in behind her and pauses, hitching up his glasses with an index finger as he scans the room.
I take advantage of the moment to study him. He looks like a model from an outdoor magazine with his jeans and red plaid shirt – comfortable, casual, approachable. It doesn’t hurt that he happens to be in possession of an athletic frame and an angular, masculine profile. He’d probably look nice in just about anything.
I smile and wave when his eyes land on me and he starts my way, weaving through the tables carefully.
“Hi,” I say as he pulls out the chair opposite me and settles in.
“Hi.” He offers me a small smile, then falls quiet.
“Have you been here before?”
“No, you?”
“It’s one of my favorite places to come for a light lunch or dinner. I can point out some of the best things on the menu if you’d like.”
“Sure.” He gives another small smile.
Yikes. Maybe he really does need my help learning to talk to people. I mean, he’s said what, four words? I’m still not sure if it’s something I can teach, though. It’s not something I studied or anything – I’ve just always been a girl with plenty to say.
“Alrighty, well, I love all the soups, especially on a cool day like this one. Their spicy chicken salad sandwich is excellent, as well as the potato chips. They make them fresh in-house. So good!”
Trevor nods along, his brow slightly furrowed as if he’s taking these recommendations very seriously.
“So, we just go up to the counter and order and they’ll bring it to the table.” I pause and he remains silent. “Are you ready?”
“Yep.” He scoots back his chair. “Lead the way.”
He follows me to the counter and we wait in line for a minute before our turn. I order a half chicken salad sandwich and a bowl of broccoli alfredo soup. “Your turn.” I step aside for Trevor. “It’s my treat as a thank you for agreeing to help me, so add yours to mine. Whatever you want.”
He shoots me a glance and tells the teenage girl behind the counter that he’ll have the same thing, except with a whole sandwich. I lean forward, card in hand to pay, but he scooches and turns so that I awkwardly bump into his shoulder.
“Oops, sorry about that.” I reverse myself and move around to his other side just in time to see his card slide into the reader. “Hey!” I protest. “I said it was my treat.”
He shrugs without looking at me. “Now it’s my treat.” He accepts a receipt and a table tag from the cashier and retreats to our table.
I follow, unsure if I should be grateful or outraged at his trickery. By the time we’re seated, I choose to give him the benefit of the doubt and be grateful.
I settle in and lean forward, crossing my arms on the table. “So, where should we start?”
Trevor reaches into his pocket and withdraws a piece of paper, which he unfolds and hands to me. I take it and scan it quickly. It looks like a list of projects for the set with bullet points under each one listing supplies and estimated costs.
I’m impressed. Not only did he remember the ideas I told him about, but he also listed them out and included details. The part of my heart reserved for the love of good organization beats a little faster. I start back at the top and read through it more slowly, totaling up the cost in my head.
“This looks great. The budget part is definitely doable and I think you selected the pieces that would make the most impression on stage. I just have a couple of questions.”
“Okay.” He’s giving me his full attention, eyes glued to my face, hands folded on the table in front of him.
“First of all, this looks like a lot of work. Are you sure you still want to do this? I don’t want you to feel obligated to fulfill a spur-of-the-moment deal if it’s going to be a bigger project than you anticipated.”
“I’m sure. Unless you’re rethinking it? ”
I laugh. “It’s a great deal for me. I’d be crazy to back out. I just can’t help thinking I’m taking advantage of you.”
“You’re not. I volunteered. You didn’t ask me for anything.”
That’s true, I guess, so who am I to turn down a willing helper? “In that case, my next question is when do we get started?”
“I’m off all day on Saturday, so I can work on it then. But we’ll have to get the supplies first. How about you come back to the store one afternoon this week and I’ll help you get everything together?”
“That sounds perfect. I’m free Tuesday after school so I can be at the store around 4:30 or so. On Saturday…I might have to rearrange some things. What time were you thinking?”
“You don’t have to help with the actual building part. I can handle that.”
