12. Enzo
Enzo
I take a risk and show up on her doorstep instead of calling. What’s the worst that could happen?
Joni stands at her threshold with a hand still on the doorknob and a blank expression on her face.
“I didn’t trust you to answer the phone,” I say.
“So, you decided trespassing was a better idea?”
“I brought wine.” I hold up the bottle to prove my claim.
“Oh, now I’m adding bribery to your charges.”
“Are you saying you could be bribed to go out with me again?”
“Come in. I actually need your opinion on something.”
“You’re not having buyer’s remorse about those yellow appliances, are you?”
“No. It’s about wallpaper.”
What wallpaper?
We never discussed wallpaper, but she has samples spread across her dining table. I’ll have to find someone to hang it for her because I don’t do that. Unless she has her own wallpaper hanger.
My thoughts are interrupted by a long strip of blindingly bright yellow flashing before my eyes.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“It’s definitely yellow.” I take a step back and realize it’s a floral pattern, but all the flowers are nearly the same shade of yellow. Just yellow on yellow on yellow. “A whole lot of yellow.”
“I know, but that’s what I love about it. It’s so bright and sunny.”
“What walls would it go on?”
“Just the wall at the end of the breakfast nook and around the bay window. There’s going to be so much natural light in that space, it won’t look as bright as it does in here.”
I’m trying really hard to keep my skepticism from showing on my face, but I know it’s not working. It’s going to take a lot of light to make this shade appear subtle.
She reads my face accurately. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
Her steps are deliberate as she leads me into the kitchen with the yellow paper billowing behind her. I can’t fathom what would make her pick this.
When she holds it up next to her existing glass-paned French doors, there’s enough light coming in to soften it a little, but it’s still damn bright.
“You have to remember that there will be a three-sided window here,” she reminds me.
“And it will extend out several feet. There will hardly be any wallpaper on this wall at all, just the strip above the window and the small sections around it. And the sunlight will shine directly onto this wall.” She pauses to point.
“So, even though it will be covered in the wallpaper, it will only be one solid area. It’s not like I’m wallpapering an entire room in it. ”
“Yeah, but with the rest of the room having such soft colors, won’t it clash?”
“No. It’ll do the opposite. It will be an accent, a pop of color.”
“You sure you want it to pop that much?”
“I get more sure every time I look at it.”
Her face is glowing over those yellow flowers, and anything that makes her that happy, she should have. “If you like it, I love it.”
“Don’t do that. I want your honest opinion.”
“You don’t, I promise. But my opinion doesn’t matter.
I’m good at structural design, Joni. When it comes to putting together colors and patterns, they all look equally good or equally bad to me until I see the completed room.
I don’t have a vision for the finishing touches.
You can hold up a strip of wallpaper all day long, but I can’t envision it on the new walls that will be here.
All I see is that sample hanging between us. I can’t project it onto anything.”
“Really? Oh, shit. Why’d I trust you about those appliances?”
“You showed me an actual picture of them in a kitchen that was very similar to yours. If you’d shown me random photos in a showroom, I’d have been just as unsure as I am about this wallpaper. And I don’t have a wallpaper person, so unless you do, I’ll have to find someone.”
“Glynnis recommended the mother-daughter team who installed hers.”
“I forgot she has wallpaper in her store. It helps to have a referral.” I think back to the first time I saw Glynnis’s wallpaper choice, remembering I wasn’t a fan of that one either. Maybe I’m just not a wallpaper guy. “I’m glad she knows somebody who can hang it for you.”
“Yeah. For someone who’s not from here, it’s amazing how she always seems to have a source for whatever needs to be done.” Her arm drops by her side, and she heaves an exhale as if she’s just remembered something distressing. “By the way, she also knows you stayed here last night.”
“Because you told her?” My smile couldn’t get any wider. If she told her friends, it must’ve been worth talking about. If the story’s worth sharing, it’s worth doing again.
“No. Rhett saw you leaving this morning.”
“Huh. I never even saw him drive past. I must’ve been preoccupied with an incredible memory.”
“Well, he saw you.”
“And you wish he hadn’t.”
“It would just be nice to have some privacy for once, a little time to consider things without other people offering their opinions.”
“You were hoping for privacy in Grinberry Falls? Do you still write letters to Santa, too?”
Her smile returns. “Should I? Do you think he’d bring me some privacy?”
“I don’t know if a letter would do it. But maybe if you sat on his lap and asked nicely.”
“I’ll line up with the kids at this year’s Christmas festival.”
“Why wait? I’ll rent the suit tomorrow.”
That earns me a genuine laugh. There’s nothing we can do about something that’s already been seen, so I’m happy to occupy her with a dirty Santa reference instead. I’d be happy to occupy her with dirty references any time she’ll let me.
“Have you eaten yet?” I ask, hoping she hasn’t because I haven’t, and I’m starving.
“You can’t take me out to dinner every night.”
“Well, I am the reason you don’t currently have a functioning stove.”
“I could order a pizza,” she offers.
“Can I still call it a date if we stay here and eat delivery pizza?”
“Who am I to tell an undercover Santa what he can and can’t do?”
I know an opening for another dirty reference when I see one. “How do you feel about a slutty little elf costume?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to see it on you.”
She may have questionable taste in wallpaper, but I think she’s going to be one hell of a fun second date.
The pizza arrives in the nick of time—she almost has me convinced this bright yellow, floral wallpaper is the best option out of the samples she’s compiled.
