Chapter 16
“Ihave had hundreds of New York cart dogs, the epitome of classic—but these ones were better. How is that possible?”
The game is over. The town is filing out of the stands, us included. I stick close to Lucy’s side as to not lose her in the crowd, and the back of my hand brushes hers every few steps.
I want to tell her that I hardly focused on the game with her by my side. That I hoped it would go into overtime so I could spend just a little bit more time with her.
Instead, I’m rambling about hotdogs. Because for Lucy, this wasn’t a date.
“We’re full of surprises here,” she replies, that sly little smile on her face. “And if you like our concession stand hotdogs, you should try our ski shack waffles.”
“What is a ski shack waffle?”
We slip through the chain link gate and step into the parking lot. When a newly licensed kid drives by way too fast, I reach out on instinct and loop an arm around her waist, pulling her to my side.
“I saw the vehicle this time,” she says quietly, but doesn’t pull away. “And if you want to know what a ski shack waffle is, then stick around past November and I’ll show you.”
“Alright”—I grin—“maybe I will.”
Reaching my truck, we get going quickly to beat the line of traffic coming from the back of the lot. “How is your current painting going? Find your style?” I ask as we inch closer to the light at the high school’s entrance. It’s blinking, disabled as a uniformed officer directs traffic instead.
She pulls the mostly empty bag of peanut M&Ms from her purse and unwraps it. “It’s still too soon to tell, but I think I’m on the right track finally.” The crunch of her biting into the candy punctuates her response.
“That’s great,” I say, begrudgingly pulling my attention from her and returning it to the road.
“Yeah, if I can pull it together in time.”
“Are you on a deadline with someone?”
The rattle of candy sounds from her side of the bench seat. Then another crunch.
“Mhm, a gallery in New York City, actually. Whitcombe Gallery. Although there are probably a million in the city, so if you have never heard—”
“I know Whitcombe Gallery,” I snort.
“You do?”
She sounds genuinely surprised, so I steal another glance her way. Lucy is looking back at me with wide eyes blinking out from behind her bangs, a twinkle in them reflected from the streetlights. I have to force myself not to stare at how pretty they look.
“I do. It’s one of the most elite galleries in Manhattan. In fact, there is a painting hanging in our conference room from Whitcombe.”
“Oh… great.”
“You didn’t know its reputation?”
I turn left onto her road, wondering how slow I can drive to make this night last longer.
“I know that we had a street fair in town, and a woman bought my painting. Then she gave me her business card and offered me a staggering amount of money to paint a whole collection. The kind of money that could help so many animals at the shelter where we tend to barely scrape by.”
“That sounds like a lot of pressure on you,” I say softly. All too soon, we reach the quaint yellow house on the corner. The porch lights cast a cozy glow over the front yard as I park the truck and turn to face her.
She turns towards me, too, bringing her knees up to rest on the seat between us. “At first it was thrilling. I never imagined my art would be capable of such attention. But then I hit a major painter’s block.”
“Until recently?”
If I’m not mistaken, I think I catch her ghost of a smile in the darkness. “Until recently,” she agrees.
“I always wanted to create something, to be able to take a step back and say that there was a tangible piece of myself out in the world.”
A Gin Blossoms song comes on the radio, which is still turned low, so I start to twist the knob louder. Lucy reaches out, her hand covering mine, and stops me. “I promised I’d pause Gin Blossoms for you the next time the situation arose.”
My smile fills my face. “I’m honored.”
She laughs at me and it’s the sweetest, softest sound. Like being laughed at by a kitten. “Yeah, yeah. But that urge you have to create? In my experience, it doesn’t just go away.”
“It hasn’t. In college—”
“At NYU?” she guesses.
“Yeah, I got a degree there in business studies. And I had a real plan to create something with it. But my dad sucked me into his company when I graduated.”
“You kind of create still, right? The hotels?”
“I look at those hotels and the only Carpenter I see is Richard. I’m not anywhere in there. Initially, I thought being the first person on this project could help change that.”
“This project doesn’t feel like yours anymore?”
I sigh. “Turns out, it was never mine to begin with.”
“You should get to create something.”
I lift my hand to scratch the back of my neck and watch her track the movement. She’s studying me, as if trying to reconcile her understanding of things.
“I don’t know anymore. But I do know that I had a good time tonight. Thank you for coming out with me.”
“And I hope you did too?” I add quickly.
“I did too.” She reaches for the door handle. “I should go though.”
“Oh, I…”
Lucy opens the door and motions towards her house. I see the outline of a person in the front window. “Claire is sitting there watching us and I don’t want to give her any ideas.”
She climbs out of the truck, and I hurry to follow. “Tonight, was it worth the risk of being seen with the city slicker?” I ask as we start up her walkway.
“If nobody really knows who you are, is it still a risk?”
“Okay, true. But would you have come with me if they all knew?”
The porch steps creak as we climb them.
“I don’t think I would have picked the game for us. But… I would have still agreed to tonight,” she murmurs.
“May I ask why?”
She pokes at the corner of her doormat with the toe of her boot, her gaze cast down. “Because I appreciate that you want to see what’s special about our town.”
Taking a step closer, I wait for her to look back up. “I don’t want to be the bad guy in your story, Lucy.”
“I don’t want you to be either.”
My heart swells as the sincerity of her words take root. Reaching out, I grab her hand and squeeze it once. “I’m really glad to hear that.”
She squeezes my hand back, bids me a quiet goodnight, and goes inside, leaving me standing alone under those cozy porch lights with a lump in my throat and hope in my heart.