Chapter 14
ALEX
Not getting Nora Delaune naked is something I’m going to regret forever. I just know that. I have never been on a date like the one last night, and I want to go on fifty-seven more with her. Even knowing that I’m not going to get her naked at the end of the night.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
I really want to. More than I did at the beginning of the night, and I really wanted to at the beginning of the night.
Still, she’s my girlfriend.
She seems to think that she’s just a friend, and I heard all of her explanations last night, but I’ve been thinking about it. Her. Last night.
I can’t remember the last time I thought about a date for hours after it ended and then woke up in the morning thinking about it. Especially without the woman next to me in bed.
I grin and reach for my phone on the spindly bedside table. I shake my head at the crocheted doily thing it’s resting on and the lamp that has birds and flowers and tree branches carved into the base.
I text her: I think there’s a problem with your theory about just being my friend who’s a girl.
She answers within just a couple of minutes, and I wonder what she’s doing. It’s only seven a.m.. I’m shocked I’m awake considering the time difference between Portland and Louisiana, but I feel pretty good.
Nora: Oh? Tell me more.
Me: I understand what you’re saying about not getting naked and that does make it different, but we’re going to be kissing. And touching. Acting besotted with one another. That’s a weird gray area at least.
Nora: Besotted? Wow, I didn’t peg you for a guy who would use the word besotted.
Me: Don’t distract from the topic. If I’m kissing you—which I will be—and touching you—which I will be—and staring at you as if you are the best thing since the caveman decided to hit something across the ice with a stick—which I will be—then I think you’re still my girlfriend.
Nora: Do you really think the caveman played hockey?
Me: Stop distracting.
I realize I’m grinning like an idiot all by myself in bed with a quilt that was, no doubt, hand-made covering me.
I would ask more about it, like who made it and if the pieces of the quilt have special meanings, but I’m afraid that someone might’ve died under it or on top of it and I really don’t want to know that.
It took me four hours to fall asleep under it the first night just thinking that might be the case.
Nora: *laugh crying face* Sorry, I just can’t get the image of cavemen batting rocks around on frozen ponds with tree branches and being like ‘omg this is so awesome!’ out of my head.
Me: When you could be distracted by me kissing you?
Nora: LOL! Fine. You might have a point. Let me think about the definition. Maybe we can come up with a new term.
Me: Don’t waste your time. We’re just gonna call you my girlfriend. My very sexually frustrated girlfriend.
Nora: I’m the one who’s going to be sexually frustrated?
Me: I didn’t say you were going to be the only one. But yes.
Nora: Being near you is going to be so difficult that I’ll be constantly fighting the urge to get naked?
Me: I think you already know the answer to that, Wildflower.
She doesn’t respond and I get out of bed with a huge grin.
I shower and don’t even have the urge to take care of myself. I am definitely turned on by her and could certainly conjure some delightfully dirty fantasies, but I don’t need to. It’s interesting. I feel good just thinking about being with her and a little bit of morning text teasing.
I’m not saying that’s always going to be enough, but I’m definitely feeling content as I head downstairs, breathing deeply of the buttery, cinnamon and sugar scented air.
Living above a café that makes bacon and bakes fresh pastries every morning is not going to be a hardship, that’s for sure.
I step out from behind the multicolored curtain and the conversation and clinking of silverware against plates immediately ceases.
Oh boy.
“Morning, everyone,” I greet.
“A fancy dinner in New Orleans? Really?” someone asks.
I focus on the owner of the voice and realize that it is one of my would-be kidnappers.
Studying Brewser this morning in his pink plaid shorts, pink polo shirt, and sandals with pink socks, it’s still hard for me to believe that he was the town doctor.
I realize that I am stereotyping, but every doctor I’ve ever seen has either been in a white coat or khakis and a polo. I’ve certainly had my share of visits with the team doctors, but none of them have been wearing shorts and sandals.
“We had an amazing time last night,” I say carefully.