“No, I want to help.” I’m not sure how much help I’ll actually be, but I can at least hand him tools and keep him company, right? I don’t want him to feel like I dumped this on him. “I insist. Plus, it will give me a chance to work on my side of the exchange.”
He looks a little nervous now. “What are you going to do?”
“Help you learn to talk to people by giving you lots of practice on me.” I give him a grin and a cheesy thumbs-up.
“Oh, okay.”
“Don’t sound so excited,” I say drily. “I promise I’m not that bad.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…you make me a little nervous.”
I raise an eyebrow and open my mouth to respond, but just then a server appears with our food. We arrange our meal on the table and the aroma of my soup kicks my hunger into overdrive. I’m so occupied with the first few bites that I almost forget to respond to his admission .
I put my spoon down and reach for my sweet tea. “Why do I make you nervous?”
Trevor wipes his mouth and glances up at me. “You’re just so…beautiful. And articulate. It’s intimidating.”
My mouth literally drops open. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me and it was delivered completely without guile. I haven’t known Trevor long, but I can tell he’s the kind of guy who means what he says, good or bad.
Now he’s looking at me like a deer in the headlights. Like maybe that just slipped out before he had time to think about it and he’s unsure how I’ll react.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I flash him a teasing smile to lighten the mood. Hopefully, he doesn’t read that comment as flirtatious. Although, would it really be a bad thing if he did?
His shoulders relax and the hesitant smile I’m becoming very familiar with makes another appearance. He probably doesn’t know what a nice smile it is.
“Seriously, you’re doing me a huge favor here, deal or not. Now, I don’t know how much I can teach you about talking to people, but I’m going to do my best and your first lesson starts now.”
Trevor sits up a little straighter, his attention laser-focused on me.
“No matter what situation you find yourself in, I want you to remember that you deserve to be there as much as anyone else. You bring something to the table.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “You barely know me.”
“I don’t have to. Every person matters and every person brings a unique perspective to every situation, including you. Remembering that will help you come to conversations with confidence.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“It’s true!” I defend against the argument he’s not making. “Let’s say…” I wrack my brain for a silly example to set him at ea se while proving my point. “Let’s say I want to get a pet and I can’t decide between a cat or a dog. Which one would you choose?”
“Cat.”
I was expecting him to say ‘dog’. It takes me a moment to recover from the stereotype pit I’ve apparently tumbled into. “Why is your answer cat?”
“I like dogs, too,” he clarifies. “But cats are more my speed. My family had several pets when I was growing up and I enjoyed playing with the dogs, but I always loved how the cats were just quiet companions. They hang out without demanding constant attention.”
I nod along in understanding. “They don’t need you, so it feels like an honor when they want you.”
“Exactly. We had one cat, Otto, who would do his own thing most of the time. But if you sat quietly long enough, he would come curl up beside you. Otto and I spent many hours reading comic books together on the porch swing.”
My heart swells at the mental picture of little Trevor snuggling a kitty on a porch swing. If I was an emoji right now, it would be the one with the heart eyes.
“See? This is exactly what I’m talking about! Your perspective on pets was shaped by Otto the cat. My sister is allergic to both cats and dogs, so the only pets we had growing up were fish. I’ve never had a cat, but I definitely want one now. You influenced me based on your experience.”
He nods and seems to consider this as I take another bite of soup.
“Okay, let’s try a harder one. What if I took you to a make-up store and asked you to help me pick out some make-up.”
“I would say you don’t need make-up.”
“Clearly you’ve never seen me when I roll out of bed in the morning.” Then I flush when I realize what an intimate picture that probably painted for him .
His eyes rove over my face and it feels like he can almost read my thoughts until he averts his gaze and turns his attention back to his soup.
It’s quiet at the table for a moment as I chew, literally on my sandwich and figuratively on his compliment, and regain my composure. I clear my throat.
“Anyway,” I say, trying to get us back on track. “Just practice remembering that you bring value to conversations. That should be good until Saturday.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I agree.