17. Enzo
Enzo
If someone had told me a few months ago that I would be so relieved about an alpaca’s positive health update, I’d have assumed they had me confused with someone else. I’ve never been a big animal person. Don’t get me wrong; I like animals, but I never connected to one the way I have with Oliver.
There’s something special about this alpaca. And his owner.
“I brought dinner,” I say before I plant a kiss on Joni’s head. “It’s still in the truck. When I saw the vet, I wanted to make sure Oliver was okay first.”
“You didn’t have to bring me dinner.”
“I brought us dinner. I’m not taking my half to go.”
Her soft laughter makes me want to stand here and hold her forever.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go out with the way Oliver has been acting.”
“I probably wouldn’t have. Thanks.”
“Let’s go inside and eat. You can check on him again when we’re done.”
“You mean done with dinner, right?”
“Yeah. But when we’re done with whatever comes after dinner, you can check on him then, too.”
“Let’s get that food out of your truck before it gets cold.”
It’s too hot out here for anything to get cold, but I’m more than happy to take her hand and walk with her.
The house smells like freshly cut wood. I love that smell, but I expect her to light a candle any second to mask it. There are several rolls of wallpaper on her dining room table.
So much yellow.
“Your wallpaper came in quick. I guess we should eat in the living room.”
“I can move it if we need the table. What are we having?”
The food is packed in a plain brown bag, no logo to identify what’s inside, but I’m surprised the smoky smell doesn’t give it away. Maybe it blends in with the scent of cut wood.
“Barbecue sandwiches. I opted for something easy since I didn’t know how much time you’d have.”
“So, after you lured me in with a first date at Lombardo’s, it’s all pizza and sandwiches now, huh? I see how you operate.”
“Finally. You admit it was a date.”
“I never denied it was a date.”
“But you tried to deny we were dating after that.”
She averts her eyes, no response. I don’t press, but I can’t lie, I was hoping for a different reaction. It could’ve been worse. At least she didn’t snap at me or kick me out. This is definitely a time to leave well enough alone.
“Hope you’re good with smoked turkey,” I say, “They were running low on brisket.”
“It’s perfect. I always get the turkey at Hickory Hill. Their brisket’s good, but their turkey is the best.”
Score. I file this information away with the other small things I know about her: yellow flowers are her favorite, she’s a sucker for red shoes, can’t resist eating a few olives off the pizza as soon as the box is opened, blue is her favorite color, though I haven’t determined exactly which shade of blue yet . . .
“You want a beer?” she asks.
“Yeah. A cold beer sounds really good right now.”
“You were expecting it to be cold?”
Fuck me. She’s adorable when she’s being a smartass.
“No worries,” I say. “I’ll just hold it next to your heart until it’s chilled.”
She cracks up. “Damn, I deserved that. Well played.”
“You know I don’t actually think you’re cold-hearted, right?”
“My actions can come across that way sometimes.”
“Not your actions, just your words.”
She pauses and stares at me. “How do you do that? That should be offensive, but the way you say it, it just comes across as true. A hard truth, but not offensive. Not everyone can communicate like that. I obviously can’t.”
“Yes, you can. There’s nothing wrong with your communication skills when you open up. Your heart’s not cold, it’s just overly guarded.”
“How old are you again?”
“Grown. Can I get that beer now?”
She has to push aside the heavy plastic that’s draped over the fridge to open the door. I didn’t realize she’d put anything inside it yet, but given how excited she was when it arrived, I should’ve known she’d stock it immediately.
When she turns back around, she’s holding two beer bottles by the necks in one hand, her fingers laced between them.
She stepped out of her shoes when we brought the food inside, leaving her barefoot, and her jeans are faded and worn, the frayed hems skimming the floor.
If I told her how beautiful she looks right now, she’d roll her eyes, shake off the compliment.
But it’s true. She looks relaxed and happy, so casual and unbothered—at home not just in this space, but in her own skin. Sexy. As. Hell.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Ambiguously.” She sets the beers on her plastic-covered Carrera marble and fishes a bottle opener out of a drawer, careful to reset the plastic after she closes it. “Like you’re not sure if you want to eat dinner with me or eat me for dinner. Literally, not in a dirty way.”
“I want to eat dinner with you. And then, I want to eat you in the dirtiest way possible. Literally.”
“You set the bar pretty high with that chair against the counter while I drank my coffee.”
“Just imagine what I could come up with while you drink a beer.”
“I think I need food before I accept that challenge.”
“Oh, you definitely do. I’m imagining some very long after-dinner entertainment.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I might just go to sleep after dinner.”
“Hey, no kink shame, babe. However you want to do it is fine with me.”
She does a spit take with the first drink from her bottle. “I’m only laughing because I know you’re joking.”
“I only made the joke because I knew you’d know that.”
“I know.”
“You are so incredibly pretty.”
“Um, thanks.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
“I mean it. I call you beautiful all the time, but I need you to know I’m not just using the word like an easy nickname.
You are truly beautiful, inside and out.
Even when you don’t see it, you should know that someone else does.
And I know I’m not the only one, but I’m a pretty big fan of yours, Joni Prescott. All of you.”
She blinks and turns her face away. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t need to say anything back. I just needed to tell you. We should probably eat those sandwiches now.”
“Yeah. We should do that.”