I’m not surprised that everyone in the café, probably the entire town, knows about my date with Nora last night. That’s the point after all, right? They’re supposed to think that we’re dating. That Nora has chosen to spend time with me. That she fucking likes me.
And she does.
She definitely does.
It’s almost ridiculous how much I like that.
“Well, I’m sure she told you she had a good time,” the man I now know is Wilson, the town lawyer—or ex-lawyer?—says. “She’s a very positive and kind person.”
I lift a brow. “So, she would’ve told me she had a good time no matter what?” I ask. I want to call bullshit on that. We had a good time last night. Because I took her somewhere new. Because I spoiled her a little. Because it was us.
“I’m sure she really did have a nice time. That’s not really the question,” Brewser says.
I nod.
“But you’ve probably taken dozens of women to dinner,” he adds.
I don’t know about dozens. Then again I’m not going to do the math.
“You should’ve done something special for Nora. She’s special. Dates with her should be unique.”
“Define unique,” I say.
He shakes his head. “That’s something you’re going to have to figure out for yourself.”
I blow out a breath. These people are confusing, not helpful.
My gaze lands on the jars next to the register and I sigh. Now the front of the jars simply have a drawing of a thumbs up and a thumbs down. The sign behind them reads Alex’s date with Nora in New Orleans.
Now they’re voting on my dates? While the dollar bills in the two jars are more even than the Brussels sprouts question, the thumbs-down jar is clearly still winning over those who feel I did a good job.
Obviously, this is going to be a regular thing. And I can’t avoid this café. It’s basically the first floor of my house.
Did I say that living above a café had its perks?
The cons are starting to outweigh the pros.
“Well, Nora invited me to movie night,” I tell them. There, see? She wants to spend more time with me.
“Movie night here in Rebel? Down at the park?” Beckett asks.
I focus on the fact that the friendly, easy-going hockey player is sitting at the counter next to his sister. Sutton gives me a friendly smile.
“Hi,” I greet.
“Thought maybe you could use some reinforcements this morning. Friendly faces,” he says.
I nod and glance over the room full of people who are still listening in on everything as if we’re all having one giant conversation together. “I appreciate that.”
“I think the dinner at the Italian Barrel sounds really nice,” Sutton says, lifting her voice. “It’s a super fancy, expensive restaurant.”
“With a sixty-nine dollar cheese plate,” I say for some reason.
There are gasps around the room.
“I can give you three kinds of cheese for four-ninety-nine,” Bruce says, coming through the swinging door.
How could he have heard all of that from back in the kitchen?
I sigh. “Is that right?”
“Yep, all shredded up together in one package.”
Laughter ripples around the restaurant.
“Yes, movie night here in the park,” I say to Beckett, deciding to ignore Bruce.
He nods and lifts his cup. “Well, that will be good.”
“That’s straightforward, right? Movie night. What do people do? You spread out blankets on the grass? Bring lawn chairs? Who knows Nora’s favorite movie candy?”
“Oh, you’re not gonna have to worry about that,” a woman sitting near the bakery case tells me.
“I wouldn’t really call movie night at the park straightforward,” Sutton says, lifting a sausage link on her fork to her mouth. “It’s probably not what you’re thinking.”
Why does that not surprise me? “How so?” I ask.
“Honestly, you should just go,” Beckett says. “I think that will explain a lot about making dates with Nora unique.”
Why do I feel nervous all of a sudden? “You can’t even help me prepare?”
Beckett chuckles. “Nope. Just go.”
Sutton nods. She’s grinning. “It’s definitely very Nora.”
That also doesn’t surprise me. But I don’t have even a guess what that means.
Still, there is a tiny surge of anticipation behind the nerves. Whatever this all means, Nora will be there. I’m sure I’ll enjoy myself. And it’s a public forum, with the woman I’m supposedly dating. That means I will definitely need to kiss her.
I look out over the room. “Great, I can't wait. How many of you will be there?”
Hands shoot up all over the room. Wow.
“Great.”
