Chapter 17
NORA
Alex Olsen is surprising. I probably should have explained movie night to him more clearly. Or at all. It’s just that we’ve been doing it this way for so long, I don’t always remember that it’s odd to have a movie night and not watch the movie together.
Still, he’s mostly just rolling with it. Oh, sure, he’s commenting on it. To me. I think he can’t not point out to me how I keep surprising him. Because I don’t think he knows if he hates it, or if he doesn’t really mind it, or if just maybe he kind of likes it.
I can’t help but smile. I don’t think Alex is used to being out of his comfort zone. I think his comfort zone is huge, and I think a lot of people have spent a lot of time, and maybe even money, keeping it very comfortable.
But I like him off-balance.
Yes, he was clearly in his element at the Italian Barrel the other night, and he’s sexy when he’s confident and in control.
But he’s sweet and…something else…when he’s befuddled.
He’s…real.
That’s what it is. I like confident Alex, for sure, but I like this real side of him. Not the professional hockey player who knows he’s a star. Not the guy in the magazine. Not even the guy who knows all about sixty-nine-dollar cheese plates.
I like the real guy who has no idea what grits are—I heard about that from the breakfast crowd, of course—the guy who has adamant opinions about bananas—Sutton told me about that pronouncement—and the guy whose favorite movie is a cartoon about monsters.
I’ve watched him play hockey. He’s amazing.
Watching him was fun before I knew him—before I kissed him—and I think now it would, well, probably turn me on.
But I’m really looking forward to him playing with a big foam cowboy hat on his head to a Shania Twain song. And I know that’s going to turn me on.
But I also loved the look on his face when he first arrived for movie night and saw the decorations and food and realized what movie we were discussing.
I wanted to delight him, and it worked.
I love delighting people. I love making people smile and make that little gasp of surprised pleasure. But with Alex it was even better.
I’m in trouble.
I’m trying not to like him too much, and here I am feeling like Miss Freaking America because I made the big, cocky hockey player light up over a movie.
That we didn’t even watch.
“Chinchillas are not related to otters!” Henry Bordelon says loudly. “Otters are not rodents! They are mustelids! Shame on all of you for not knowing that!”
“We do know that, Henry Bordelon! Don’t you start acting like you’re so smart!” Caroline Robertson snaps.
“Well, then you would know they’re not related! Chinchillas are rodents!” Henry says.
“Maybe that’s the part they didn’t know,” Jake Clairborne offers.
“Then they should stay quiet,” Henry says with a frown.
“They do look a little alike,” Jake’s girlfriend, Madison, says.
“They most certainly do not,” Henry says, clearly affronted by the suggestion.
“Okay, I think movie night is over,” I say to Alex.
“You just call it at some point?”
I grin. “Yep. You know, when things start to go off the rails.”
He snorts.
And then Muriel officially wraps things up for me. She chucks a popcorn ball at her sister. The ball bounces off Patty’s shoulder and hits Niles Cooper on the cheek.
“Muriel!” at least four people say all at once.
“Time to go,” Henry declares, standing and folding his chair.
Caroline and Natalie follow suit, and soon everyone is gathering their blankets and chairs and heading for the snack table to grab leftovers to take home.
They call out their thanks to me and their goodbyes to each other as they go and within five minutes the area is ninety-nine percent cleared out.
“So what now?” Alex asks. “Want to have a drink? Take a walk? Have hot sex at…”
I wait for a moment, amused. Yeah, we can’t go back to his place, considering someone in my family is there manning the kitchen and bar, and my grandfather will be there to start the breakfast shift at five a.m..
“The back of my pickup?” he finally asks.
I laugh. “I haven’t had an offer like that in years.”
He moves closer. “Did you take your panties off in some lucky guy’s pickup, Wildflower?”
“Of course,” I say. “But that was before I knew there were places that sold sixty-nine-dollar cheese plates, that there were people who paid for sixty-nine-dollar cheese plates.”
He looks amused, and turned on, and a little exasperated all at once. “Is that your way of saying that yes, you would like to go to the Windsor Court Hotel in New Orleans with me?”
“I definitely want to,” I admit.
He starts to pull his phone from his pocket, and I realize that he really will call and book us a room. I laugh and reach out, grabbing his forearm. “I can’t. I have to clean all of this up, and I have curvy girls’ yoga in the morning, and then a busy day.”
He stops, frowns, then looks toward the tables. “You have to clean all of this up?”
I drop my hold on his arm. “Of course.”
“Who set it up?”
“I did.”