I started out campaigning for the pale blue stripes, but she threw my favorite in the veto pile before I could make a strong argument, saying, “Too whimsical.”
How is striped wallpaper too whimsical? The stripes aren’t even wavy. They’re perfectly symmetrical, unlike the floral pattern. And the shades of blue are barely different. If anything, that blue paper is calming.
But she was always going to choose those chaotic yellow flowers. They make her happy. Her eyes light up every time she looks at them. So, even though I’m not swayed to share her opinion, I tell her she should go with that one. And then the pizza mercifully shows up.
She’s probably going to debate her choice a dozen more times before she orders the wallpaper, but I know in my gut she’s not going to change her mind.
Her chosen wallpaper sample is the only one that remains on the dining room table after she shoves the others to the floor. She lays it carefully across one end of the table, and clears the rest of the space for us to eat our pizza.
Eating at the table is a more formal situation than I was hoping for, much less opportunity for casual touch than if we were to eat on the couch.
I rush to the door to bring in the pizza—and then I bypass the dining room and carry it straight to the living room instead.
She follows me, shaking her head. “After I went to all that trouble to clear the table, you want to eat in here?”
“Is that okay?”
“Feels a lot less date-like, don’t you think?” she teases.
I could listen to her laugh forever.
“I’m going to open the wine you brought.” She points toward the kitchen, stopping for a moment to add, “I don’t have beer, but I have a good bottle of whiskey if that appeals to you.”
“On certain occasions, but I’m good with water tonight.”
“Oh, sure. Make me drink alone.” She turns to face me as if she’s giving me a chance to change my mind.
“I couldn’t make you do a damn thing.”
“So wise for your age.”
“My age is adult. Your age is adult. We’re the same age. The numbers don’t matter.” I set the pizza box on her coffee table and lift the lid.
“You keep saying that.”
“And I’m not going to stop until you accept it.”
She plucks an olive off the pizza and pops it into her mouth with a smile before she goes to the kitchen to open the wine. I much prefer that over the worried expression she normally wears when the topic of our ages comes up.
“Has yellow always been your favorite color?” When she reappears, I slide over to give her more room in the middle of the couch—easier to reach the pizza on the coffee table. And if she sits on the very end, I won’t have an excuse to move closer to her.
“It’s actually not my favorite color, but yellow flowers might be my favorite, which I can’t explain. But then again, I’m a sucker for red shoes, and red’s not my favorite color either.”
“What is your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“And yet, you said no to the blue wallpaper.”
“Too whimsical.”
“I remember.”
“Where are we at on that permit?” she asks.
“We are waiting in line, which we will be doing for at least the next month. If we’re lucky.”
She sighs dramatically, like this is new information. “I don’t have anything left to do.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I chose the appliances. I picked out lighting. I found the perfect island piece. All that’s left is the breakfast nook buildout, and I’ve decided on the wallpaper, which was the last decision I needed to make for that.
I’m stuck. Waiting on other people. I’m not good at waiting. I want to see it all done now.”
“You want instant gratification, huh?”
“I know, I know.” She rolls her eyes, making fun of herself because she thinks that’s what I’m doing. “Everybody wants that.”
“I think a lot of people think they want that. But have any of the best moments in your life happened instantly? No. Because you wouldn’t have had time to appreciate them, so they would’ve just been fleeting moments that didn’t mean much.
Our best moments become our best moments because we get to experience the buildup. We love the anticipation.”
“Has anyone ever accused you of being a romantic? Because you are. You romanticize everything.”
“Why do you say that like romance destroyed your life?” I wince, remembering as soon as I say it that her husband died. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says with a soft smile. “Loving Bryan didn’t destroy my life.
Losing him derailed it for a while, but I’m okay.
And it’s okay to talk about him. He was an amazing man, but he wasn’t a romantic by any means.
Neither am I, so I guess our romance wasn’t the fairytale type, which was fine because I’m definitely not a princess. ”
“Really? I think you might have a little princess in you.”
“I am one-hundred-percent princess-free.”
“Okay. But don’t hit me with anything heavy the next time your inner princess joins the chat and I call her out.”
“Oh, please do.” She laughs to indicate there won’t be any opportunity for me to do this.
I brush the back of my hand over her cheek to push away a section of hair that’s fallen forward. She’s bringing a slice of pizza to her mouth, and I don’t want her to accidentally eat her own hair or get pizza sauce in it . . . and I like being able to see her whole face.
She tenses at the touch of my fingers to her cheek.
It’s subtle, but unmistakable. The last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable or to have her pull away from me.
I lower my hand and reach for a second slice of pizza, pretending I didn’t notice the change.
She takes a sip of wine, choosing to ignore it as well.
As a kid I had a habit of getting too familiar too quickly. I thought of every friend as a best friend until I outgrew it, learned to understand that friendships were all different. And then I had to relearn the lesson all over again when I started dating. I was an all-in kind of guy.
But I have no problem navigating adult friendships, and I’ve had adult relationships with women. I know how to navigate those, too. What I apparently don’t know how to do is take it slow with Joni.
She’s right when she says we don’t know each other, and we’re not actually dating. But there’s a familiarity, a level of comfort between us, and I don’t think I’m the only one who feels it.
When she lets her guard down, everything is so easy that it’s hard to remember how new we are to each other. We’re only strangers according to the calendar.
All I have to do is get her to stop caring so damn much about dates on a calendar. Easier said than done, but I’m not ready to give up. Nowhere near ready.