8. Chapter 8
Nick
Holy fuck. I’m ninety-nine percent certain I’m in love with this girl, and I literally met her a handful of hours ago.
We wander the store while she gives me a few suggestions on what else I could add to my mom’s gift.
Coco comes back from her errands and offers a few of her own.
When Lydia’s shift ends, it’s like neither of us is ready to part ways.
Scrambling for a reason to keep hanging out with her, I ask if she would mind helping me find a basket to put all my mom’s stuff in, and she happily agrees.
We walk down Main Street and stop at Hearth & Home, a home-goods store packed with fun, cozy accessories. I’ve been here a few times before, grabbing things for my home when I finished building it.
“This store is so cute. It was closed when I walked by earlier. I bet they’d have some cute stuff for my new house. I’m sure they’d also have a basket or two. Want to poke our heads in?” She pauses in front of the large shop window, then turns to look up at me.
“Absolutely. Lead the way,” I say, gesturing for her to go first as I lightly place my hand at the small of her back and open the door. She smiles at me over her shoulder, and I’ll be damned if I don’t want to jump for joy.
We walk around a bit, and I notice she picks up several things, glances at the price tags, then sets them back down.
A bundle of kitchen towels, a small planter, a tiny ceramic chicken, which she says is “just the cutest,” then she sets it back on the display table.
We wander some more until we reach a wall of baskets, all displayed creatively.
Some hang on the walls, while others sit on the floor filled with plants, blankets, or flowers.
Lydia is drawn to one basket in particular, and when she lifts it to show me, she pulls the display blanket from inside and clutches it to her chest.
“Oh my goodness, it’s so soft,” she says as she runs it along her cheek.
I reach out and gently take the blanket from her hand. “Here. Let me get this for you. As a thank-you for being so helpful with my mom’s birthday gift.”
Her eyes widen, and I can tell she wants to protest, but instead she smiles and murmurs an appreciative “thank you.”
We head to the front counter, where I pay for the basket and the blanket. The clerk, Marcia, whom I’ve known since kindergarten, smirks up at me with a knowing grin. Once I’ve paid, we thank her and head toward the door.
Once outside, we stand there awkwardly, unsure what comes next.
Lydia speaks first, breaking the silence. “Well, I should get home. I live just around the corner here.”
“You do?” I ask, trying to keep her with me for just a moment longer.
“Yep. The lavender house on the corner of Silver Springs.” She glances over her shoulder, then looks back at me, smiling as I hand her the blanket. “Thanks again for this. It will be my first new thing in my new house. I really appreciate it.”
Lydia acts like she’s never received a gift before. While that makes me sad and a little angry, it also makes my heart leap knowing I made her so happy with something so small.
“You’re very welcome. Thank you for all your help today. I have no doubt my mom’s going to love everything you picked out.”
“Hey, you picked out the socks and candy. She’s going to love those too.”
“Yeah, I’m sure she will.” I pause for a second, debating my next words, then plunge forward anyway. “Thanks for today, Lydia. It was honestly the best time I’ve had in a while.”
“Thank you back, Nick. It was the best day I’ve had in a long time too.”
And with that, she turns and walks away, glancing once over her shoulder to give me a small wave and a smile.
I watch her walk away far longer than I should before finally convincing myself to turn back toward my truck.
Well, I’m in so much trouble.
I slide into the driver’s seat and glance at the clock on the dash. Crap. I spent four hours shopping with Lydia. It had only felt like a few minutes.
I’m sure I’ve missed something big at the shop, and I spend the drive there anxious.
But when I pull in, there’s no fire and nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Everything is in order and looks completely normal.
I pop my head in to make sure everything’s fine, but I really don’t want to stick around.
The shop is almost empty, just a couple of our mechanics in their bays, and the place is quiet.
I don’t feel bad about turning around before anyone sees me to head home.
I know the books are in good shape, and if I stick around, I’ll get sucked into a project or asked to look at emails, and I’m in too good of a mood for that. I want to hang on to this feeling for as long as I can.
I head out to the house. It’s only a short drive from town, but it gives me time to think about everything that happened today. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
Letting out a big sigh, I drag my bags across the bench seat and carry them into the house.
While my house isn’t as big and grandiose as the large farmhouse I grew up in, I love this place.
It’s like a roomy cottage, and it’s mine, built with my own two hands, along with a great contractor and crew.
It’s white with black trim and shutters, with large wooden beams framing the small front porch.
I love it here. I’ve even planted a wildflower garden out front, and the zinnias are in full bloom.
The inside is sparkling clean, which I love, but I also long to fill it with laughter and sticky hands. Maybe a dog. Music and dancing.
One of my favorite daydreams is dancing in the kitchen with a woman I love unconditionally, who loves me back. We’d dance while our children run wild around us, chanting about how gross it is that mom and dad are kissing again.
I want that so much. A love my children are grossed out by when they’re young but aspire to attain as they grow older. I want my wife and me to be the standard they strive for. A love without limits. I want them to see a dad who would do anything and everything for his family.
I let out a wistful sigh. Someday.
Bringing myself back to the present, I pull out everything we bought for my mom’s gift basket and try to assemble it the way Lydia suggested. After several attempts, I give up, walking away and vowing to come back to it later.
Later, I am still just as unsuccessful as I was after the first dozen attempts, and in a pathetic moment of desperation, I reach for my phone to call Lydia, deciding to swallow my pride and ask for her help.
Only now do I realize I never got her number. Well, damn. Then it strikes me: I have another reason to stop in and see her again. That makes me smile.