“You’re not a curvy girl,” he says.
I blink, following his conversation jump, and say, “I lead the class.”
“You lead an early yoga class the morning after a late-night movie club thing?”
“Yes.”
“What are your work hours?” he asks. “When’s your day off? We’ll go then.”
“I don’t really have set hours or a day off. I just take time…whenever.” I don’t really take time off. I don’t like to sit around. Unless I’m at silent book club or I’m sitting to do a craft project or something.
“Then take time tomorrow,” he says, but his eyes are narrowed and he’s studying me intently.
I feel like I’m being tested.
“I can’t.”
“Is your schedule full of activities that you invented, scheduled, and run completely by yourself?”
I drop my gaze to the collar of his Henley. “Sutton will help me with some of it.”
“Uh huh.” He reaches out and tips my chin up, making me look at him. “You do it all.”
That’s not a question.
“I love it,” I say with conviction.
“I don’t doubt that. But no one, I mean no one—and I don’t even know everyone in this town—expects you to work twenty-four-seven.”
“I…” I wet my lips. “It doesn’t feel like work.”
“Okay. But it still is.”
“But what would I do with time off?” I ask. “I’d be at the park, or the library, or Perks and Rec, or doing crafts anyway. Why not just make it something other people can do too?”
For a second, his expression softens, and I feel his thumb slide over my cheek.
Then the look in his eyes turns sly as his mouth tips up on one side and he drags his thumb over my lower lip. “How about I give you some things to do with your time off that other people are not invited to?”
I want to suck on his thumb. I resist, but my stomach has hot ribbons swirling through it now.
“You’ll ruin me for after you leave,” I say softly, voicing that very real fear.
He takes a deep breath, then says, “Fuck, I hope so.”
I swallow and take a step back. “That’s a bad idea.”
I still want to do it.
My friends pointed out that I won’t be heartbroken after he leaves because I know it’s coming.
But I could become addicted to…things…that I can’t have again after he’s gone.
“Is it any consolation that I’m worried about being ruined by you, too?” he asks.
I feel my eyes widen and my heart thump hard.
Yes, actually, that is some consolation.
“We shouldn’t do that to each other,” I say.
He nods. “Maybe not. But I really, really want to.”
Yeah, same.
“Nora! The tables are in your truck!”
I jerk out of the little daze Alex put me in and look toward Henry and Wilson. Wilson gives me a thumbs up from beside my truck, where it’s parked at the curb.
“Thank you!” I call. I look up at Alex. “See? They help. I just need to take down all the balloons and the screen and carry any boxes of leftover treats to the truck.” I glance toward where the snack tables were.
There’s only one box, which means most of the snacks got taken.
Awesome. “And load up the popcorn machine. I’ll clean it at the office.
So, I won’t be too long. Don’t worry about my late hours. ”
“I’m still going to.”
I don’t say anything to that or protest when he begins taking down the balloons from around the screen as I unfasten the sheet from the wooden poles.
I like that he’s thinking about me. He doesn’t need to worry, but I like being on his mind.
Once he’s back in Portland, that won’t be the case, so I’ll enjoy it for now.
It’s not like my family and friends don’t sometimes worry about me.
I frown as I start to fold the sheet. Actually, I’m not sure they do worry.
What would they worry about? I don’t do anything dangerous.
I don’t go anywhere dangerous. The people I spend time with are people I’ve known—and my family has known—for years, if not their entire lives.
Hell, my grandfathers know the grandparents of most of my friends.
I’m healthy. I do a very public job where they all see me every single day. I’ve had some emotional ups and downs—who hasn’t—but I’m generally a happy, positive person.
There’s simply no reason for people to worry.
“Let me,” Alex says, nudging me out of the way as I start to pull the first of the wooden poles out of the ground
“I can do it.” I’ve done it dozens of times.
“I know,” he says simply. Then picks me up, sets me to the side, and pulls the pole out of the ground.
I simply start laughing.
He looks over. “What?”
“People don’t tell you no very often, do they?”
“A few do, but I don’t listen.” He pauses. “Generally.”
I watch as he pulls the other pole from the ground, then turns to face me with them both.
“There’s someone you do listen to?”
“Well, Declan O’Grady told me that no, I can’t play for the Grays anymore,” he says wryly. “I guess I listened to that one.”
“That probably doesn’t really count,” I say. “You didn’t listen, you just didn’t have another option.”
“Good. I hate being soft.” He gives me that sexy-cute half-smile again.
I grin. “You’d rather be hard?”
“Since I met you, I don’t remember being any other way.”