“Tell us something about yourself,” a woman says. She is sitting at the table near the window where Harley was sitting yesterday. He’s there again today, and the third of my kidnappers is sitting with him. By the process of elimination, this is Leo.
Okay, I’m getting another chance at this. “Anything specific?” I ask.
“Just something interesting,” she says. She’s got her long gray hair in two braids and is wearing a blue-and-green plaid shirt with jeans.
Everyone turns from looking at her to looking back at me as if they’re watching a tennis match. “But you don’t even like me.”
“We’re mad at you,” Leo says. “That’s not the same thing as not liking you.”
“We don’t know you well enough to not like you,” Bruce says. “Yet.”
Okay, I think quickly. “I had the most hat tricks in the league last season.”
“Boo!”
I think the first boo comes from Brewser this time, but several people join in again.
Great.
“We don’t need to know about hockey,” someone calls.
“We can look all the hockey stuff up,” someone else adds.
“Yeah, I already knew that,” a guy near the bookcase says.
I guess that’s true. “Okay, I am from a small island nation called Cara. It’s the island south of the Faroe Islands—”
“Boo!”
The boo-ing is louder and even more people join in this time.
I hold my hands up in surrender. “That’s not about hockey.”
“We all know about that. From the article,” the guy by the bookcase calls.
“The article?”
“Ruth passed around the Hockey Hunks issue about you,” Beckett says helpfully.
I look around. “But…you all don’t like me.”
They all laugh.
Right. They’re just mad at me.
Fine, so they all know all about my apartment and my cars and the clothes that I endorse and my favorite snack foods and a ton of other trivial details.
I think quickly for something that was not included in that interview or really in any of the others that I have done over the years and that these people could easily look up.
What is something they would consider a good share?
These people are truly bananas.
Bananas.
Bananas. A thought hits me, and I give them all a grin. “Okay, here’s something I’ve never said in an interview. Or in public. Or maybe out loud to another person.” I hesitate. Maybe this is a bad idea.
“Okay, come on then,” Brewser says.
“Unless it’s sexual. Do not share something sexual in here,” Bruce says, pointing a thick index finger at me.
“I have very strong feelings about bananas,” I tell them.
The room gets even quieter. They all stop eating and drinking and stare at me.
Okay, I’m going all in. “I love bananas. I truly consider them the perfect food. They’re delicious, nutritious, come in their own wrapper, and are good any time of the day.
But,” I add as people start nodding their agreement.
“I hate when they are turned into other things. People put bananas with peanut butter, chocolate, and other fruit in smoothies and stuff. And I hate that.” I take a breath and keep going because it sounds crazy and, honestly, that fits right in here.
“Bananas are perfect as they are. They do not need to be blended up into smoothies, added to sandwiches, dipped in chocolate, with ice cream—seriously, banana splits are the worst—or turned into bread. I don’t like banana flavored candies or syrups.
A banana is good only when it is just a banana. ”
I stop and take another deep breath.
Then brace myself.
There is a long moment of silence.
Then another.
Then another.
I finally look at Beckett. He’s staring at me with a huge grin. He looks delighted by my banana outburst.
Sutton has a hand over her mouth.
Everyone else is just staring.
But then the woman at the table with Leo and Harley starts clapping. “Love a man of conviction,” she says.
My eyes widen.
A few people clap with her, but mostly people laugh and start talking and finally Bruce comes past and claps me on the shoulder. “Well, that will end things between you and Nora for sure.” He moves past me.
I look at Beckett. He scoops a big bite of cereal into his mouth.
“What did I just do?” I ask.
Sutton looks from me to her brother and back. “Um…Nora makes amazing banana pudding. She’s known for it.”
“You’ll try Nora’s pudding though, won’t you?” a woman says. She’s come up to pay her breakfast tab. She lays a few bills next to the register.
Banana pudding. What the actual fuck? “Uh, no, probably not,” I say honestly.
She frowns, then holds up a dollar bill before stuffing it in the thumbs down jar.
I sigh.
Bananas. All of ’em. Seriously.